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divineecelestial · 4 months

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Burns Like Rum

Ship: Astarion x female!human!reader/Tav

Summary: Astarion's hunger worsens every day and you don't have any blood to spare—but 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 :)

☟ Continue below the fold ☟

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 others—but 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 arms—although collapsed was a better word for it, according to Karlach—drenched 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 was— 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 him—he'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 know—Shadowheart 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 just—"

"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 I—"

"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 dry—but 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, darling—I 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 need—" 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."

~❊~

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 not—"

"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 him—" You spluttered. "—it 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."

~❊~

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 others—"

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 this—or, 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 this—and believe me, I do love this—I 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 you—as 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 me— 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 sucked—hard—and 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 now—or before it even began—and 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!"

~❊~

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 blood—all 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, too—Astarion 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 nothing—I 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 mouth—undoubtedly to say something about how you were technically his breakfast, based on the hour you'd returned to camp—but 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."

☞ ❊ ☜

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!}

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divineecelestial · 6 months

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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 you’re 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.

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divineecelestial · 7 months

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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 it’s because it was reviewed and put under a community label. I’m not sure but it looks like it hides my post and hashtags.

But here are the links!

Link for Part One

Link for Part Two

Let me know if those links don’t work because my phone is acting dumb. Thank you so much for wanting to read the series about our pervy loser

Xx 💖

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divineecelestial · 7 months

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TAGLIST FOR PRETTY GIRL [3]

@juleshadalittlelamb @angel21356 @mrsjellymunson @pipipipopoposstuff @hotbrownie69 @angelkat1013 @thebiggestscamislife @lostinheavensworld @cherridile @lovejamespotter @secretdryrose @saucypeanutt @stardustingold @i-h4temyself @dani-is-a-princess @brittney69 @alysonmelody @beeblisss @hi-im-arie @depressedacidtest @ttsbaby01 @alyssa743 @cellophanefkatwings @unfocused81 @shady-the-simp @mrslovesmayahawke @let-love-bleeds-red @walleloveseve @forevermineliv @adaydreamaway08 @xyzstar @imaautisticchicken @sweetashoneyhoney @yaspillz @kennafild @gyriffndorkate @furiousladyking @nevermoreraven1

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divineecelestial · 7 months

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TAGLIST FOR PRETTY GIRL [3]

@vannthehacker910 @siriuslysmoking @mansi-san @amira0303 @tlclick73 @maysrain @aol19 @rckstrbee @catherinnn @names-were-taken @munsonzgf @pbs-theundeadmaggot @needylilgal022 @whalingghosts @findmeincorneliastreet @unverifiedmeatsuit @ghost4love @goth-cowgirl-03 @aurora-austen @rros-e @ungracefularchimedes @zoeymunson @brattypeony @kittenmstr @galactic-potterhead @gummydummy19 @sleepy-bunnie @drownedinwishess @prestinalove @nerdyherringfestivalegg @rockstarmunsons @brassreign @saintlike78 @venuslayla23-blog @upside-down-angel @ohmeg @paleidiot @thatbltchs-world @marianastudiesart @madaboutjoe @squidscottjeans @florchuvila22 @munsonfire @bunnyweasley23 @gracieluvthemoon @universal-s1ut @thoughtsoftheantagonist @plutodestr0yedme

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson stranger things #eddie munson fanfic

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divineecelestial · 7 months

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Pretty Girl [3] Eddie Munson x fem!reader

Summary — 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 — 3.1k

Warnings — 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.

“I can take you home.”

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 weren’t even certain you could call them, had forgotten you. No, that wasn’t the right word. Left you must’ve 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 didn’t make it very far before you heard his heavy footsteps near you. “Oh, come on. I might be a dick but I’m not gonna let you walk home alone, at night, in the rain.” You wanted to remark that ‘might’ wasn’t accurate. He was a dick. “Especially in your pretty little uniform.”

You could feel your strands of hair sticking to your skin as you hesitantly faced him. “Oh, so you’re gonna protect me?” You questioned as if the mere idea of him keeping you from everything that goes bump in the night was ridiculous. Because that wasn’t him and that wasn’t how this dynamic worked. “I don’t think so. I’d rather take my chances with whatever is out there.” You said, glancing at the darkness surrounding the town. You knew what was out there. Dealt with everything that could’ve 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 couldn’t get over how pretty you looked when you were mad at him. You were finally acknowledging him again with that delicious anger he’d been craving. And for a brief moment, he couldn’t 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 didn’t 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 wasn’t a welcome one and you were desperate for everything to suddenly transform back to ‘normal’. Or as normal as things could get between you two. The weekend arrived and you didn’t want to go anywhere, irrationally worried you were going to see him. Avoiding him like he was contaminated with the plague wasn’t something you were used to. Sure, before this relationship progressed, you didn’t go out of your way to speak with him, but now, you couldn’t even walk in the same hallway without being consumed by embarrassment.

As ridiculous as this might’ve 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 could’ve thought of you as anything other than some sex toy. You kissed him and he rejected you.

“You don’t mean that.” His smirk was cruel and you were moments from scratching his face until he was unrecognizable. “Come on, pretty girl. I’ll keep my hands to myself and drive with two hands on the wheel.”

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 couldn’t be happening. You couldn’t 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. “Fine. Give me your jacket.” He raised his eyebrows at the sudden demand but complied regardless. That’s 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. “If you try any of your shit, I’m jumping out of the car.” 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 school’s desolate parking lot and drove away. A minute hadn’t gone by before he opened his mouth. “Why were you at school this late?” 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 didn’t answer immediately. He was going to ask the question again before your voice filled the confines of his car. “Cheer practice.” You answered shortly, gaze remaining outside the window and at the passing blur of colors. “You?” You hesitantly asked. You didn’t 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. It’s not like you wanted to know or asked about it before. Of course not.

“Hellfire.” And you must’ve 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. “I’ve been trying to talk to you. These past couple of days, you know.” 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 truth—he was hurt. And this wasn’t 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.

“I didn’t notice.” You lied straight through your teeth and he knew you were lying.

His eyes remained on the road, but his grip on the wheel tightened. “I just wish you would let me explain—”

You breathed in sharply. “There isn’t anything to explain.” Another lie.

There was another crackle and a flash of light scattered across the sky. “Yes, there is. Just let me—”

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. “Thank you for the ride.” He watched as you disappeared behind your door, closing it without glancing back.

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. “Your hair is sticking out everywhere.” A voice said casually. “Cute.”

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 should’ve been worried, frightened even, that he had broken into your room, but the only emotion you could manage was exhaustion. “What are you doing here?” Your voice was muffled as you spoke into the fabric.

This must’ve been a figment of his depraved imagination, a scene plucked from his dreams—you 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. “You know, those friends back there didn’t really seem like friends. Just an observation.” He was stalling. He knew he was, but he was desperate for a semblance of normality.

You breathed in sharply. “Well, you can keep your observations to yourself.”

It was silent for a beat. “You wanna hear another observation?” He didn’t care if you didn’t.

You yawned, blinking slowly. “Not really, but I’m sure you're going to share anyway.”

He smiled, thoroughly enjoying the annoyance searing your voice. “I think you like being around me because you don’t have to pretend. You can be your mean, stubborn, and bratty self around me. Around them, you have to be The Head Cheerleader.” You weren’t even focusing on the coldness filling the room or even acknowledging that he was inside your room. That hadn’t been processed completely. Yet. “It’s obvious. I don’t know how no one else doesn’t notice.”

Through your sleepy gaze, you narrowed your eyes. “You think you know me, Munson?”

“No, I do know you.” He answered so surely. “I think you’re forgetting I grew up with you.” That wasn’t something you could ever forget even if you had tried. And you had desperately. “You were my first-ever crush. I was obsessed with you. Still am, by the way.” He casually added. “I 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.”

He moved away from the windowsill and loomed closer to the edge of your bed. “So 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 couldn’t 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.”

He kneeled, his tentative hands softly caressing your thighs before pressing a small kiss on your knee. “I need you to understand that I’m the loser who plays D&D with freshmen, sells weed, and hasn’t had a girlfriend, who fucking watches porn to practice for this exact moment and you’re you.” Another gentle kiss on your other knee. “And, fuck, you’re so perfect. The goddamn prettiest girl I’ve ever seen.” A kiss on your thigh. “So damn smart.” Another kiss on your other thigh. “And you’re funny. You challenge me.” His nose nudged the hem of your nightgown as he licked the inside of your thigh. “So I do know you and I know you like me. And that’s something I can’t wrap my head around.”

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 siren’s call and he would’ve 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, he’d seen pussies before. From porn, mind you, but this was unlike anything he’d ever seen before. He didn’t understand how you, probably the most perfect woman to ever roam this earth, had just become even better.

You could feel each slow breath from him as he simply admired. “Do something.” 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. “I-Is something wrong?”

A moment passed and he shook his head. “I’m just trying not to cum.” He eventually said.

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. “Fuck, yes.” Your voice was unrecognizable to your own ears and the moans slipping from your lips were unlike anything you had made when alone.

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.

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. “So fucking wet.” He said, pathetically whining as the pornographic sound of your wetness coated his cock. “I don’t know how I lived this long without tasting you.”

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 didn’t. His face shoved between your shaking thighs, sucking on your clit as you yanked his hair and moaned his name, was where he belonged. “Please don’t stop.” 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."

“Wouldn’t dream of it, my pretty girl.” God, him and that nickname were going to be the death of you.

“I-I’m gonna—” Your voice cracked and you couldn’t finish your own sentence.

His hand clutched your thigh with a newfound roughness, pulling your closer, and his other hand squeezed and tugged his leaking cock. “Come on, pretty girl. Come for me.” His pace and movements didn’t change or falter. “Give it to me. Come for me, please. I need it.”

At that moment, you decided Eddie wasn’t 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. “You have the filthiest fucking mouth—”

His wet mouth pressed against yours, his hands coated with your juices and he clutched your cheek. “You taste that?” He asked after pulling away, his lips faintly brushed against yours, teasing. “That’s the taste of the prettiest girl—” He kissed you again and you were barely able to process the softness of his mouth against you before he pulled away again. “Who fucking likes me and can’t deny it.”

And his knees buckled as you smiled and wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him against you. “What have you done to me, Eddie Munson?” You mumbled. He could feel your glittering smile against his and there wasn’t anything more beautiful.

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. “My five-year plan of seducing you finally worked.” 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. “I’ve dreamed of this.” 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.

You placed a few random pecks on his face. “I really like you, Eddie Munson.” There was vulnerability exuding from you, unlike anything he’d ever seen from you before.

“So this is what the famous [Y/N] is like behind closed doors.” The pouring rain soaked the floor outside your room, the grey clouds visible through the droplet-covered windows. "Who would’ve thought my pretty girl was so sweet?”

You playfully rolled your eyes, smacking his arm. “Shut up.” You laughed. He would've fought (and probably lose) anyone just to hear that beautiful sound again and again.

“That’s not what you were saying earlier. Oh, Eddie, please don’t stop. I’m gonna cum!” He mocked with an obnoxiously high pitched voice.

You decided a another kiss would be the best way to shut him up. “God, you’re so pretty I’m gonna faint.” He mumbled, squeezing your breasts and pinching your hardened nipples. “Can I please fuck you? If I don’t fuck you and cum inside that pretty pussy, I think I’ll die.”

You moaned into his mouth and he gratefully swallowed the sound. “Yeah, come on, Eds, fill me up.”

“Fuck yes.”

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson stranger things #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson #eddie x reader #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson fandom #eddie munson fics #eddie munson filth #eddie munson fic

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divineecelestial · 11 months

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Pretty Girl [ 2 ] — Eddie Munson x fem!reader

Summary — 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 — 2.8k

Warnings — 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 he’s had to stuff his nose with clean tissues, and didn’t want to deal with the scolding and teasing from his friends. Thankfully, none of them had arrived, but, of course, you weren’t like any other person he’d ever met and drove over. If things were different and he wasn’t 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 didn’t think about that. “You came?” He asked, his voice nasally as he squeezed his nose firmly.

Your eyebrows furrowed together with obvious confusion as you neared him. “Of course, I came. Dustin said you needed me.” Now, that wasn’t something he could easily disregard. He wasn’t 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. “What happened?”

Now, this was where things became awkward. Roughly an hour ago, Eddie saw something he definitely shouldn’t have. From across the hallway, he watched you. This wasn’t 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 isn’t jealous, couldn’t 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, he’ll eventually believe them. He had to. There isn’t any reason for him to be internally seething with jealousy. You weren’t 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 couldn’t restrain the pleased smile as the concerned softness on your expression deteriorated and was replaced with the familiar annoyance. “You can’t fight people just because they were talking to me.” You sneered.

He removed the small tissue from his nose. “Of course, I can,” He said casually, unbothered by the possessiveness he was displaying. Your glare hardened. “I know you’re mad at me, but you look so good right now.” You did. The sheen of your lipgloss was reflecting from his bedroom light and your hair was styled just how he liked it.

If you were nerved by his words, you didn’t show it. “You could have gotten seriously hurt.” 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.

He smiled boyishly. “You look really beautiful in this skirt, by the way. It really suits you.”

His bloodstained fingers gingerly plucked at the bottom of your skirt, lifting the fabric teasingly before dropping it. “You are infuriating.” You said through clenched teeth.

“And you are quite possibly the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen.”

There was a flash of something in your gaze and he wouldn’t have even caught the change if he hadn’t been mesmerized by the color of your eyes. You blinked and it was gone. “What the hell were you even thinking?” You didn’t know why you even asked. This moron obviously wasn’t thinking.

Another lovesick smile. “You’re all I think about.” His finger caressed the skin above your knee. “You care about my well-being, gorgeous?”

You visibly swallowed. “No, not at all.” You said and you weren’t even convinced by the declaration.

He raised an eyebrow, seemingly unconvinced as well. “Oh, really?” He asked.

You narrowed your eyes. “Yes, really.”

Eddie’s dubious stare remained on you as he thought for a moment. “You might be able to lie to everyone else and have them fooled, but I can always tell and you’re lying right now.”

You crossed your arms across you chest and chuckled humorlessly. “So you think you know everything about me now?” You didn’t know how to feel about being seen so clearly.

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. “No, I do know everything about you and I know deep down you like me.”

You rolled your eyes. “I don’t like anything about you.” 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 wasn’t as terrible as you initially thought he was.

“Tell me more.” He demanded, slowly looming closer to you.

“I’m not flirting with you,” You clarified, “This isn’t some dirty talk.”

His face was disconcertingly close to you and even though you pretended the close proximity disgusted you, you didn’t move. “You’re right. This is better.” And for a moment, neither of you said something. “I never noticed your eyes were this pretty.” 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. “Don’t look at me like that.” He suddenly said.

You blinked, confused. “What?”

“The way you’re looking at me, it’s turning me on.”

Your expression transformed into disbelief before glancing down at his crotch, merely a few inches away. “Are you seriously hard right now?”

He grinned shamelessly. “Can you blame me?” He asked brazenly. “Look at you.” Truth be told, if it was regarding you, it didn’t take much at all for him to get hard.

You refrained from expressing how much you like this. “It’s been less than fifteen minutes and you already have a boner. Do I really have that much of an effect on you?”

There wasn’t any hesitation as he answered. “Absolutely.”

You rolled your eyes. “Stop distracting me.” You pushed his head back again, closely examining inside. The bleeding had stopped and there didn’t appear to be any visible fractures. He would be okay with some ice. “So what were they even saying?” You asked, referring to moment that apparently started everything.

Eddie stiffened, hardly noticeable. “Doesn’t matter. I took care of it.”

“If it’s about me, I deserve to know.”

A moment passed and then another, and he didn’t answer. You were going to ask again in a much more demanding and firmer way when he suddenly sighed heavily. “They were making bets on who could fuck you first.” You could the admission burn his tongue like acrid poison.

Your breathing hitched as you processed his admittance. “You were defending me?” 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.

“Obviously. You’re not up for grabs. You’re mine.” 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. “I’m not yours.”

He smirked and it was almost devilish. “Not yet.”

“Not ever.” You corrected, choosing to ignore the fire coursing through you.

That insolent smirk never dwindled. “I see you’re still pretending you aren’t madly in love with me.” 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. “I hate you.” Was all you could pathetically manage.

His touch was so simple, feather-light, but it left fire trails on your skin. “If you hated me, you wouldn’t have let me cum for you.”

Another observation you couldn’t find a response for. “A mistake that’s never happening again.”

His hand moved upward, so slow you were restraining yourself from shoving his hand beneath your clothes. “You liked it. I know you did.” He said and you despised knowing this was nothing but the truth. He was confronting you, teasing you because you couldn’t deny it. If you really didn’t like watching him stain his clothes with cum, you wouldn’t have allowed it to happen. You would’ve punched him, reported him, done anything other than spread your legs and tease him. You didn’t like it, you loved it. “I bet you touched yourself when you got home.”

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 vibrator’s 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. “Fuck, you really did, didn’t you?” He could feel the warmth radiating from beneath your skirt, teasing his fingertips. If he wasn’t hard enough earlier, he was now. He twitched beneath his jeans. “Sit on my lap.”

Don’t do it. “You’re delusional if you think I’m gonna—”

“Don’t be a fucking brat and sit on my lap.” Your brain was losing and you were thinking with your body—your 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. “Get yourself off on my thigh, pretty girl. Make a mess for me.”

And just like that, any delusion you might’ve had that you were capable of turning him down, was flushed down the drain. “What?” You asked breathlessly. In that moment, he could’ve demanded you kiss his sneakers and you would’ve fluttered your eyelashes at him as you did so.

He gripped your face with a firmness that might’ve made you whimper if you weren’t so shocked. He squeezed your cheeks with one hand, forcing your lips into a teasing pout. “Rub that pretty pussy on my thigh and make yourself cum.” He wasn’t 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 you’d been rubbing. “Suck on my fingers and keep those pretty eyes open. Look at me, baby.” His fingers that weren’t 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. “You are fucking beautiful. Let me see those pretty tits.”

There wasn’t 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. “I could cum just by looking at them, pretty girl.”

You removed his fingers from your mouth. “Call me that again,” Your voice was soft, breathless, and laced with a vulnerability he’d never heard from you before. “Please.” Desperate. Needy.

The arrogant smirk on his pink lips was annoying and you wanted to sit on his face so you wouldn’t have to see it. “Aw, you like being called my pretty girl?” There wasn’t 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. “I thought you hated me? But look at you, drooling for my cock.”

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 didn’t hurt, it never did, but it did get a message across. “Let me hear those pathetic sounds. You’re fucking crazy if you think I’m gonna let you not make any noise.” 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. “I’ve been wanting this for years so fucking moan and say my name.”

“O-Oh, my fucking God, this feels so fucking good.” You wrapped your arms around his neck, quickening your pace. Your facade of disgust and hatred disappeared. “Fuck yes, Eddie!” His hands gripped your waist, fingers dipping into the skin of your ass, and he pushed you down harder against him. “Just like that. Just like that.”

His warm and erratic breaths brushed against your jaw. The softness of his lips kissing and sucking as he moaned against your skin. “Come on, baby, make me cum. You can do it, just keep rubbing that pussy on me. Give it to me.”

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. “Look at me when you cum.” 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.

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 would’ve heard the thumping beneath his chest. “You’ve ruined me for anyone else,” 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 him—a devastation he craved, needed like the blood coursing through his veins. He would’ve bruised his knees worshipping the floor you stepped on. You had undoubtedly ruined him and he couldn’t 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 couldn’t breathe. You were kissing him, drunk from your orgasm, bare skin against his thick cock, and he couldn’t think. He couldn’t move. He didn’t move. He didn’t 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 he’s 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 couldn’t because he swore he could almost still taste you. Outside, inside the community and neighborhoods of Hawkins, no one would’ve guessed Hawkin’s It-Girl kissed him, your sweet perfume entangled with his cheap cologne. That’s something nobody could’ve 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 you’d 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. “I’m sorry I kissed you.” You stood from him and straightened your clothes, readjusting them. “Let’s just forget about it.”

And you were out the door before he could explain that he literally couldn’t talk or function because his dream girl made him cum so hard he was seeing stars.

Shit.

Taglist — @eddiesguitarskills @twihard08 @twilight-love-nochu-main @names-were-taken @definitelynotecho @sidthedollface2

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fics #eddie munson stranger things #eddie munson #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson oneshot #eddie munson series #eddie munson self insert #eddie munson x female character #eddie munson x female reader smut #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x fem!reader

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divineecelestial · 11 months

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It's not that I like it, i love it so so much.

I didn’t think i would have liked it, but I guess it's just my cup of tea

(Sry if my English is bad)

Don’t apologize for your English! I completely understand what you’re saying :) I’m 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! 💖💖

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divineecelestial · 11 months

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Pretty girl is sooo good

Stop this is so sweet! Thank you so much 🥰 I’m so happy you enjoyed it! Stay tuned for more parts :)

#anon ask #anonymous #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x reader #eddie x reader #eddie munson stranger things

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divineecelestial · 11 months

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Pretty Girl — Eddie Munson x fem!Reader

Summary — 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 — 1.4k

Warnings — 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 wasn’t 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.

The smoothness of your thighs was peeking beneath the floral fabric of your dress, crossed and occasionally bouncing. When you weren’t 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 didn’t respond to the gesture. It wasn’t anything you weren’t used to.

The dynamic between the both of you was complicated. Well, for you it was. For him, there wasn’t anything that could’ve 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 didn’t matter what you did, he was always there with some snarky remarks. And he liked you.

That’s how it started anyway.

Because when high school came, and the wave of teenage hormones as well, he didn’t 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 didn’t care if you were mean to him and called him names. Truth be told, he might’ve liked that more than he thought was possible. But you could’ve slapped and kicked him and he wouldn’t 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 didn’t like him. Disliking him was easy and simple. You had been doing that for years. But things were changing and you couldn’t explain why. Well, that wasn’t the truth. You did know why.

Two weeks ago, and you knew this because you couldn’t think of anything else other than that particular night. Your car wasn’t working and you weren’t 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 didn’t expect Eddie to answer.

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.

And now you were stuck with him as his partner.

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. “Are you serious?” You sneered barely above a whisper. His amused eyes merely traveled to his hardening bulge. “Stop that.”

“I can’t help it.” His voice was breathless, wisp-like. “You’re so pretty.” 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 wasn’t anyone around to notice him. “If you keep looking at me like that, I can probably finish like this.”

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 couldn’t think of anything other than the taste of yourself mixed with him. “Yeah, I can definitely finish like this.”

Your nose scrunched as you watched his movements intently. “You’re a pervert.” Your voice, however, didn’t match your words. Because you couldn’t even understand the wetness dampening your underwear. You didn’t 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 couldn’t wait until he got home. But you obviously couldn’t tell him that because you weren’t 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. “If you’re going to make yourself come, do it fast. We have a deadline.” Those words weren’t 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 wasn’t 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. “Hurry. I don’t have all day.” 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.

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 couldn’t 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 couldn’t contain the pathetic whimper escaping his blushing lips. “You’re so pretty. So pretty. My pretty girl.”

He was mumbling, pussy-drunk from only the view of your clothed one. “Come on, let me see those pretty eyes.” Pretty, pretty, pretty. “Look at me when I come for you. Y-Yeah, just like that. That’s so good.” You teasingly looked away from your book and looked at him and you would’ve thought you handed a starving man a full-course meal from the way he crumbled beneath your gaze. “Fuck, you can’t be real.”

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 who’s 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. “I’ve gotta go. Same time tomorrow?”

Yeah, things were definitely different now.

#eddie munson smut #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson stranger things #eddie munson x you #eddie munson oneshot #eddie munson imagine #eddie munsonxreader #eddie munson series #eddie munson fics #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson fem!reader #eddie munson fandom

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divineecelestial · 1 year

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writers will be like "here's my current wip! can't wait to share more :)" and then you never hear about it again

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divineecelestial · 1 year

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Bloodied Hands — Frank Castle x Fem!Reader

Summary — 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 — 24k (yeah, you read that right. Sorry.)

Warnings — 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 — 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 everyone’s misdeeds. Some stalked the shadows for an opportunity to yank on someone’s 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.

[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 Attorney’s office was much easier than she initially thought it would’ve 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 wasn’t going to speak with Samantha Reyes regarding Frank Castle. She predicted their dismissal and wasn’t 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 wasn’t 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 DA’s office and her personal assistant’s office.

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; ‘Frank Castle’.

There wasn’t 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 couldn’t believe one man was managing these crimes. At the bottom of the file was a large x-ray of Castle’s skull and brain with a bullet lodged inside. She could hear her father’s voice in the depths of her mind.

[Y/N], this wasn’t a suicide attempt. He would’ve been dead. Someone else did this and wasn’t 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 wasn’t 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.

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.

[Y/N] glanced around, smelling the wilted flowers on the sidewalk as she neared the porch of Frank Castle’s house. There was an American flag swaying gently with the wind and an empty mailbox that wasn’t 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 weren’t 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.

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 wasn’t 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 didn’t 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. “What are you doing here,” [Y/N]’s 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. “Are you trying to let everyone in this neighborhood know we’re here?”

Karen thought for a second. If this woman were going to harm her, she would’ve brought that polished blade to the vein of her neck. She wouldn’t have taken away her upper hand and alerted Karen of her presence. “Who are you?” The question, although simple, was stupid. The yellow beam of light illuminated the high points of the woman’s 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.

[Y/N]’s eyes narrowed as she inched forward. “I don’t suppose you’ll answer first,” 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 didn’t want to use her knife, she didn’t want to go home and scrub the crimson stains from beneath her fingernails and clothes, she didn’t 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 wasn’t heating properly. “If you reach for that, you’re going to make this unnecessarily difficult.” [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. “Appears that I’m not the only one looking for Frank Castle.”

Karen swallowed the lump lodged in her throat. “I guess not,” She muttered, blinking the frustrated tears away. She wasn’t going to cry, especially in front of this woman who she didn’t even know wasn’t 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. “What are you doing here?”

[Y/N] glanced around, noticing the disarray of children’s shoes and toys. “Same reason you are,” She said, raising a perfectly shaped eyebrow as Karen wiped the handle of the flashlight with a wipe. “Looking for something, anything, about Frank Castle that will make sense.” [Y/N] pushed past Karen’s 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 children’s 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 shouldn’t be here, she was quite literally the darkness of this room. This was wrong.

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 shouldn’t 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 father’s clothes and her mother’s files. She would’ve 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 didn’t seem like him, but she also didn’t seem like a woman who bloodied her fists either.

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 Castle’s 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.

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 didn’t 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] didn’t 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 people’s elbows as she neared the double doors. “Are you press,” A nurse questioned as two men attempted to walk inside.

[Y/N] smiled dazzlingly. “Attorney, actually.” With one hand, she flipped open the badge. The police officer’s 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 couldn’t see her, but she felt his gaze go through her facade. She turned away.

“[Y/N] [L/N],” The sound of her name cutting through the clamor of the crowd wasn’t something she was expecting. With a cool casualness, she whirled on her heel and feigned an expression of enthusiasm. She didn’t need to search through much of the media to discover the name of the woman rummaging inside Frank Castle’s 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. “Didn’t think I’d run into you here.”

Karen’s 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 wasn’t 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. “Karen Page,” She said, the softness of her voice brought the other man’s attention to her. “How unexpected.” The sound of her name falling from those rosy lips startled her. Karen’s knowing smile faltered. She felt stupid for thinking she could have the upper hand with this interaction.

With an uncomfortable chuckle, Foggy inched forward, extending a sweaty hand to her. [Y/N]’s gaze remained fixated on Karen and, although magnetizing, was also unsettling. “Foggy Nelson,” He introduced with a kind smile. “And this is my partner Matt Murdock and seems like you already know Karen.” [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. “Lovely to meet you,” 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 partner’s side. Foggy cleared his throat.

[Y/N] didn’t 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 elevator’s 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 Foggy’s throat. The elevator dinged and she didn’t waste a moment stepping outside.

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. “What the hell are you three doing here?” The only man wearing a tailored suit exclaimed, exasperation evident on his face.

“Brett,” Foggy replied, “You’re wearing a tie and it’s not a clip-on.”

The officer, Brett, stopped across from them, releasing a heavy sigh. “It’s not a good time, Foggy.”

Unbothered, Foggy continued. “How’d you get babysitting duty, Sergeant?”

Brett pointed at the badge dangling from his neck. “A detective sergeant now.” Despite himself, he smiled. “Top dogs like the press of a good collar.”

“And the cops that get them.”

[Y/N] peeked over his shoulder. “I’m sorry, but the area is restricted beyond this point. You can’t be here.” 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. “And if we have possible business with Frank Castle?” 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 sergeant’s holster and unleash a wave of blood, and could open the door and see him.

Brett furrowed his eyebrows together, resting his hands on his hips. “Business?” He asked, “The guy’s barely conscious.”

Matt cocked his head to the side as he smelled the adrenaline spike. “Our firm wants to represent him,” He didn’t acknowledge the woman beside him. He would ask Karen later.

“The man’s already got a lawyer.”

[Y/N] sighed. “As 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,” She removed her coat, offering the high-priced cloth to the officer beside her. Without a word, he accepted her briefcase. “I suspect he’ll cooperate when we explain we’re trying to keep him alive.”

Their belongings were thoroughly searched, every crevice was ransacked and anything deemed a possible weapon was removed from them. “Do not give Castle anything. Do not take anything from him,” The sergeant stopped across from the door, his hand around the doorknob. “Everything’s been removed from inside the room. He’s 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.”

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 Matt’s, 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. “Frank Castle,” Matt said, his voice low and collected. His eyes fluttered open. “My name is Matthew Murdock. These are my associates Franklin Nelson and Karen Page.”

Frank Castle's harsh gaze hardened as he breathed heavily. “I know who you are,” His voice was brusque, rough, and coated with fiery anger. “You protect shitbags.” His light brown eyes glared into the redness of Matt’s glasses. [Y/N] remained beside the door, hidden from view as she calmed her breathing. She wasn’t 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 didn’t want to know what was going to stare right back at her.

“We came here to make an offer,” Matt said, “We don’t want money for our services, we’re not interested in fame or free advertising. We weren’t even assigned to your case. We don’t have to be here. But if you take a quick look around, you’ll notice we’re the only ones who are. As you may well know, your list of enemies extends well beyond the gangs you’ve killed,” Matt inhaled deeply. “You’re 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.”

Foggy stood far from Frank Castle, nearly across the room. “And a shoot-to-kill just a few days ago.”

“These orders were issued by the District Attorney and the fact that she’s had it in for us ever since we started asking questions tells us we’re on the right track. Someone in the DA’s office wants you dead, Mr. Castle and we’d like to know why. You let us take your case, we can soften your sentence, and give you a shot. Maybe even find out who’s responsible for what happened to you. We’re talking about life, Mr. Castle. We can help you keep what’s left of it.”

[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 couldn’t 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.

[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 couldn’t remove his gaze from her, transfixed with the woman who didn’t 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. “You need answers, so do I.” 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. “We aren’t going to get these answers if you’re dead.” 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.

“Where did you get that?” 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 wasn’t proud of, but this was desperation she didn't think she would ever come to.

She lowered the photograph and blinked. “From your home.”

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. “You were in my home,” The question was barely a whisper. “Why were you in my house?”

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. “Someone is lying about what happened to your family,” His eyes burned into her as the doorknob rattled. “And I am going to find out who and why.” The way the words scorched through him, he knew she wouldn’t let anything stop her.

Samantha Reyes stormed inside the room with fury radiating from her. “All of you out now!” As the door slammed against the wall, [Y/N]’s 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. “Castle doesn’t want the public defender,” Brett said, and her composure rattled through her. “Says Nelson and Murdock are his lawyers now.”

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 couldn’t 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.

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. “Frank Castle wants to speak with you alone.” She emphasized the last word and [Y/N] wondered if she was trying to frighten her from walking inside that room. If she hadn’t seen and experienced the horrors she had, [Y/N] might’ve cowered away and pretended this was nothing but a night terror.

With a firm nod, she pushed herself away from the mirror and didn’t 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. “My family,” He said as soon as the door was locked, “What do you know?”

[Y/N] stared back and he was somewhat shocked that her gaze didn’t falter. She opened her briefcase and plucked one of the papers, raising it for him to see. “Have you seen this,” She asked, “It’s a police report, complaint number 211974. It says, ‘Victims 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.’”

She stopped reading the passage, looking at him through her thick-rimmed lashes. Frank appeared shocked. He shook his head softly. “That’s horseshit.”

[Y/N] loomed forward, the end of the bed pressing into her lower abdomen as she placed the stack of paper on the blankets. “Obviously,” She said, “It took a lot of reading of old articles, but I know you and your family were at the carousel. With the three gangs involved, I’m assuming there was some firefight and there were unreported casualties.” She didn’t hesitate to pull the small black chair to his bedside. She leaned forward and there was a delicate softness in her eyes, something he didn’t even realize he missed seeing when someone looked at him. “Is there anything you can remember?”

He glanced away. “This ain’t about what I remember.”

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. “I know this isn’t easy and I know even trying to remember what happened hurts, but this will help us put these scattered pieces together.”

Frank’s eyes fluttered around the room as he scoured through his mind as he muttered incoherently. “It goes in and out. The fact that it fades…” He trailed off. [Y/N] didn’t speak and he appreciated that she hadn’t rushed him. “We 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.” His eyebrows furrowed together and his voice was wrapped with grief. “I didn’t see anyone, but I found out later. The cartel. Irish. Bikers.” His words trailed into softness. “I should have seen it coming.”

[Y/N] shook her head. “There was no way you could have known.”

“I heard it,” Frank said, “I heard it and I didn’t do anything. My job was to keep them safe and I didn’t.”

There was nothing said and [Y/N] looked down at the faux leather of her knee-high platforms. “I am going to tell you what I wish someone would’ve told me when my family was murdered,” She hesitantly reached forward, grabbing his bruised and scabbing hand. “This 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 didn’t. And the sooner we accept this, the sooner we can heal. Do not kill yourself over the ‘what-ifs’. And you do what you need to do to take that step and if it’s brutally murdering everyone involved, do it. Don’t listen to anyone that says revenge won’t change anything or make you feel better. It’s bullshit, it will make you feel better. So, fuck them, Frank Castle, and heal.”

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 ‘thank you’ 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. “I only hurt people that deserve it,” 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. “I wanted you to know that.”

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 wasn’t 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. “You’re not a lawyer, are you?” He asked, somewhat amused.

The warmth of her expression didn’t dwindle as she crossed her leg over her knee and loosened, resting against the cushioned chair. “What gave me away?” She asked lightly.

Frank glimpsed at the small and smooth hand visible on her knee. “Your knuckles are bruised and you tried covering them with makeup,” She raised an eyebrow but didn’t 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. “You don’t act like how a lawyer is supposed to act and I’ve never seen a lawyer wear high heels like that to try and sweet-talk a client.” Her smile widened and she chuckled breathlessly. “And when I look at you, it’s like looking at myself. You’re angry, aren’t you?”

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. “They’re pumps.” She murmured. His eyebrows pinched together with confusion. “They’re not high heels, they’re pumps.” She didn’t care about the difference, not really. She thought of admitting the truth, telling him that she wasn’t 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. “Same shit,” Now, she rolled her eyes. He might’ve been a bloodthirsty man, but still a man nonetheless. “Why are you here playing dress-up?”

“You knew my father and now he’s dead,” 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. “You gonna try and kill me, lady?”

She sighed heavily. “Quite the opposite.” Her honeyed voice was thick with admittance. “I’m here to keep you alive.”

“Why would—”

She raised her palm, dismissing his words. “You didn’t kill him if that’s what you’re thinking. Someone else did, just like your family. As I said, I’m going to find out who.” She couldn’t guarantee a variety of things; she couldn’t guarantee she wasn’t growing fond of the taste of blood splashing across her tongue and she couldn’t 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. “You knew him, he talked about you sometimes. He said you were a pain in his ass, almost as bad as me.” She laughed and Frank Castle swore the melody coursed through him like warm sunshine. “Stitched you up more times than he could count.”

He thought and there he was—young 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 wouldn’t flinch at the grisly sights dragged into his station. He would narrow his eyes and scrub his hands with vodka if he didn’t have enough time. [Y/L/N]’s 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, ‘She’s too pretty for her own good, Frank. Breaks too many hearts.’ His breathing hitched. “You’re [Y/N],” The realization rippled across his nerves and he couldn’t believe Dr. [Y/L/N]’s 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.

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 didn’t know was dead until that unfortunate moment. “We can talk some other time—”

Frank snapped from his thoughts. “Stay. Please.” 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 couldn’t step inside. “I guess I worry that the memories are just gonna go away. You were in my house and—” He stopped and there was rushing shame inside him.

[Y/N] closed her eyes and sighed. “You never went back.” Her words weren’t 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 couldn’t pretend the house wasn’t swallowing every moment she breathed in there.

“Can I just ask you—” He swallowed the jumbled words. “Were you in the kitchen?” [Y/N] nodded and didn’t utter a word. “Were the plates on the table or did they get to the sink?”

She opened her mouth before closing it, furrowing her eyebrows together as she tried to remember the blurred details of that night. “Some were on the table and some were washed and on the rack.”

“Did you go into the next room? Did you see that piano that was there,” She nodded wordlessly. “My son Frank Jr. used to grab a handful of cookies and take ‘em and hide ‘em in that bench. He’d play soldier. Guard it, protect it. Then he’d fall asleep down there.” Frank didn’t even resemble the man featured in every media outlet. This man who remembered the flavor of his son’s cookie crumbs wasn’t the Punisher. He was Frank Castle, a marine and loving husband and father. She couldn’t contain the laughter bubbling and leaned forward, eyes bright as she listened. “We’d find him sleeping on a pile of cookie crumbs.”

Those full lips of hers rose. “When I was younger, I used to take my dad’s medical supplies and stitch a bunch of horrible stitches on my stuffed animals, pretending I was a doctor saving lives.” 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. “And in those moments, I wasn’t 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.”

She shook her head, dismissing the memories as if they were a pesky fly. “Your children’s rooms were covered with colorful drawings and dozens of sports trophies.”

The words stung. “I was gone a lot, so I missed all that.”

“And there were toys everywhere. Almost had me tripping up those stairs with all those plastic dinosaurs.”

He chuckled and the unfamiliar sound rang through the room. “Those were my little girls’. Those were Lisa’s. When she was little, she used to make these little noises when she played with them.”

The corners of her mouth curved into a simper. “That little remote-controlled jeep reminded me of those old dinosaur movies.”

Frank grinned as the memories resurfaced. “Yeah, that was Frank Jr.'s. I got that for him for his seventh birthday. He drove me crazy with that thing.”

[Y/N] glanced at the darkness of her shoes and unfolded the photograph. “I know they loved you, Frank.” She whispered, placing the paper between his restrained hand. Her hand rested there for a moment, squeezing reassuringly. “That’s something you can’t ever forget.” He hesitated as if the picture burned him, but his grasp tightened eventually.

“Thank you, [Y/N].” Her name dancing across his tongue was barely familiar, merely a distant memory.

She peered at him through her thick lashes. “And thank you.” She motioned over her shoulder. “They’re going to ask you a million questions, do everything they can to get you off the death penalty, and it’s 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.” She stood and gathered her papers, closing her briefcase. “But I’m hoping you choose to fight for the truth.”

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. “Hello,” She said aloud, wiping the surrounding area of her nail with a remover.

The person didn’t speak and she opened her mouth to repeat the greeting but Karen’s voice cut through the silence. “[Y/N],” She paused and lowered the brush. A surge of seething annoyance flared through her veins as Karen’s voice rattled her speaker again.

Closing her polish, she blew a gentle breath on her nails. “Karen Page, you are certainly testing my patience.” The night at Frank Castle’s 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.

“I didn’t want to call you, but I had to. We tried talking to Frank Castle and he refused to talk. I’m sure you know he plead ‘not guilty’ because of whatever you told him.” The exasperation and crippling frustration wavered in Karen’s voice and she couldn’t refrain from releasing an amused chuckle. “The only way he’ll talk is if it’s with you.” She didn’t utter a word as she continued to casually blow her nails. “[Y/N]?” She repeated impatiently.

With a final blow, [Y/N] extended her hand outward, examining her work. “I heard you, just giving you some time to process that you’re asking me for a favor, therefore, you will owe me.”

Karen exhaled a shaky, yet annoyed, sigh. “I am aware of that, yes.” 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. “Lovely,” She stood from the cushions of her couch, her bare feet flinching against the coldness of her marble floor. “See you in fifteen minutes, sweetheart.”

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 must’ve 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. “What are you doing?” He sneered. He was close, voice barely above a harsh whisper and she could smell his cheap cologne.

He couldn’t 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. “I’m here to speak with Frank Castle,” [Y/N] spoke smoothly, unbothered by the abrasiveness of his question. Matt listened and there wasn’t even a flutter in her heartbeat.

Matt gritted his teeth. “He pleaded not guilty.”

With a taunting tilt of her head, she quirked an eyebrow. “How unfortunate for you, I assume?”

He was struggling to remain composed. “He initially agreed to plead guilty. This is going to trial because of whatever it was you told him.”

She rolled her eyes and sashayed onward. “God forbid the lawyers actually do their job.”

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. “I looked you up,” He whispered, leaning close to her ear. “There aren’t any [Y/N] [Y/L/N]’s working with any attorneys or prosecutors in New York.”

Disinterested, she jerked her arm, and Matt was taken aback by her spike in strength. “I could’ve spared you some time and told you that myself.” She said, “But I’ve been informed he’s 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.” 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 would’ve 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.

Frank convinced himself the sedatives blended with a possible concussion mustered this image of a woman forged in a lab; someone couldn’t be that pretty, but here she was. “I would lose my mind if I was stuck wearing an orange jumpsuit.” 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. “Something tells me you would make it work.”

She chuckled and opened the organized file. “Of course, I would,” 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. “They’ve 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.” She read from the paper and fiddled with the pen, twisting and swirling it around her fingers.

Frank brought his eyebrows together in confusion. “What’s that got to do with anything?

She peered at him through her lashes. “How should I know, I’m not a lawyer,” His mouth twitched. “Oh, it’s circled and underlined here saying it’s a character witness. They want to put someone on the stand who knows you well and can speak about what you’ve been through.” She chuckled, which sounded more like a huff from her nose, and flipped through the pages. “They really dumbed it down for me, huh?”

There was a flash of anger in his eyes. “They’re going for PTSD, aren’t they?”

She scanned the columns of words, arrows that showed definitions, and simpler terms. “Seems so since that’s also circled and underlined.”

Frank shook his head assertively. “You write down that they’re not gonna do that. It’s an insult,” He rubbed his finger and thumb together. “It’s 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 that’ll appeal to some shitbag jury in some shitbag court.” Frank was nearly fuming at the accusation, the idea of sitting in a courthouse and hearing them disrespectfully throw around the word ‘PTSD’. “It wasn’t on a battlefield. That’s not when my life went to shit.” [Y/N] neatly wrote every word, making sure to circle and underline every curse word that Frank sneered. “Now, doll, I believe that you told me that you were going to find me answers. That’s what you said to me. Do you have anything for me or not?”

Her hand froze and she narrowed her eyes. Lifting her gaze from the cursive on the paper, she straightened her back. “Oh, I’m sorry, let me pull some answers right out of my asshole for you, Frank.” She didn’t 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. “It’s not that easy—”

“That what you want? You want things to be easy?”

She rolled her eyes, something she found herself doing basically every minute of every day now. “Get over yourself. I’m 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 I’ve been doing nothing but twirling my hair?” Frank didn’t think unfiltered anger could be so mesmerizing. “So, do us both a favor and give me a goddamn character witness and cooperate so you don’t rot in a prison cell.”

He didn’t speak but watched the way her eyes burned with raging embers and the way her hair gleamed in the interrogation room lighting.

For that moment, he was done for.

“Colonel Ray Schoonover. My old CO.” She nodded and took a breath, writing the name down. “Forget the PTSD defense, but if they want a character witness, the Colonel, he will do.” Her hand moved quickly and Frank wondered how someone could write so many loops so quickly. “Now, do you have anything for me or not? Or should I go back to rotting in my prison cell?” His voice softened and there was even amusement laced in his words. She chuckled lightly and shook her head, barely noticeable.

“So dramatic,” She muttered beneath her breath. “I did find something.” She pulled a stack of papers from her briefcase.

“I’ve already been over all those a hundred times.” He said once he caught a clear glimpse of the words.

She smirked. “Not with me, you haven’t.” Frank didn’t know how to respond to that. “The medical examiner’s report was done by Dr. Gregory Tepper. As I’m sure you know, he is the Chief Medical Examiner and he’s testifying for Reyes in two days. His report says your family was killed by a single gunshot wound, and correct me if I’m wrong, a gang war doesn’t kill a family caught in the crossfire with just a single gunshot.”

Frank’s 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 wasn’t 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. “Do you think it’s going to get easier,” She muttered under her breath. Her hand continued moving across the legal pad, but he could see her thoughts were scattered across the room. “The grieving and the nightmares and the anger?”

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 wouldn’t do that to her. He didn’t think this wretched agony was ever going to fade and there wasn’t a single moment he thought it was. This was etched into every crevice of his damaged soul. “No, I don’t think it does.” The harsh admission made her pause and she raised her chin. “But I think we’ll learn to adapt and live with it.”

Wistfulness colored her expression and she nodded, hardly perceptible. “It’s the only thing we can do.”

The courtroom was overflowing with journalists and the bright lights of their cameras. [Y/N] glared at the emptiness of the bench and she couldn’t 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 Batzer’s 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 wasn’t anything she wanted to do more than smash Samantha Reyes' pointy nose onto the polished wooden table until the wood splintered.

Across the courtroom, the door squeaked open. “All rise,” A man declared and [Y/N] forced herself to stand, “Court is now in session. The honorable Judge Cynthia Batzer presiding indictment number 1986-4447, The People v. Frank Castle.” An unwavering silence filled the room and she swore she could’ve heard a needle drop.

Batzer perched herself on her cushioned chair. “Be seated,” In unison, everyone plopped back down on their seats. “Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, the defendant has been indicted for several serious crimes. But I’m 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?”

Samantha Reyes stood with assurance. “More than ready, Your Honor.” She moved around the desk, exposing her self-asurred expression to the jury. “Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, Frank Castle brutally tortured and murdered 30 people,” She peered over her shoulder, glaring daggers at the handcuffed Frank. “30 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 defendant’s 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 isn’t 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.” With a sneer, she analyzed him with such fuming hatred. “This man is no hero. He’s a serial killer. And he is guilty.” 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 didn’t appear fazed by the blatant disrespect spat at him. “Mr. Nelson, are you prepared to make your opening statement?” She could see his hands trembling as he shifted through his index cards. “Mr. Nelson, are you reserving the right to make your statement at a later time?” He didn’t answer, merely glanced over at the murmuring crowd of witnesses and juries.

Distressed, his chair squeaked as he stood. “No, Your Honor, the defense is ready to proceed.” [Y/N] sighed as she ultimately came to the conclusion Frank Castle was monumentally screwed as Foggy flipped through his cards. “Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, the defendant, Frank Castle, is not—Sorry.” She pinched the bridge of her nose and sunk further into her chair. “Mr. Castle is as much a victim…” He trailed off before tossing his cards onto the table. “Okay, you’re 19, standing in hot sand, sun burning down, there’s noise, yelling, gunfire. The only thing you know for sure is that you’re 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 doesn’t 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 isn’t about vigilantes. It’s about the failure of the justice system and how one man is being used as a pawn to cover up that system’s 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 I’m asking of you today is to keep an open mind. That’s all, Your Honor.”

“Colonel Ray Schoonover, United States Marine Corps.” 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.

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 wasn’t there yesterday. The acceptance brought from the people of the courtroom brought a newfound confidence to him. “Colonel, how long have you known the defendant?”

Colonel Schoonover was a frighteningly grave man. There wasn’t a flicker of emotion in those empty eyes. “I’d say, the better part of a decade. Most of his career in the Marine Corps.”

“So you’re familiar with his service in the Middle East?” Foggy asked, “Afghanistan, Pakistan, Iran?”

Schoonover nodded only once. “Yes, very familiar.”

“I wonder if you could tell us how Lieutenant Frank Castle won the Navy Cross?” Frank's eyes glossed over at the mention of the medal as if the polished metal wasn’t of any importance to him anymore.

Schoonover took a slow breath. “Due to the nature of that mission, you’ll have to understand that precise circumstances are classified.” He recited the words as if he had said them a million times.

Foggy paused. “How about the parts that are not?”

“Lieutenant 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 ‘no’.” He said, “Maybe he wanted more medals on his chest. Doesn’t 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 Frank’s team had to come to them. Frank went to the LZ all by himself to draw the bastards away.”

“Why didn’t he order one of his men to do it,” Foggy asked, “Certainly could have.”

Colonel Schoonover shook his head, pressing his lips into a thin line. “Wasn’t his style,” 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. “So 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, ‘That’s it. Frank’s dead. We’re next.’ 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.”

“How?”

The Colonel shrugged as if the answer were blatantly obvious, which it was. “By being Frank Castle.” Her colorless eyes flickered from the golden shine of The Colonel’s medals to the fading bruises on Frank’s cheek, listening to the narration keenly. . She tried seeing Frank with a beaming smile as his fellow recruits' hopeless eyes teared with relief.

“And his men survived?”

“All of ‘em. Including the idiot officer that got ‘em trapped in the first place.”

Frank didn’t seem pleased by the sudden positive reaction he was receiving from the jury. “If you had to sum up Frank Castle, how would you do it?”

“I would say Frank Castle is a man who would gladly give his life to keep others safe.”

“And the crimes he’s accused of today?” Frank could feel everyone’s eyes burning into him, but he could easily distinguish hers. He refrained from meeting her gaze. “Could the man you knew have committed them?”

The Colonel didn’t miss a beat. “Absolutely not.” He said firmly. “Lieutenant Frank Castle that I know is a hero. A man who deserves our respect and our gratitude.” And as Schoonover glanced at him from across the courtroom, there was a flash of grief. “Not the same man.”

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. “I’d 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?” There was nothing sincere about the way she spoke. “He 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?” And just like that, any form of false gratitude she was pretending to have was entirely gone.

“Perhaps I wasn’t clear,” Ray Schoonover said, “I was there, ma’am. That officer that didn’t listen to Frank, got his men trapped, you’re looking at him.” [Y/N] tried to muffle the sounds of her threatening laughter by covering her mouth, but the sounds slipped. Reyes’ assistant glared from his chair. “And 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, he’d have a Medal of Honor hanging around his neck.”

There was something so incredibly satisfying to watch Samantha Reyes’ hand clench by her sides until her knuckles blanched. “No further questions at this time, Your Honor.”

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 Castle’s skull. “The bullet penetrated Mr. Castle’s 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.” [Y/N] watched the projector and followed the red laser. She didn’t have to be a licensed doctor to see the bullet stuck between the folds of his brain.

Foggy gestured to the projector. “I believe what my expert witness is trying to convey is that my client, Frank Castle, was shot, point-blank, execution-style, in the head.” Reyes fiddled with her pen as the words echoed through the room. “Could you please describe the damage Mr. Castle sustained from the bullet?”

“It fragmented on impact, causing damage in both the right frontal lobe and temporal lobe of his brain.” Dr. Lee explained, “Mr. Castle is suffering from what we call a ‘Sympathetic Storming’. It’s 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.”

“Can you define it for the jury, please?”

“Extreme emotional disturbance. It’s twofold,” From the corner of her eye, [Y/N] could see the displeasure of Frank’s movements. “First, 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.”

Foggy continued to stare at the jury, hoping to rouse some connection with them. “Are you aware that Frank Castle’s 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?” Dr. Lee nodded and announced he was aware. “With that in mind, would you say that Frank Castle’s mental state satisfies the definition of ‘Extreme Emotional Disturbance’?”

Reyes shot from her chair. “Objection, calls for a conclusion!”

Foggy restrained himself from rolling his eyes. “Your 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.” Batzer thought for a second before nodding for him to continue, announcing the overruled decision.

“Personally, I do believe he is suffering from EED, yes.”

“And one who’s suffering from extreme emotional disturbance, is it possible to willfully premeditate a crime?”

“Any infractions would be considered crimes of passion.”

“How many of your patients witnessed their families being brutally murdered right in front of them? Other than Frank Castle?” Dr. Lee confirmed that Frank was the only one. “And so would you say the circumstances surrounding Frank’s mental state are different than those of your other patients? And what exactly would that difference be, in simpler terms?”

“Frank Castle’s been through hell.”

The sound of a chair colliding onto the floor echoed the room. “You killed my dad!” A young boy’s voice tore through the air. A row behind her was a child with pale skin and freckles scattered across his tear-streamed face. “I don’t give a shit what you’ve been through! You killed him!” His eyes were bloodshot, his ginger hair tousled and disheveled. “I saw him in a coffin with holes in him! He was my dad, and now he’s gone!” 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] couldn’t even hear the uptight words that judge was advising the jury.

Minutes passed when the courtroom was advised to leave and she couldn’t 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 didn’t think of buzzing alarms and metal clanking as she ventured further to where the interrogation rooms resided.

The door swung open and the officer stepped aside, his distracted gaze remaining on the softness of [Y/N]’s 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. “A theatrical performance, wasn’t it?”

“I did that, right?” He asked, “That kid, I took his father from him. I did that.” His voice was jagged as gravel as his calloused hands clenched again.

[Y/N] drew her lower lip between her teeth, nodding. “Appears so.” She agreed.

Frank swallowed and she thought that the boy’s words affected him much more than she initially thought. “Was that rough for you in there?”

She pondered on the question. “I’ve seen worse.” Her detached eyes gleamed as the thick rim of lashes fluttered. “Sometimes I think something is wrong with me because I feel nothing when I think of the things I’ve done. Sometimes, at night, I think of the countless times I’ve scrubbed my hands and the blood doesn’t come off. But I don’t feel guilty, I feel ready to do everything all over again.” The words spilled from her and she couldn’t control them from pouring from her. She wasn’t certain why she was telling him this and he was staring at her as if he were thinking the same thought. “I have done some terrible things for my family and I don’t 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, they’re saying them about me and I’m worried because I can’t bring myself to care.”

There was no glossiness in her eyes. He knew the feeling of the gradual numbness that gnawed through him. She wasn’t 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, ‘I see you and I understand.’

He wasn’t a man of many words, but he told her what he needed someone to say to him. “I see you, [Y/N].” Her eyes moved from the chipping of her nail polish to him. “I see you and I get it.” 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.

When she opened her eyes again, there was something brighter within them. She was understood and this restored a fragment of her mural. “They told me they need you to take the stand.” The conversation was over but he could already hear a shift in her voice.

He groaned quietly, exasperated. “Come on, why would I?”

She leaned forward, her elbows propped on the table. “That kid screwed you over. The jury has to know what happened to you, what you go through every single day.” Her fingers were pressed against her temple, resting there. “They were trying to sugar coat it, but this is basically your last shot before it all goes to shit.”

Frank narrowed his eyes. “And what do you think is gonna happen here?” He asked, “We’re not gonna win this thing.”

Her eyes closed softly. “Think that’s pretty obvious, but we can still reduce the charges.” Frank sighed as if this were the most ridiculous thing he’d ever heard. “Don’t give me that. You might not give a shit, but this is important to me. Every single one of those people out there thinks you’re some lunatic monster, but I know you’re not.” 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. “You’re not.”

Frank’s expression softened before hardening. “You sure about that?” He asked. “What if I find these men that did that to my family? What if nothing changes? What if this is just me now?” He looked scared at the thought of his efforts, the blood he spilled, the tears he cried to mean nothing.

“I think you’ll adapt and learn to live with it,” She said softly. “It’s the only thing we can do, remember?” 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 he’d come across.

“What’re you doing?” He gruffly asked.

“Getting an estimate on your measurements for your suit.” She replied casually.

His nose scrunched, the small wrinkles creasing around his eyes. “Hold on, I gotta wear a suit?”

She released a small giggle, the sound was feminine and reminded him of sunshine on a bright summer day.“I didn’t think you’d grown fond of the neon orange,” The lightheartedness seeping from the rosiness of her lips was something he didn’t know he needed. Every day was shrouded with overbearing darkness and just to have a second where he could see the light was gratifying. “Don’t worry, I’ll make sure it’s an expensive one.”

“I didn’t agree to take the stand.”

She clicked her pen and brought her legal pad closer to her. She scribbled something down. “You will,” She crossed her knee over the other. He opened his mouth to protest. “Now, black or dark blue?”

“I’m not wearing a—”

“Stupid question,” She said to herself, scratching away whatever she had written. “Obviously black. I’m thinking no tie.”

Stepping inside the courthouse was crowded, the air was thick with aflutter conversation as she sipped the carton of her warm hot chocolate. She didn’t 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. “Keep walking, [Y/N].” 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. “Castle has agreed to be sentenced to Ryker’s Island. There, he will speak with Mr. Fisk about the information regarding his and your family’s death.” 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. “Once Frank complies with Mr. Fisk’s 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.” With a final nod, he continued onward as if the conversation weren’t filled with threats and illegal plans. She watched him disappear inside the courtroom with an unbothered casualness.

[Y/N] was rarely ever wrong and when she was, she seldom admitted it. This time wasn’t 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. “Think about what you want, Frank.” He didn’t chance him a glance. His eyes glossed over every face in that room until he found her.

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 couldn’t have that.

Matt unraveled his white cane and hesitantly loomed closer to where Frank was seated. “Mr. Castle, you’ve been charged with multiple capital crimes. Been called a killer incapable of empathy or remorse. May I call you Frank?” Frank nodded, barely perceptible as he narrowed his eyes. “Frank, we’ve 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.” 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]. “It’s okay, Frank. I understand it’s difficult.”

His brusque voice tore through the tense air. “Do you?” He asked, “Do you understand? ‘Cause I don’t think you understand shit.”

Matt sighed, folding his cane. “I’d like permission to treat the witness as hostile, Your Honor?” He placed his hands on his waist. “All right, Frank. You don’t want to tell us? I’ll tell you. I’m gonna tell you exactly what kind of man you are. You’re 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 can’t 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.” The people raised their signs and cheered, clapping and whooping reverberating. “The 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. It’s against the law. And he broke that law many, many times. Now, I don’t like him any more than you do, but here’s the thing, he is not a common criminal. He’s not malicious in intent. Frank Castle is actually a good man, he just doesn’t know the difference between right and wrong anymore. And he doesn’t need punishment for that. He needs help. Our help. That’s 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.”Frank took a breath. “Your Honor, can I say something?” He wasn’t going to do this just for himself. He was going to do it for her, too. “You know those people? The ones I put down, the people I killed? I want you to know that I’d do it all again,” The crowd exclaimed with shock. “This is a circus, all right? It’s a charade, it’s an act. It’s bullshit about how crazy I am. I ain’t crazy! I’m not crazy. I know what I did. I know who I am. And I do not need your help. I’m 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! I’m sitting here, I’m just itching to do it again. And you think you’re gonna send me to a nuthouse? Some doctor is gonna get me to stop from doing what I want to do? Well, that ain’t happening! Not on my watch!” [Y/N] watched, open-mouthed, as Frank stood so hard that the chair flew back. “You people call me The Punisher, ain’t that right? The big bad Punisher. Here I am! You want it, you got it! I am The Punisher!” An officer wrapped his baton around Frank’s neck and struggled to remove him from the stand as Frank screamed and bellowed at the crowd and jury.

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 couldn’t hear anything other than the blaring news all day. The district attorney’s 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.

There was a creak across the room, a sound she might’ve dismissed from the flush wine if she hadn’t 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.

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 didn’t know how to feel about the realization. “I have to admit,” She mused, “Orange was not your color.” 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. “I like your hair like that,” He foolishly said, nervously pointing to the darkness of her bundled hair. “You look…pretty.” 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 couldn’t think of something ordinary to say. She simpered and glanced at her reflection across the room before laughing at the sight.

She brought her softened gaze to him and motioned to his clothes. “You clean up nice when you aren’t covered in blood.” He glanced down at the dirtied shoes he found and chuckled airily. When she brought him away from the prison, he didn’t 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 car’s mirror. “Do you need any ice for the bruises?” She asked, pointing to her own eyes and nose. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you without any black eyes.”

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. “Nah, I’m good.” He glanced around the room. The decor was exactly how he’d imagined it would be; sultry and feminine. He felt like a teenager again, like he was slowly walking inside the school’s prettiest girl’s 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, he’d 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. “Someone’s on the rooftop,” He said, his fingers brushing over the mahogany desk. This would have been straightforward if he were by himself. He wouldn’t 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. “Two, actually.” 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. “One for you and one for me, I assume.” 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.

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 couldn’t see anything from Frank’s 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.

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. “You okay,” She frantically nodded and grasped his steady hand. Her wide eyes blinked as the dust in the air stung them. “Come on, [Y/N/N], I gotta hear you say it.” His hands, rough and the cause of mayhem and death, touched her like she was fragile glass.

The nickname was unfamiliar against his tongue but if she didn’t like it, she didn’t 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. “Yeah, I’m okay,” 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 couldn’t think of the broken perfume bottles and holes on her walls, she was distracted from the trickle of blood cascading down his cheek. “Are you okay?” Her eyes moved across his face briskly. She brushed a shard of glass away from his forehead. Her movements were unstable but gentle.

He swallowed away his fogged thoughts. “I’m good, but we’ve gotta go.” He pulled her from the floor with ease, kicking aside the broken pieces of furniture. “Stay low.” 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. Frank’s hand remained pressed against her back, always making sure she was ahead of him. She couldn’t 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.

Messily spraypainted onto the wall was the bolded word ‘Garage’ when they reached the bottom of the complex. She shoved the garage door open, revealing the apartment’s occupants’ 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 driver’s seat and with Frank beside her, she tightly closed her eyes and exhaled heavily. “Gonna take a wild guess and say those are the Blacksmith’s men and you didn’t kill Reyes and Tepper?” Frank glimpsed at the rearview mirror and eased when there wasn’t anyone following them. He nodded wordlessly. “There’s definitely a hit on me now, isn’t there?” His exhausted glance answered her question and she relaxed her head on the headrest, pinching the bridge of her nose.

His eyes softened as she steadied her breathing. He used these brief distracted moments to take in the sight of her. “Last chance to leave and forget about all this,” Frank said, his chest heaving. She opened her eyes and lifted an eyebrow. “You can leave and hide away in some penthouse and be safe, or you can start the car and drive.” 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.

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. “I’m not going anywhere,” 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] wasn’t 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. “I’m not letting you have all the fun.” 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 didn’t 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. “Are you hungry,” He asked, jutting his chin at the bright neon lights of a diner’s sign. Some of the letters were flickering and a few were completely out. She didn’t bother giving him an answer as she parked near the entrance.

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 hadn’t 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 didn’t 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.

[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. “Had to pick the sketchiest part of the neighborhood to stop at, huh?” 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. “Oh, yeah. I’m shaking in my boots.” She opened her eyes, a curve rose on her lips before chuckling. She didn’t think the Frank Castle was capable of making jokes. He gestured for the waitress behind the counter. “Ma’am, can we get a little black coffee over here?” [Y/N] shook her head, muttering that she wanted hot chocolate instead. “And one hot chocolate, thanks.”

She peered outside the windows, watching as the branches swayed with the wind. The streets were emptying as the time passed. “Overheard Reyes saying the Blacksmith is moving uncut narcotics into Manhatten,” She whispered, “I figured with the lack of information about him, he’s working alone. So I eliminated everything except railroads, shipping lines, and trucks.” 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 Frank’s mug and placed a steaming mug of hot chocolate beside [Y/N]’s hand. She smiled and disappeared before she could thank the woman.

Frank cocked his head, a teasing smile rising. “And how’d you ‘overhear’ that?”

[Y/N] blew the steam from her mug. “I’m good at sneaking into places I shouldn’t be at,” That was a severe understatement. She was adept with breaking into high-security places and leaving before an alarm would even detect something was wrong—a mastery she found brought her much discipline when her father was still alive.

He sipped his coffee. “I’m starting to think you’re some kind of secret badass, [Y/N/N].”

With the rim of the chocolate-stained mug against her mouth, she laughed. “Oh, yeah?” She rhetorically questioned. “Could probably easily take you and put you on your ass.”

Frank laughed quietly as if the mere thought was ludicrous. “I guess we’ll have to see about that one day,” He challenged. He gulped down his coffee and licked the remnants from his lips. She didn’t 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. “Who would’ve thought?” 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. “Thought what?” She asked, resting her cheek on the palm of her hand. Her eyes were doe-like and glittering at each word he gruffly said.

“That the princess of New York would be making jokes with the big, bad Punisher.” 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. “I’ve had worse conversations with worse men.” She teased. “Although this is the first time I’ve talked to a man who had the trial of the decade and escaped prison in a day.”

“First time for everything.” She glanced at the veins on his hands as he raised the mug to his lips. “Full of surprises, doll. Here you are, sitting in your underwear drinking hot chocolate with the dude who put shitbags on meathooks.”

Her lashes fluttered as she looked at him. “Wouldn’t have you any other way.” She said the docile words brought a warmth inside him. “And it’s not underwear, it’s a nightgown. You are such a typical guy.” She playfully rolled her eyes.

Frank laughed, a sound that wasn’t shared often but a sound she was beginning to grow fond of. “Nah, doll, I’m not like all those pretty boys you’ve talked to.” There was nothing ‘pretty boy’ about Frank Castle. He was a brusque man who relished the warm feeling of his enemy’s 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 didn’t care if he broke dozens of bones every night. But, here he was, making sure she didn’t burn her tongue on her hot chocolate.

She lifted an eyebrow. “No, you’re right,” She lightheartedly agreed. “You’re the first guy who opened a door for me.” Her cheeks flushed slightly with embarrassment. Undiluted shock colored Frank’s expression and she couldn’t restrain the bubbling laughter as she covered her face with her palms. “And definitely the first time a guy has offered his jacket.”

She giggled at the flash of burning frustration on his face. “[Y/N], you dating douchebags or something? Come on, that’s bullshit.” He couldn’t 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 hadn’t even realized he had mistakenly correlated himself with guys she’s dated.

“Yeah, I was.” Her expression drooped. “Gave up dating for some time after…everything 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.” She looked up at him and the sadness on her face disappeared. “So believe me when I say I’d rather talk to you.” [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 didn’t care if she wasn’t ‘presentable’. 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. “That Buick rolled around the block three times before it finally pulled up,” She tensed as she glanced out the window. Two men slammed their doors closed. “Now, go in the back and get the waitress. Find the cook and find the biggest piece of steel and get under it. Go now.”

She blinked, processing the information. “Who are they?” Were those the men who destroyed her apartment?

“Just some guys who are about to walk into a diner for the last time.” He tore his gaze from the car. She opened her mouth to respond, but he swiftly interrupted her. “You gotta go now. Now, [Y/N/N].” 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 Frank’s jacket, tossing it aside. She couldn’t 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 didn’t 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.

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.

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. “The Blacksmith, where is he?” He interrogated, nearly breathless.

“Screw you.” He brought the gun to the goon’s knee and pressed the trigger. He released a strangled cry as he choked on his own blood.

“Where?” Was all Frank panted.

“Go to hell.” The goon choked. Frank didn’t 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.

Frank pressed the gun to the bottom of his chin. “I want a place.”

The man coughed and a splurge of blood dribbled down his face. “41st Street,” He said through broken teeth. “The pier. I can take you—” 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. “I chipped my nail polish.” She whined with a small pout.

He stared at her incredulously. “What the hell was that?” 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 wasn’t small, but he supposed it was only his fault for mistaking her as delicate.

She dismissed the question with a quick wave of her hand. “I’ll explain in the car.” She stepped over the corpses, grabbed Frank’s jacket, and scrunched her nose as if she stepped on a piece of gum, not two dead men—one 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. “I’ve got spare clothes in the trunk for times like this. Be a doll and grab them for me, please?” 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. “Really,” He asked blandly.

She scrunched her eyebrows and looked down at the clothes. There wasn’t 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. “It was on sale.” 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.

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. “You gonna explain what that was back there?”

She lowered the music from the speaker after a moment. “My dad was a paranoid man,” At the mention of her father, his disarray eased. “You 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.” She watched as the city lights blurred together outside the window. “I didn’t 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.

“I didn’t 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 didn’t even matter. All that mattered was that he was home and he could hold me again. I don’t blame him for losing himself during the war. I can’t even imagine the horrors men like you both would have to see and endure. I love my father and I couldn’t be more proud of him, but there is a small part of me that can’t forgive him for leaving me when I needed him the most.” Her gaze flickered from the smears of the nightlife to him.

He didn’t know how he could respond to the admission. He didn’t think of the wistful yearning from someone else’s perspective before. Of course, he knew his wife and children had missed him, but he didn’t think the longing ache could create unforgiveness or resentment. “I’m sure he understood.”

[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.

She had been aiming for a subtle approach and Frank most certainly wasn’t 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.

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 crate’s 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. “What do we do with this,” She asked. There were enough undiluted drugs to reach a worth of millions and it was unguarded and in her palm.

He looked at the heroin, disinterested. “Burn it.”

The suggestion was absurd, but this was the Blacksmith’s operation and if they burned this entire boat into ashes, the Blacksmith had nothing. At the realization, [Y/N] smiled. “You go find him, I’ll take care of this.” 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 wasn’t going to interfere. This was something Frank needed to do.

A gloved hand covered [Y/N]’s 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 assailant’s 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.

She raised an eyebrow as the blood-red leather gleamed from the moonlight. The Devil of Hell’s Kitchen raised his hands and apprehensively stepped back. “That isn’t the Blacksmith in there,” He said and she could’ve sworn his voice was painfully familiar. “I know you’re trying to help Frank, but listen to me. That isn’t the Blacksmith. Just think about it.”

[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 wasn’t the personnel you handpicked to defend your life and money. Her resolve faltered and she slowly lowered the weapon. “It’s bait,” She mumbled, realization coloring her expression. There was anguish filling her as she realized this was a trap and they eagerly stepped inside. “How could I be so stupid?”

With the weapon lowered and her thoughts distracting her, Daredevil rushed forward and pushed open the metal door where Frank had disappeared minutes before. “Don’t shoot him, Frank!”

Frank’s head lowered with frustration. “For Christ’s sake,” He tightened his hand on the gun and pressed the tip further inside the man’s mouth. “Get outta here, Red.”

“He’s lying, Frank,” Daredevil said through rough breaths. “We’re here for the same reasons, all right? I want the Blacksmith just as much as you, but he’s not him. I know when someone is telling the truth and he’s not.” [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 man’s jacket, peering over his shoulder.

“Bullshit,” He shouted, his throat burning as his finger brushed against the trigger. “Just get out of here!”

“He’s not the man you two came for, Frank.”

Frank was silent for a moment before readjusting himself, pressing the gun deeper into the man’s skin until there was a redness blossoming on his mouth. “Are you lying to me,” Frank screamed and [Y/N] wondered if he was even asking the man anymore.

She hesitantly stepped further, her expression drooping as Frank snapped his head towards her. “Frank,” 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 wasn’t the Blacksmith.

Matt Murdock listened to the falter of Frank Castle’s heartbeat as his watering eyes connected with [Y/N]’s. Interesting.

Frank stood from the floor and removed the drool-covered gun from the imposter’s mouth. “Either way, you die.” Daredevil threw a small hammer at Frank’s hand and the gun was ripped from his grasp, falling across the room. Frank’s nostrils flared as he slammed his heel into the imposter’s jaw before attacking the man in red leather. “You just couldn’t let it be, could you? You just couldn’t let us—” Frank latched his hands onto Daredevil’s shoulders as he launched them both through the doorframe.

Frank landed on Daredevil, immediately punching his masked cheekbones. “When are you gonna learn,” Frank shouted roughly. “Mind your own goddamn business!” Each word seeped through clenched teeth as he repeatedly kicked wherever he could stomp his foot.

Daredevil hurriedly rushed to his feet, panting as blood dribbled down his cheek. “Goddamn it, Frank. I don’t want to fight you.” [Y/N] watched as they stumbled across the boat, their grunts of exhaustion and pain filling the cold air. Daredevil was quick and dodged Frank’s faltering punches, kicking his spleen and knocking him to the floor. “Stay down, Frank.”

[Y/N] didn’t interfere as Daredevil extended his hand and offered Frank a truce, helping him straighten from the floor before Frank shrugged him off. “Just couldn’t let me have it, could you? One second in peace.” 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. “It was right there. You had to sweep in. Do you feel good about yourself? Piece of shit.”

With a sigh, [Y/N] moved and stood against the crate, inches from Frank’s fidgeting form and she could feel the warmth radiating from him. “Oh, come on, Frank,” Daredevil said, “It wouldn’t have been the truth, and you know it. I can’t let you start a war for the wrong reasons.”

“Maybe a war is what I need,” Frank frightfully admitted, “Maybe I need that. These people, they took my children from me. They killed my kids! Don’t you get that?” Frank’s scream tore through the night, his voice cracking as he screamed his reality into Daredevil’s face.

Daredevil kneeled. “Then do right by them! Help me. Work with me to find the man who gave the order.”

Frank looked defeated. “And then what, Red? Are we gonna bring him in for justice? Is that what we’re gonna do? Your way’s bullshit, Red. It doesn’t work. I need him—We need him gone. It’s gotta be permanent. It’s gotta be finished!”

“I understand,” Daredevil said, “You’re right. My way isn’t working. So maybe just this once…” He trailed off and [Y/N] didn’t need to see his concealed expression to know he was frightened and disappointed as he pressed his fingers into himself in a cross. “Maybe your way is what it’s gonna take.”

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. “It’s not going to be just this once,” She said, her voice a ghostly whisper. “If you do this, this is never leaving you and you don’t get to go back to your side of the line. It’s never just once.”

Daredevil stared at her, but it was a distant gaze. His head jerked as a tire screeched from the distance. “I count ten of them, all armed.” She peered around the crate, blinded by the headlights of the speeding cars as they abruptly parked on the pier. Daredevil sniffed. “There’s 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.” Daredevil hurried to the railing of the boat, glancing below at the gentle waters.

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. “That’s Gosnell,” 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. “I used to serve with him and that can only mean one thing, doll.” His thumb caressed her cheek as he pressed his forehead against hers. “Schoonover.” He muttered so quietly she almost didn’t hear him.

She closed her eyes as she relished the feeling of his touch. She was lost within her thoughts and didn’t 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. “Don’t be stupid, we’ll find him together.” 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. “Jump with me, Frank, or I’m staying with you. You don’t have to do this alone.” 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. “I’m sorry,” She opened her mouth to plead with him, or scream at him, she wasn’t 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.

She pushed through the floating debris, warm tears streaming down her cheeks as she searched through the darkness of the water for him. She couldn’t 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 wasn’t going to be able to stay there, the flames were traveling quickly and the explosions would only continue.

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 hadn’t contacted her and her hope was slowly dwindling. She couldn’t 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 didn’t.

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 Castle’s 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 man—the monster—that 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.

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 Schoonover’s 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 family’s blood. He must’ve been because he didn’t appear uncomfortable when he swung open the door. There was the daughter of the man he had brutally murdered and there wasn’t even a noticeable waver in his eyes.

The harshness of her expression softened as his gaze moved across her face. She couldn’t have him discovering her intentions, she needed to have the upper hand. “I was hoping you could talk to me about Frank.” She reluctantly said, wondering if her performance of the grieving daughter searching for solace in a man she barely knew was believable. “I just need to know if he was a good man.”

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. “Castle would call that a good start,” 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. “I know I’m old. My wife calls me cranky. With all the violence these days, the media would have you believe that’s all there is in the world. I’m glad you got to know Frank. The real Frank.”

She forced herself to remove her gaze from the fire. “I’m glad I got to know him, too.” And that was the unfortunate truth. She didn’t want to admit the reality of her emotions, but she was beginning to care for him.

His eyebrows furrowed. “Although I’m confused as to how you grew into contact with him. I wasn’t aware you were a lawyer.”

[Y/N] smiled. “No, a legal assistant.” 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. “You know, you’re probably the only person I’ve met that has said positive things about him. Would you consider him a friend?”

Schoonover smiled politely. “When you’re fighting a war, you don’t really make friends. At least, not if you’re fighting it the right way. I suppose you don’t want to get close to anyone because we’re not all coming back. But at the same time, you have to feel something, don’t you? Otherwise, what are you all fighting for?”

Her head tilted slightly and the false glimmer of naivety disappeared from her eyes as they narrowed. “And do you feel?” 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. “Do you feel anything knowing you’ve murdered innocent families? My family?”

His face turned into jaded awareness, a completely different person from a few minutes prior, and released a bored sigh. “Right into business, I see.” His hand moved underneath a pile of mail, revealing the sleekness of his gun in his hand. “I was hoping it didn’t have to come to this.” 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. “Do you love your wife, Colonel?” And with the question floating in the air, there was a waver from his mask. It was brief, barely a second, but she noticed. “I suppose it doesn’t matter because she’ll be dead if I don’t leave this house alive in an hour. Sooner if you don’t get that fucking gun out of my face.” She sneered and the contempt was obvious on her expression.

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. “How 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.”

“You wouldn’t.”

A curve on her lips rose. “Won’t I?”

He exhaled shakily. “They’re innocent.”

“So was my family.” Her voice was detached, enough to make his blood run cold.

“They’ve got nothing to do with this!” His voice cracked as he shouted. That was the first time she’d 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. “You took my family, I don’t see why I can’t take yours?” 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. “We’re going for a drive.”

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 must’ve been another weapon concealed beneath his clothes and she could’ve removed anything possibly lethal, but the would have eliminated the challenge.

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.

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. “Come on, [Y/N/N],” The gruffness of the voice sparked something deep within her. His thumb caressed her cheekbone, almost fondly, and he gently shook her. “Let me see those pretty eyes.”

She recognized the softness of his voice, the delicacy behind his bloodstained touch, and her eyes fluttered opened. “Frank,” She mumbled, her words were breathless as her weak hand moved to touch him. She grasped onto his arm, steadying her wobbly feet. She couldn’t 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. “You’re…here.” 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. “I couldn’t let you have all the fun.” 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. “Someone’s gonna come pick you up, take you to the hospital. Just get some rest.”

She closed her eyes and listened.

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divineecelestial · 1 year

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hi! i have a small prompt request!

what if eddie left something that’s 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 don’t 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

author’s note: this was supposed to be quick but i got carried away lol, i hope it’s okay!

cw: 18+ (minors dni) slight perv!eddie, reader is good at calling eddie’s 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 didn’t even know him very well—aside 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 wasn’t the cheapest and easily accessible option for drugs, you wouldn’t have batted an eye—regardless of how cute he may have been.

And you’re not blind, you can see it. Eddie’s 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 personality—not 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 didn’t 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. He’s also flustered more than usual, slightly all over the place—and when his spiral notebook falls from his bag at the ring of the final bell dismissing you for the day, he doesn’t hear you calling after him, already long gone.

If it weren’t for the strict practice schedule Chrissy liked to keep, you would have ran straight to the theater room and returned Eddie’s belongings, not even thinking twice about it—and 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 there—shaking 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 —and besides, you could still buy from Eddie that way, not giving him a chance to weasel out that easily.

The walk isn’t bad at first either, the air is warm and calm, the passing cars providing enough light on your walk that it isn’t so terrifying—as often as your parents warned you about going out alone, you couldn’t 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 didn’t help that Eddie was also insanely kind to you, never asking prying questions or judging you—it made him even more attainable in your eyes. But alas, you couldn’t 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 Eddie’s 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 Eddie’s door with a ferocity that could be mistaken for an intruder.

It’s much too late to turn back when Eddie’s uncle answers the door instead of him, turning quickly to realize that Eddie wasn’t 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 skin—a thin top and an even thinner pair of shorts that had you shivering despite the humid, end of summer heat.

“Hey, kid—you didn’t get a ride with my nephew?” Wayne asks through the screen door.

You squint, rain still trickling down your face, though it’s slightly lighter now.

“Yeah, he uh—I needed to return something to him, he doesn’t know I’m here. I thought he would be home by now.” You explain, wiping your face weakly.

“Ah shit—just come inside, kid.” Wayne relents, opening the door. “I’m headed up to the plant but I’m sure he’ll be home soon—probably headed over to Rick’s for a bit.”

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 else—and frankly, you’d like to keep it that way.

“Are you sure?” You ask hesitantly, “I don’t want to intrude, sir.”

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 weren’t for the familiarity you would’ve ran the other direction.

“Of course—you can clean up in the shower if you need to.” He says, motioning behind him with his thumb extended, “I’ll lock up behind me—and if Eddie doesn’t at least give you a ride home in this storm, I’ll give him hell come tomorrow morning.”

You smile warmly, nodding in response. “I think I’ll take you up on the offer,” You tell him, wanting nothing more than to be out of your wet clothes, “hopefully Eddie doesn’t mind lending me some clothes.”

“Can’t see why not.” He says, allowing you inside before slipping past you in silence, “I’ll see you around, kid.”

You smile politely, “You too, Mr. Munson.”

Again, another name he dislikes. But, you couldn’t help it. He understands you probably came from a family that stuck with the propers and addressed people more formally—it’s just another reminder that Eddie didn’t 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 Eddie’s 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 you—having 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 you’re 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 didn’t have anything of yours to put on—clothes 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 Rick’s 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 trailer—not 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 trailer—and that’s when it dawns on Eddie, the shower running in the background.

He takes it all in—shoes, shower, his eyes wander further, scanning for anything else—his eyes land on a bag, soaked and sitting on the kitchen floor, his notebook peeking out of the unzipped zipper.

“What the fuck?” 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 trailer—and 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 he’s standing, dropping the bag on the counter. He can’t decide if he should approach or stay back, but it’s too late to decide before you’re stepping out of the bathroom, towel wrapped tightly around your body, using another to squeeze out the extra water from your hair.

“Sorry, sweetheart,” Eddie’s voice travels, a smirk growing on his face, “but what the hell are you doing in my trailer, alone?”

You panic, having not expected him to be standing in the kitchen when you stepped, hoping you had enough time to shower and get dressed—but unfortunately, this was your reality.

“Jesus, Eddie.” 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. “I—your notebook, you left it in class.”

“What?” Eddie asks dumbfounded.

“Your notebook—you left it.” 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. “I figured it was important so I wanted to get it back to you.”

“Did you look inside it?” Eddie presses, but it wasn’t like you didn’t already know his nerdy tendencies. “And you couldn’t have waited?”

“No—and no.” You tell him, “I 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?”

You step back slightly and Eddie’s eyes follow—you weren’t naive, he was checking you out. You didn’t mind though, despite how awkward the situation was.

“Your uncle let me inside,” You explain, “I walked here and it started pouring, my clothes are soaking wet.”

“And that’s my problem?” Eddie asks meanly, though it comes off as more teasing than anything. Eddie couldn’t be mean to you if he tried.

“Yes,” You challenge, “I need to borrow some clothes.”

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, “Fine, follow me.”

You roll your eyes in annoyance, following closely behind.

“I would have taken them regardless.” You retort quietly and Eddie howls a laugh over his shoulder.

“Sweetheart, I was messing with you.” Eddie responds smugly, “What kind of guy do you take me for?”

“I don’t take you for anything,” You tell him honestly, “I know what people say about you but what does that matter?”

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. He’s suddenly dry in the mouth and at a loss for words, realizing the gravity of the situation—even if it wasn’t that big of a deal.

A naked girl in his house, his bedroom—one that he couldn’t help but have a crush on despite every sign telling him he shouldn’t, and she didn’t hate him. Karma had a hell of a way of working its magic and he couldn’t 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.

“Maybe it’s true,” He shrugs, raising his arm up to let you slip under, walking in front of him and toward his dresser, “top is shirts, bottom is pants—“

You grab a shirt wordlessly, one of Eddie’s Hellfire shirts. He had a few, something that could be noted with a quick glance in his drawer, before you’re pulling out an old pair of cotton sweatpants from the next drawer, tossing them on the bed.

“—is that all,” Eddie asks curiously, leaning against the doorframe, “just a shirt and pants?”

“Everything was soaked, Eddie.” You stressed, eyes glaring at him. “Do you mind?”

“No.” He grins devilishly, not bothering to turn away.

There was no way you were letting him get away with this.

“Fine.” 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.

Eddie’s never been so intimidated in his life. But, he wasn’t giving in that easily.

You pull the sweatpants over your hips and turn to him, eyebrow cocked up intimidatingly. “Enjoy yourself?”

Eddie takes a careful glance at you, stopping on his shirt.

“Actually—do you mind picking something else?” Eddie asks, finger coming up to tug at the sleeve, “This is one of my favorites.”

Your shoulders slump, eyes boring into his, the corners of his lips crinkling as he grinned. “You’re kidding?”

“Dead serious.” 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.

“Hey,” His voice is muffled, grabbing the shirt out of annoyance and balling it up, tossing it somewhere in his room—you couldn’t be bothered to care, pulling the new shirt over your head, “—look, I’m sorry.”

“For?” You ask, arms crossing over your chest as you look at him. “Being annoying? Obnoxious, irritating—“

“Okay, okay—“ Eddie says with a laugh, hoping it stops your relentless attempt to belittle him. “I was joking, I didn’t think you’d, you know…”

“So, you didn’t want me to strip naked in front of you?” You ask teasingly, returning that bite of mean right back at him. “Damn, that sucks.”

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 overstep—not everything that happened just a few seconds prior.

“Sorry,” He says quickly, “I just—I was going to tell you that I don’t have anything to sell. I’m out until next week. But, I can give you a ride home, if you need it.”

“Unless you want me sleeping here, yeah.” You retort flippantly.

Eddie doesn’t 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, “I don’t mind—if you want to sleep here.”

“I just need a few hours, maybe two if I can dry them out somehow.”

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.

“I didn’t say thank you for bringing that all the way here,” Eddie notes, “so, thank you.”

“You don’t have to—“

“You could’ve just left it but you didn’t.” Eddie shrugs, nodding toward the couch wordlessly. You’re hesitant at first, knowing that you and Eddie didn’t do these things. You didn’t talk, not really—and you definitely didn’t hang out. Social cliques handled that well enough.

“Well, if it was me I would hope that someone would return the favor.” You tell him honestly, taking a seat on the opposite end of the couch, bare feet pressed into the cushion separating you both.

“I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.” Eddie tells you randomly, idle hand pulling at the loose threads on the arm of the couch.

“You didn’t.” You smile, shrugging nonchalantly. “Trust me, you would know.”

“Good.” Eddie smiles to himself. “Good.”

You snort softly, “So, can I ask what’s in the notebook?”

“Do you really want to know?” Eddie asks hesitantly.

“Yeah,” You nod, grinning at him, “besides, what else are we supposed to do all night?”

Eddie’s 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.

“Uh, it’s kinda confusing,” Eddie admits, taking a closer seat beside you, “so it would probably make no sense even if I tried to explain it.”

You reposition your feet under you, sitting on your heels. Eddie’s 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.

“Eddie, this is really good.” You tell him honestly, running your finger along the lines of a rather menacing figure, deathly and sickening looking, covered in a hooded cape. “I didn’t know you could draw like this.”

“It’s not—“ Eddie starts uneasily, gearing to say something self-deprecating.

“Shut up,” You tell him quickly, “don’t even say it.”

Eddie laughs at that, your face serious despite the smile that breaks out on his face. He’s never taken a compliment in his life, but for some reason, he listens.

“Thanks.” He tells you softly, closing the book and placing it on the table placed in front of the couch.

Admittedly, you weren’t sure what to expect from Eddie. He’s always been a mystery to you, aside from the things people said about him.

“Why do you let people talk about you the way they do?” You ask curiously, head tilted to rest against the couch.

“Why disprove what’s true,” Eddie shrugs, “that reminds me, I’ve got a sacrifice to attend later tonight—“

“Eddie,” You linger on his name, eyeing him pointedly, “I’m serious.”

He shrugs wordlessly, twisting his rings absentmindedly, “I can’t be bothered to give a shit what people think about me.”

You’re silent, Eddie’s gaze downturned toward the floor.

“Aren’t you breaking all types of rules by talking to me—I thought you cheerleaders only associated with Jason and his band of assholes?”

You snort in amusement, shoving Eddie gently with your foot.

“Is that all you take me for?” You ask teasingly, “A cheerleader?”

Eddie shrugs, he couldn’t explain his attraction toward you—earlier actions aside, he’s always been intrigued by you. The act of wanting what he knew he couldn’t have.

And you can’t tell if Eddie is trying to act coy, or he’s just shy—you’d 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.

“Come here.” 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.

Eddie’s apprehensive in a way, allowing himself to scoot as close as possible, your legs extending over his lap.

“Answer the question, Eddie.” You order him softly, “Am I just some cheerleader to you? Is that why you like me?”

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.

“So you do?” You ask with a faint smugness, “Like me?”

“Am I that obvious?.” Eddie asks with a chuckle.

You shake your head, “No, actually—but that shit you pulled earlier…kinda gave you away.”

“You didn’t seem to have a problem with it either.” He counters, fingers pressing into the soft cotton of his sweatpants on your body, “Now look who’s sitting here in my clothes.”

“Because I was soaked.” You defend.

“After walking five minutes in the rain just to return my notebook.” Eddie points out, “That you could’ve returned to me on Monday—yet, here you are.”

The tension is thick, Eddie’s 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.

“What a genius,” You snark playfully, “Say, what’s your policy on kissing customers?”

“Hard no,” Eddie smiles, lying through his teeth, “why?”

“Damn.” You curse, eyes flicking up towards him. He’s got a heat behind his gaze, the warmness of his brown eyes comforting you, oddly enough. “That’s too bad.”

“But, I think I can make an exception.” Eddie adds, the fingers that trailed down your leg now sneaking up under your chin, tilting your face up slightly. “Right?”

“It’s only fair,” You agree, “seeing as I came all this way for nothing.”

You both knew it was a lie. Regardless, you would’ve ended up in this situation at some point.

“Come here.” Eddie says patronizingly, teasing you for earlier.

You pull forward slowly, Eddie’s 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 Eddie’s lap, but he’s quick to stop you.

“Slow,” He stresses, pulling back to look at you, half-lidded eyes gazing into yours, “we’ve got all night, right?”

You smile through a laugh, nodding slowly in response.

“All night,” You confirm, “it seems you’ve already got a few ideas to keep us busy.”

“I’ve got plenty.” Eddie says lowly, leaning forward to run his tongue against your top lip teasingly, “if you’re up for it.”

“Sounds like a challenge,” You breathe out against his mouth, “and I’m pretty competitive, so—“

“Perfect.” Eddie grins with an edge that you can’t decipher, gripping your chin between his fingers to pull you even closer, “So am I.”

Please consider a reblog if you enjoyed this fic! It’s makes a huge difference. ♡

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divineecelestial · 2 years

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Hey, I know I completely disappeared and didn’t update any of my series’, 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 😭

#frank castle #frank castle x reader #frank castle x female reader #frank castle x you #frank castle x y/n #frank castle x oc #the punisher #marvel x reader #marvel fanfic series #marvel the punisher #the punisher x reader #frank castle fanfiction #frank castle fic

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divineecelestial · 2 years

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𝐬𝐚𝐟𝐞 \\ eddie munson x reader

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 \\ 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.

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 \\ 6.5k

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 \\ 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 now— 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 guy— rain washed away fingerprints, and mud filled footprints, so…"

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 me…"

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: Smith—" he flexed one arm— "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.

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 want…"

"What's the other option?" he wondered.

"Well," you said quietly, crossing your arms— 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 night— 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 just…"

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 forward— 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 swear—"

"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 up— 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. “You?”

“Lately I’ve just been curled up in a ball,” you admitted, “but I move around a lot— and you can wake me up if I’m snoring!”

“No, it’s fine,” he promised.

“Okay, well, goodnight,” 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 hair— 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 trailer’s 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 something—?"

"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, Ed— it's creepy. And it's none of your business if guys are coming over."

"I know! That's why I don't look— 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,” you said, and he could hear your smirk even if he couldn’t see it. He sighed, relenting to your depiction of him as a creep who watches you from his window— until the silence got longer and longer, and he just couldn’t help himself.

“I just wanted to make sure nobody shifty was coming around,” he blurted out, hearing you let out a quiet laugh.

“Eddie, they were all shifty,” you sighed. He didn’t say anything, because he was afraid if he agreed too quickly it would offend you. “Goodnight,” you offered again.

“Goodnight,” he returned quietly.

There was another long silence, almost long enough that he really thought you would fall asleep— personally, he was wired and would probably spend a few hours listening to you breathe before he drifted off— 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 covers…"

God, he wanted to. And he figured he'd be able to control himself and everything— 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 it— 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 you— 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 shot— 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, but—"

"I know," you agreed. "You're not the toughest guy, but… you're the safest."

Suddenly he wanted to switch his story— me, safe? Nah, babe, danger's my middle name! Hardened criminal, metal guitarist, occasionally maker of an illegal U-turn—

"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 mom— but he knew he wasn't like your usual fare either: no motorcycle, no neck or face tattoos, no prison time (yet).

“B-but don’t feel like you have to,” you suddenly mitigated.

“No, it’s cool,” he decided as he curled his legs up to his chest so he could slip under the blanket and top sheet. “They, uh, feel nice…”

“Thanks,” you mumbled.

“Are they expensive or something?” he wondered as he adjusted himself in them— 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.

“No, they’re just clean,” you explained.

“Right…” he trailed off. “Anyways, I’m glad you trust me— not just ‘cause it means I get to sleep under the covers.”

You snorted. “Sure,” you shrugged.

“I mean it— if I can make you feel safer, that’s good,” 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 wouldn’t try anything, and you were right, but he sort of wished sometimes that he was the kind of guy you’d 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,” you admitted. “He told me when I first moved in to let him know if anybody here gave me any trouble— including but not limited to you.”

Sounds like Wayne.

“But I figured he'd turn it down— like, he'd say something about how I'm an unmarried young lady and he wouldn't wanna 'disrespect' me," you chuckled.

"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."

“Yeah,” you laughed, “old people are weird. Like, apparently they think if you spend the night here that’s the same as us having sex?”

He laughed too. “Yeah, that’s so crazy. ‘Cause obviously we’re not…”

“Of course!” you agreed emphatically. “You’re just doing me a favor. Which I really appreciate— I know it’s probably harder for you to sleep here.”

“No, it’s great, actually,” he blurted out— realizing it sounded sort of weird once it was out of his mouth. “For Wayne, I mean. He got to upgrade from the fold-out bed tonight.”

“Oh, that’s good,” you hummed, but his eyebrows furrowed when he felt you shake. It happened again, and he realized: “Sweets, are you shivering?”

“Y-yeah, but the sheets are just cold still,” you explained.

“You took off your pants!” he remembered.

“Well, I can’t sleep with them on!”

“Yeah, but you can’t sleep if you’re freezing, either,” he sighed. “Did you ever get your heater fixed?”

“Um…”

He frowned. “Didn’t that break like two months ago?”

“Y-yeah, but who needs a heater in August?”

“It’s not August,” he reminded you.

“But it was when it broke.”

He rolled his eyes, but then you shivered again. “It dropped, like, twenty degrees when this rain came in,” he reminded you.

“Yeah, I noticed,” you replied.

The next time you shivered, he heard your teeth chattering, and he instinctively scooted closer to you. “Is there another blanket I can get you?” he asked.

“No, but—” you began, and his breath caught when he felt your hand— your ice cold hand— reach out and touch his shoulder. “You can just—”

You moved closer to him and he started to move back. “I don’t think I should—”

"Just, hold me?” you pleaded in a quiet, meek voice. “So 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 badly— and he knew it was more than your temperature that made you ask him for that. He’d never seen you like this: scared and weak and worried. “O-okay,” 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 cut— and the tip of that was cold too, he could just imagine giving it a little kiss.

“Is this okay?” he asked, and he felt you nod. Carefully, he let his arm rest so it draped around you— but he didn’t 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 tits— oh god, he couldn’t even think about your tits right now, because if he did he would remember that they were squished up on his torso and he’d wonder if being so cold meant your nipples were hard—

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.

“Thanks,” you whispered. “This helps a lot.”

“Of course,” he breathed in return. “Wh-whatever helps…”

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. “Sorry,” you reacted instantly.

“No, it’s okay— you’ll warm up soon,” he promised.

“Yeah,” you agreed, “why are you so warm?”

Now he understood why the phrase ‘you make me hot’ meant that you were attracted to someone. He nearly said it out loud, guess I’m just hot for you, but amazingly he caught himself. Instead he only shrugged.

“I’m glad you came over,” you told him, and he could hear your voice getting a little more slurred— you were so tired, poor thing, you’d mentioned over the phone that you hadn’t really been sleeping.

“Can you really fall asleep like this?” he asked quietly. Cause I sure can’t.

“No, I was just gonna get warm,” you admitted, “I’ll turn the other way when it’s time to sleep.”

Turn the other way… wait, she doesn’t mean—

Yeah, you did. A few minutes later you flipped yourself around with a sleepy mumble of ‘g’night, Ed’ and made him into your unwilling big spoon.

Okay, not totally unwilling, but completely in over his head. His problem wasn’t 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 ass— he could feel the shape of it, even the warmth of your skin, through everything and he was going to lose his goddamn mind.

You did move around in your sleep, like you warned him that you would, but you hadn’t warned him about those pretty sighs, the soft little hums, the way you’d stretch a bit and arch your back…

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 hold— he wanted to hold you tighter and pull you closer and kiss your cheek or your ear or your shoulder, but he couldn’t. 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 didn’t even realize he’d been asleep when he woke up, if you’d asked him he would’ve denied it— but you weren’t 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 didn’t 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 wouldn’t 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 action— just one slight curl of his finger and you gasped and arched your back deeper, your whole body under his command— 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. “Eddie,” 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. “Do you want me to stop?” he asked quickly.

“N-no!” you whimpered. “I like it.”

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 hot— and it sort of was, especially in your whispered voice— 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 it— in a different way than before. "I— 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 it— 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 instantly— god, that was just too perfect.

In the dark, he still couldn’t 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 wet—

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 wet…

“Oh my god,” you breathed, reaching up to hold onto his bicep— Wesson, specifically. “Eddie, you’re— fuck, get these off…”

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 and—"

"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 mind…

"I mean, you're clean, right?" you assumed.

"Yeah, I've never— well, I've never actually done it without protection before, so—"

"Me either," you explained, "and I'm on the pill— 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 sweats— 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, Eddie— 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 again— 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 me—"

He moved his head between your lips, groaning at how warm you were already— 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 feeling— 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 inside— 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 good— 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 that— 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 inside— 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 to…"

"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 just—" he hissed as he struggled to focus on this conversation with everything he was feeling— "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 since—"

"Don't tell me," he interrupted, "I don't wanna know— 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 walls— and it felt even better than it sounded.

"Feels so good," he blurted out, resting his forehead on the pillow just beside yours.

"You too," you sighed. "S'big, Eddie, and without anything I can feel how warm you are…"

"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 enough— 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!”

He grinned proudly, reaching under you to move your hips— 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.

“Tell me what you need,” he asked. “Tell me how to help you, sweets.”

“I— I just need you to touch me,” you returned, your voice sounding a little hoarse.

“Where?”

“Anywhere,” you choked, “everywhere… your hands feel good.” He groped your tits first— easy choice— and heard you mewl happily. “Fuck,” you breathed when he pinched a tender nipple, and he felt your walls bare down on him for a moment— so he did it again.

“You’re so sensitive,” he noticed proudly, beginning to drag his hand down over your abdomen as he watched the anticipation build on your face. “How about your little button, s’it sensitive too?”

“Yeah, fuck,” you encouraged, moaning and dropping your head back onto the pillow as he gently pressed his thumb to your bud. He’d 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 guitar— 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 again— 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.

“So good,” you praised, “it feels— fuck, I’m gonna—”

“I know,” he cooed. “I know, you can come, sweets— I wanna feel you come around me. Just tell me what you need.”

“Jus’ don’t stop,” you begged, “don’t stop, Eddie, just like— fuck! Right there, oh my god—”

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 together— 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 that— so he kept doing it. "My girl, my girl," he chanted with each thrust into your flexing channel.

“Oh god,” 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. “Eddie, I— f-fuck, it’s so—”

“Shh,” he cooed, “it’s okay— it’s not too much is it?”

“Almost,” you whimpered, “b-but I don’t want you to stop.”

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 so—"

"I want you to come," you encouraged.

“Where?” 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.

“You want it inside, baby?” he asked in a rough whisper, and you nodded with a quiet moan.

“Yeah,” you admitted, hands holding onto him tighter until he felt your nails bite his flushed skin. “Yeah, fuck, that’s hot.”

He fucked you faster with a groan; his balls were starting to get sore from trying to hold back, but he didn’t want it to end yet— he couldn’t even be sure you would wanna do it again. He couldn’t let this moment be over so soon—

“Eddie, I’m yours, make me yours,” you pleaded. Nevermind, he could let this moment be over, because god damn hearing you talk like that didn’t 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 out—"

"It's more than okay," you insisted, "Eddie, I want it so bad, please—"

"Don't say please," he instructed, "I was just checking— 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."

“Oh god,” you hissed, wrapping your arms around his neck and hugging him tightly.

“You really mine, sweets?” he whispered— you wouldn’t be able to hear him over the slamming of his hips on yours if he wasn’t speaking right by your ear.

“Yeah,” you answered breathlessly.

“Promise,” he demanded.

“Yours,” you insisted, “m’yours, Eddie, had such a big, stupid crush on you—”

“Fuck!” 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 wasn’t just filling a latex reservoir but filling you, your perfect body, your warm pussy—

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; “Shit,” he hissed, “that— fuck.”

You laughed quietly in agreement. “Yeah.”

He started to try to pull out, but you whined and hugged him again. “Don’t go yet,” you begged.

“Okay,” he relented, relaxing on top of you. “Am I crushing you?”

“No,” you laughed, “you’re not that heavy.”

“Good,” he mumbled as he planted a quick kiss on your temple.

You moved a little bit and he hissed, having to hold you still by your hips.

“D-don’t,” he choked, “I’m still— it’s really sensitive…”

“Oh, really?” you grinned, clenching on him on purpose to make him grunt and laugh quietly.

“Fuck,” he warned, “you’re tryin’ to drive me crazy, huh?”

“A li’l bit,” you admitted mischievously.

“Can you… feel it?” he wondered. “Like, without a condom, can you feel my, uh, come?”

You considered it for a second. “Not really, m’all, like, numb right now,” you admitted with a little giggle. “But I could feel your cock, like… moving. Even when you weren’t moving. I dunno if that makes sense…”

“No, it does,” he nodded.

“What did it… feel like for you?” you asked, sounding almost nervous and shy again. How could you act shy after that?

“Uh, fuckin’ amazing,” he laughed. “You’re incredible. Did you really mean what you said? About, um… being mine?”

He felt your breath catch, and he reached up to pet your head for a second, moving some stray hair out of your face.

“Listen, it’s okay if you were just caught up in the moment,” he offered. “I understand.”

“Do you understand because you just wanna be friends after this?” you asked. “Or do you understand because you’re super sweet and don’t want me to feel pressured to sleep with you again?”

“Um… guess it’s the second one,” he decided, face getting warm. “I mean, I’m okay being friends after this. I’m extra okay being friends with benefits. But if I’m being honest, sweets, I wanna be your boyfriend.”

“Yeah?” you encouraged, the smile in your voice making his heart twist.

“Yeah,” he answered.

You held his face and kissed him— 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 out—

But you broke away and looked up at him with heavy eyes, and he realized how tired you really were. “We can talk in the morning,” he decided, “you just need to get some rest, okay?”

“Okay,” you agreed. He carefully pulled out, trying not to overstimulate his softened cock, and laid behind you to be your big spoon again. “This feels nice,” you hummed. “I mean, m’kinda sticky and gross and all, but I feel safe.”

“Mm,” he agreed, fluttering his eyes shut— he was more tired than he realized, and the dark was already pulling him deeper as he held you. “Me too, actually.”

11K notes · View notes

divineecelestial · 2 years

Text

the film (eddie munson x fem!reader)

summary: after finding a very interesting movie in eddie’s trailer, you can’t help but point out a very important detail…you and the girl on the tv look exactly alike.

pairing: eddie munson x fem!reader

word count: 4,678

requested?: yes

warnings/what to expect: SMUT (18+ MDNI), bestfriend!eddie, descriptions of a porn video, reader has glasses, teasing, kissing, dry humping, dirty talk, glasses kink i guess, oral (m receiving), cum swallowing, facial (yk), vaginal fingering, p in v sex, protected sex (yay!), praise, daddy kink, also gif’s not mine

a reblog and/or comment on my posts really help me out as a content creator so thank you in advance if you take the time to do either!

main masterlist | stranger things masterlist

Like any other Friday night you found yourself laying in Eddie’s bed, listening to him compose new music for his band. The scene has to be the best way to end the week. Watching Eddie play his guitar, half of his hair up in a bun while half fell loosely to his shoulders, the short sleeved t-shirt he was wearing did little to no attempt to cover his arms…

God, you love Fridays.

But your show was interrupted when Eddie stopped playing, unplugging his guitar before hanging it on the wall where it usually is before joining you on the bed. Both of you were with your backs against the mattress, looking up at the ceiling of Eddie’s room.

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divineecelestial · 2 years

Text

gold rush

summary: Eddie's known you his whole life. He's your best friend. In truth, he wants to be your boyfriend - he wants to call you his without it being a joke and to kiss you when you're sober. But everyone loves you and wants you: he doesn't like a gold rush.

tags: Eddie x gn!reader (everyone can read!!!), childbood best friends to lovers, slow burn, pining!Eddie, 18+ reader (impli. in twenties), smidge off canon, fluff, minor angst, happy ending, oneshot

☆ word count: 16.3K+ ☆

⚠️ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠: 𝐈 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐲𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐨 𝐜𝐨𝐩𝐲 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐩𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐲 𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐬, 𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐢𝐭𝐬 𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐬, 𝐭𝐨 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐦 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐮𝐥𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐞.⚠️

There's smudges of buttercream frosting by the corners of your lips.

But you're too busy to notice the mess on your face when you're racing Robin to the end of the block, both of you stumbling around like a couple of drunkards, hysterical giggles filling the air after having spun around in circles twenty times. It takes a full thirty seconds before you shove her away and begin to make a run for the end of the block, your sprint only further fuelled by the excited screaming from the kids.

It's your birthday.

You'd insisted - no, pleaded, really - to everyone that there's no need for a celebration. Eddie still remembers the sour expression your face twisted into when Joyce gently suggested throwing you a birthday party to celebrate, and the way you'd then firmly assured her and Hopper that it was enough that they'd even remembered that it was your birthday in a week.

"It's seriously nothing, Joyce." you'd emphasized, setting down your fork with a shy smile. The older woman only huffed at that, wholly unconvinced.

"Your birthday is not nothing, (Y/n), it's a special day that only occurs once a year. We should celebrate! And don't worry, we can organize it all here." Joyce had firmly insisted, casting a sideway glance to Hopper for support. He simply nodded in silence from next to her, right leg idly bouncing up and down as he took another sip of his beer.

Noticing that your hesitant expression wasn't fading, Eddie made it a point to knock his knees with yours to grab your attention, soothing your anxieties by squeezing your hands under the table.

"Come on, sunshine. When's the last time you had a proper birthday in Hawkins since you started university? Besides, we could invite all the kids and our mutual friends... everyone under one roof for the day?"

With all of them gazing at you intently - Hopper raising his eyebrows in a "come on, just say yes" manner, an eager glint in Joyce's warm eyes, and a reassuring grin on Eddie's lips - you had relented, sighing deeply but the shadow of a smile on your face giving your true feelings away.

"Alright. Yeah, Joyce, that'd be great."

In the present, Eddie's quiet thoughts are disrupted by Steve sitting down next to him on the wooden bench, a half empty beer bottle in his hands.

"I've never seen Joyce work so hard on a birthday party before. Not even for Jonathan's - though don't tell him I said that." Steve jokes, chuckling lowly under his breath. Eddie has to agree with his friend that the woman has gone above and beyond.

Hopper and Jonathan are by the barbeque grill, cooking and wiping away sweat away from their foreheads, Nancy and Joyce are sitting by the outdoor swings nursing lemonades in their hands, and the kids (alongside you and Robin) are engaging in silly games by the street - rogue soccer balls, baseball bats and bicycles littered on the lawn.

The backyard of the Wheeler's house is spilling with birthday decorations, from brightly colored balloons wrapped around every piece of furniture to string lights and banners sprawled across the fences, growing from the sides as if they're vines. There are bean bags on the lawn next to picnic tables filled with a wide assortment of food and drinks, a handheld radio the centrepiece blasting a top 40 hit.

Flicking away a stray balloon knocking into his side - of golden color, with the words "happy birthday!" scribbled on it in sharpie - Eddie nods along to Steve's comments absentmindedly.

"Yeah, she really did go all out."

Steve chuckles.

"I even overheard from the conversation happening by the grill that Joyce's even going to bring out an outdoor projector to screen a movie later. I don't even know how she managed to set all that up last minute."

Eddie's trying to be polite and stay tuned into the conversation, but his gaze continues to drift to you, consciously or not. You're standing hunched over, hands on bruised knees with harsh pants coming out of your mouth from the intense sprint you just took off on, as Max and El make fun of how wild your hair looks now. You scowl playfully and threaten to chase them next, to which they say something back that Eddie can't hear (knowing them and based on the look of fake shock on your face, he guesses it's a sassy retort) before you set them off running in full speeds, giggling.

"You could just go over and join them instead of staring." Steve jokes, noticing that the metalhead's attentions are elsewhere. Eddie smiles an embarrassed grin at that, his fingers clenching ever so slightly around the gift and letter sitting on his lap, to which Steve's brown eyes fall onto next. "Oh, the gift pile is over there, here, let me help-"

Steve leans over to take the neatly wrapped box and manila envelope to match from Eddie's grasp, to which the taller boy only flinches and instinctively bring the items closer to his chest.

"No, it's fine! I uh, I want to be holding onto these for the party." he quickly rambles out, ignoring the way Steve's face scrunches up in confusion.

"You sure?"

"Yep! Positive. 100% positive, actually."

Steve narrows his eyes at Eddie, a million questions on the tip of his tongue, but he doesn't get to ask any of them before Hopper is calling him over for help. Eddie lets out a small sigh of relief when he's alone again, incredibly happy to not be subject to interrogation as to why he's so protective of the gift and the letter on his lap.

Truth be told, it's the letter that Eddie's most attached to.

He's spent the entirety of last week perfecting it, writing and rewriting certain paragraphs in odd times through the day whilst mulling over the countless moments encompassing his friendship with you, and it's the piece of paper containing his deepest confession.

He loves you.

More than a best friend should.

Despite being light as a feather, the envelope feels heavy as bricks in his hands in the present moment, the soft papery texture burning his skin as he toys with its flimsy edges, tips of his fingers running up and down the square corners. Though Eddie later (reluctantly) abandons the gift and the letter by the bench to join in on a few games between you and the kids, and to later help Joyce bring out the large birthday cake from the kitchen, his mind remains fixated on that singular piece of paper for the whole party.

Your features aglow with the red and orange embers of the flames from the birthday candles, your lashes flutter shut before your lips puck together to blow, the entire room erupting into applause and appreciative shouts when you finish. You're glowing, Eddie thinks, beaming with happiness and awe as you turn around to give Joyce a fierce embrace and Hopper a cool fist bump.

Eddie makes it a point to carry the gift and the letter with him, hidden out of sight and behind his back, as you tear open each gift during spoonfuls of red velvet cake. Once you've gone down the line opening everyone's gifts, all eyes zero in on Eddie, who sheepishly smiles and lifts up the items in his hands.

"Don't worry, I have your gift and letter here."

"Never doubted you, Eds." you affirm, holding your hands out. Eddie freezes at that, stuttering his response.

"B-but you can't open it here. You have to open it, uh, when you're alone."

The room's split in between confusion (the kids not understanding what Eddie could've possibly gotten you that would require you to have to open it in private) and a collective, amused understanding amongst the adults (smirks on Joyce and Hopper's faces, quiet whispers between Nancy and Jonathan, playful nudges between Robin and Steve).

But you seem none the wiser, a low hum and curious smile quirking up the edges of your lips.

"Ooh, mysterious. Alright then, Eds. I look forward to it."

Eddie's so damn tense on the drive back to your apartment that he's afraid he's going to go into cardiac arrest at any moment. Heart beating a million miles per minute, he can hear his blood pumping right by his ears as he rounds the corner to your house, throat running dry at the realization that you're holding his letter in your lap.

"C-can I come in?" he asks, breathlessly, slapping on a quick grin to mask his mix of fear and worry. "To see your reaction to my gift and stuff."

You roll your eyes playfully at that, unstrapping the seat belt from your shoulder.

"Duh. We've been friends since we were 7 years old."

He's been over to your apartment a million times before, but suddenly the dark hallways and oak stairs seem daunting. Each footstep echoes through the silence ominously, a mocking voice reminding him with each step up the stairs that you're one step closer to opening that damn letter.

Unaware of Eddie's anxieties, you're humming a light pop song when you usher him into the bedroom, closing the door half-hazardously behind you by kicking it shut with one leg before dramatically flailing onto your bed.

"Ah, home. Just me and my bed." you groan into the sheets, stretching your tired limbs out.

"And me." your best friend adds, pretending to be offended. Your face lifts up from the comforter in response, dopey grin on your cake and champagne filled-face.

"And you. Always you, Eddie."

You sit with your legs crossed across from him, Eddie's legs dangling off the mattress as you carefully inspect the letter in the light. Your fingers move to tear it open when he stops you quickly, placing a gentle hand on your wrist to stop you mid-movement.

"W-wait. Open the gift first."

You pause, amused, raising your eyebrows.

"Isn't it usual to open the letter first before the gift?"

"Well, yeah, maybe, but... trust me, it'll make more sense later."

You click your tongue against the roof of your mouth before letting the letter fall back down onto your lap.

"Alright... But seriously, this is only getting more and more mysterious."

You inspect the neatly wrapped box in your lap: the wrapping is rather imperfect, with odd scrunches at the sides and messy taping holding the wrapping together around the shape of the box. But the wrapping paper's pattern is too endearing (a cartoon shark holding an umbrella over its head) and so is the gold bow he's put on top, so you suppose it makes up for the slightly messy presentation.

"Sorry about the lame wrapping paper, it was like the only one left at the store." Eddie comments quietly, sheepish.

"Trust me, it's perfect." you assure him, winking.

Your fingers tear open the paper to see that inside is a beautiful, sleek, black polaroid camera. Taking the polaroid gently out of the box, you stare at it in shock, its weight pleasant on your hands as you twist it around to examine every feature. Underneath the box holding the polaroid, Eddie has even thrown in several pieces of film, tied together hastily with decorative string.

"Oh my god Eddie... this... this must've cost a fortune!" you ramble, looking up at him with awe. He shakes it off though, head twisting side to side in denial, signature smirk gracing his face.

"Nah. I had some money saved up from a few Corroded Coffin gigs and the internship I did a few months ago up in Idaho paid off. Besides..." he takes in a deep breath before smiling with a short exhale. "It's my best friend's birthday - I couldn't give you something small and lame."

You laugh at that, dropping the camera carefully onto your lap.

"Well, you could've gotten me a rock off the side of the street and I still would've loved it. I mean, this- this is too much." you fuss, not meeting his gaze.

"Hey. You deserve it. It's your birthday. And again, you're my best friend. Stop acting like I went into debt buying something nice for you." he jokes, poking you on the side right where you're ticklish. You squirm away from him, curses on the tip of your tongue, but you're not really mad at him.

You don't think you could ever really be mad at Eddie.

"Alright, fine. Thank you so, so, so much, Eds. You're the bestest friend ever." you mumble into his shoulder, arms wrapping around his neck.

He can feel your heartbeat reverberating through your top, your signature perfume wafting over him at this proximity, a comforting smell that he inhales slowly as he returns your embrace. It doesn't last long enough for Eddie before you pull away and set the camera to the side, hands now reaching out for the letter.

"Wait." he blurts out again, and this time, you playfully roll your eyes.

"Again, Eddie? I feel like you really don't want me to read this letter for some reason."

Your voice is playful, your expression clearly being one of fond amusement, but Eddie feels as if his chest is being squeezed by invisible ropes. God, if only you had any idea as that what you were about to read, he thinks.

"Just to give you background on the letter, that's all." Eddie assures you, shuffling closer. "So, remember how on your first day back from Boston we had that conversation in the cinema? About how you thought the plot of that romantic movie we ended up watching was super unrealistic?"

You two had meant to see the newest horror movie, but ended up running late to the cinema and the ticketmaster (a bored looking teenager with wild red hair and blue eyes) droned from behind the glass that all tickets for that film were sold for the day. You glanced over at Eddie, silently asking him what to do next, and Eddie had shrugged his shoulders and suggested just seeing another film.

The only film that had any available tickets - considering that it was past 9pm on a Friday night - was a romantic comedy starring two famous actors neither of you cared much about. But eager to catch up on all the time you two missed whilst you were studying in Boston and Eddie was attending community college in Hawkins, neither of you minded.

The screening room was nearly empty, allowing you and Eddie to sit by the front (far away from the few other people in attendance) and whisper throughout the duration of the whole film. Towards the end of the film, the female protagonist began to cry as her love interest stared to declare 100 things he loved about her, and you groaned audibly and rolled your eyes.

"God, I fucking hate how unrealistic these films are." you'd complained, sinking against your cinema seat. Eddie shot you an amused glance at that, popping a popcorn kernel into his mouth.

"Really, this is unrealistic for you? Not the non-existent sex scenes? Not the female characters always waking up with perfect hair and makeup? Not the protagonists always living in penthouses in New York on a barista's budget?" he'd teased, knocking shoulders with yours. You grunted, rolling your eyes.

"Well, all that's super unrealistic too, don't get me wrong. But come on, who the hell can name 100 things they love about someone?"

"What, you couldn't name 100 things you love about someone?" he had challenged, raising his eyebrows.

"Definitely not! Not even to like, my parents or best friends. Why, are you saying you can, Munson?" you retorted, crossing your arms. Eddie just leaned back and smirked.

"Oh, you have no idea. I definitely could. Like I could list 100 things I love about you right now."

He meant it sincerely, but you didn't seem to pick up on it - either because it was too dark in the cinema room to see how his eyes softened at the confession or because you'd become so desensitized to his honesty after a lifelong platonic friendship.

So you just snorted and raised your hands in mock defeat.

"Geez, alright then."

"I'm serious, I could!" he argued, poking you on the side to redirect your gaze towards him. You chuckled, shaking your head sideways at your best friend's antics.

"Yeah, okay. Save it for another day, okay? The old lady behind us keeps on glaring and I'm afraid she's gonna stab us if we keep on talking."

"The shitty rom com day? Yeah, of course I remember. Why?"

Eddie swallows nervously, tongue poking out to trace his bottom lip.

"I did it. I wrote down the 100 things I love about you onto that letter."

Your eyebrows raise and an impressed grin spreads on your lips.

"You actually did? Damn, I'm impressed, Munson."

"Yeah, well, considering I had basically our entire lives to draw upon, it wasn't that hard. One thing though: it's super, duper important that you read to the very end. Like, from number one to one hundred without stopping. No skipping ahead." Eddie hastily adds, fingers itching by his sides with anxiety.

You nod slowly, finally unclasping the front of the envelope as you begin to read.

-------------------------------------------

01. your eyes - they were the first thing I noticed about you when you first spoke to me.

Eddie was seven when he first met you.

He was sulking in the playground, a couple hundred feet away from all the other kids, busy kicking a small pebble back and forth with the cement wall in boredom. He desperately wanted the school day to be over. He wasn't as tall as the other kids yet, and all the boys his age already thought that he was too weird: obsessed with music and bugs instead of cars and girls.

Lunch periods sucked the most for Eddie - at the very least, during class, he could distract himself by nodding along to the teachers and burying his mind in whatever activity he had to finish. But when released from the confines of the classroom and people naturally split off into their groups, Eddie was almost always alone.

He didn't mind too much, he supposed. It was no different from at home, where his parents and him barely spoke - him in his room unless it was time to eat, silent dinners at night with his father's head in a newspaper and his mother nursing a cigarette.

Eddie was getting ready to kick the small pebble back to the wall, right leg bracing backwards, when he suddenly felt someone's warm hand on his shoulder.

"It's a lot more fun when you kick a ball back and forth, you know. And when you do it with someone, not a wall."

He recognized that voice.

Despite having moved into Hawkins less than two weeks ago, you already had a large circle of friends and several teachers wrapped around your fingers. Star student, extrovert, popular kid.

All things Eddie certainly were not, so as to render him starstruck that THE (Y/n) (L/n) would want to speak to him.

So his first reaction was to look around the playground, expecting to see another kid kicking a pebble back and forth and to whom your comment was actually directed to, but the courtyard was practically empty. You seemingly caught on to his confusion and giggled, stepping closer to him so as to shadow the sun behind your figure.

"Yes, I'm talking to you. My name is (Y/n), by the way."

The young boy was sure there wasn't a single person in his grade who didn't know who you were. And yet here you were, having separated from the larger group of kids to specifically seek Eddie out, introducing yourself with bruised knees and a wide smile. His eyes hesitantly lifted from the floor to meet your eyes - dancing with joy, irises twinkling with a glow akin to jewels, an alluring sense of warmth exuding from your simple gaze.

He was transfixed. His left hand was slow to rise but he eventually shook your hand, gripping your fingers tightly.

"Nice to meet you, (Y/n). I'm Eddie."

"Eddie." you strung his name out, as if testing how it sounded from your lips. "That's a cool name. Wanna play ball?"

You spun the soccer ball in your hands back and forth, wiggling your eyebrows.

"Sure."

And that was the start of his lifelong friendship with you.

-----------------------------------------

13: your sense of adventure - I'll never forget how the first time I got grounded by Wayne was because you wanted to sneak out to see the meteor showers.

"Did you hear that there's going to be a meteor shower tonight?"

You'd come barreling into his trailer, not even bothering to properly knock (and only sending a polite "hello" to Wayne who was sat on the couch watching TV), startling Eddie who was devouring one science fiction comic after another.

"A hello is usually how people start conversations." Eddie had grumbled back, folding the paper comic away, though his slight annoyance melted away quickly at your obvious excitement. It was spring break and you were two bored ten year old kids constrained to the mundane life in Hawkins.

"Hello, Eddie, you look great, hope you're well, blah blah blah." you mocked, putting on an overly formal accent as you eventually walked over to his bed and shooed for him to make space for you on the mattress. Scowling (though it wasn't genuine), he obliged, allowing you to sit next to him with your legs criss crossed. "But seriously. I read in the newspaper this morning that a once in a decade meteor shower is going to happen at 11pm tomorrow."

"And?" the boy questioned, flipping his head over to the side, staring at you with mild confusion. You looked positively offended at that, folding one of his spare sci fi comics in half to hit him across the shoulder.

"AND? And we gotta sneak out to see it for ourselves, Eddie!"

Eddie sighed, lips drawn tight as he shrugged his shoulders.

"I don't know, sounds kind of boring. Also, we technically have school tomorrow."

You pouted at that, crossing your arms in indignant disagreement.

"Aw, come on, Eds, PLEASE?"

"Why don't you go alone?"

You spluttered at his suggestion.

"ALONE? Eddie, this is a ONCE IN A DECADE occurence! Come on, as my best friend, please? I promise it'll be fun!"

Eddie suppressed another deep sigh - this was the paradox of his friendship with you.

You were this ball of energy, bright sunshine on a summery day, an extrovert who enjoyed parties, biking and spontaneous plans on a late Wednesday night. Eddie was more withdrawn, a sunflower blooming in the dark, someone who preferred to spend his free days reading comics or studying the genius of his favorite rock musicians with an open notebook and pen in hand.

Perhaps that was why you two worked together so well though. At least, that was Wayne's working theory, considering you two had been inseparable for three years at this point.

"Fine." he had grumbled and you leaped forward to hug him, crushing Eddie between your arms, making him wince.

"Sorry, sorry, I just got excited! Oh, we'll have to be super careful when sneaking out. You can bike alongside me whilst I skateboard, I know the perfect place to view the meteor shower: it's this little hill by Cornelia Park." you hurried out, swinging your backpack over your shoulder, your fingers thrumming alongside your skateboard.

"You're not sticking around?"

Eddie tried to hide the disappointment in his voice but it still laced his tone, eyebrows furrowing as he was expecting you to stick around for dinner at the least (which was routine whenever you came over).

"Can't, my cousins are visiting from out of state and my mom will kill me if I miss the family dinner. But tomorrow, I'll sneak out and be waiting for you outside your trailer at like 10:30, okay?" you said, sticking one of your pinkie fingers out at him. "Remember, Eds, you can never break a pinkie promise with me."

You warned with a serious voice, a joke that you'd been employing since last year when you'd used it to ensure Eddie would pay you back for ice cream. He rolled his eyes then and he was rolling his eyes now too, but he nonetheless wrapped his own finger around yours, sealing the deal.

"10:30 tomorrow, got you."

Eddie feigned going to bed awfully early the next day, telling a small white lie that he wasn't feeling well, and he waited dutifully until he heard the television flicker off and Wayne's breaths to even out from the other bedroom. Slowly creaking open his door, Eddie pocketed the keys sitting by the kitchen table after having quickly changed into a pair of jeans and a black jacket to fight off the autumn cold.

As you'd promised, you were waiting for him outside, skateboard tucked securely under your left arm, wide awake smile on your face as you excitedly waved him over.

"Alright, let me get my bike first, relax." he'd teased, unchaining his bicycle from a nearby tree as you excitedly jumped up and down on the balls of your feet.

"Come onnnnn, Eds! I don't want to miss the beginning."

"I don't think it's even possible to miss out the beginning of a natural occurrence." he'd countered, but your cheery disposition wasn't affected.

"Alright grumpy pants, let's get going."

He followed behind you carefully - night wind whipping through his hair, pale moonlight illuminating the cracks between oak trees and ink black roads - before you slowed down by the entrance to the park. You hopped off your skateboard and Eddie chose to walk alongside his bike whilst making small talk, with you insisting that the perfect spot to view the meteor shower was a large hill at the back of a private garden.

"Damn it, it's locked." you swore, placing one hand on the green metal gate before pulling it fiercely back and forth. A slow smirk arose on your face as you turned back at Eddie, a treacherous, mischievous glint in your eyes. "You know what this means."

"(Y/n), no."

"(Y/n), yes. We're climbing over the gate."

Before he could even stop you, you had thrown your skateboard overboard and started climbing the metal fence. To your credit, it wasn't a particularly difficult task - your left foot being dug between the gaps before you hoisted the rest of your body up and swung your legs over the top with ease.

"Just lock your bicycle to the side and we'll come back for it, promise." you promised from the other side, smiling at him through the gaps of the fence. Eddie ran a hand down his face, semi-regretting agreeing with you, before he relented and pointed an accusatory finger at you.

"Fine. But if we get arrested and go to jail, I'm totally blaming this on you."

"Guilty as charged, Munson."

He climbed over the fence after locking his bicycle by the side fence, though he had a bit more of a difficulty climbing it than you (with the fact that he was already taller than you by a few inches making it all the more embarrassing.) But he didn't have time to dwell on that, when the moment his shaky feet met the dirt floor, your left hand was gripping his wrist tightly and leading him further into the night.

"Come on, it's nearly 11." you cautioned, motioning to the fancy wristwatch your parents had gifted you for your tenth birthday.

The clearing you led Eddie to was beautiful - a small stream flowing underneath flower beds blooming with orange bellflowers, pink roses and white lilies, a cobblestone pathway leading up to a large hill separated by neatly trimmed hedges and plastic garden gnomes. He barely had a chance to appreciate every aspect of the small oasis before you were pushing him up the hill, flashing him a proud smile when you collapsed on top of the mound after a few minutes of climbing.

"Here we are!" you announced. "Perfect view of the night sky."

Eddie wordlessly sat next to you, knees closed together and drawn to his chest, catching his breath whilst staring up at the the empty night sky. After a few moments of silence, he frowned, and he was getting ready to ask you if you were sure that you'd read the paper correctly.

And that was when the first shooting star crossed the sky. A bright, brilliant flash of light which soared from one edge of the sky to another, it elicited a shocked gasp from you, your fingers curling around his upper arm excitedly.

"It's starting!"

After the first star, all the others followed in quick succession, decorating the inky black landscape with stunning bursts of white light. Eddie had to admit, it was an incredible sight to see, and at some point you'd snuck closer towards him and Eddie quickly looked down to shoot you a worried glance.

"You alright?" he questioned, noticing that you were shivering next to him.

"Just peachy! A bit cold, though, didn't have the time to grab my cardigan cause I had to climb out the window." you chuckled, rubbing your upper forearms with your hands. He was quick to discard his jacket at that, wrapping the fabric around your shoulders without a second thought.

"Are you sure, Eds?" you asked, frowning, though you were grateful for the rush of warmth. He nodded, disregarding the small chill running down his back at the sudden exposure to the cold.

"Positive. I rather I be cold than you."

"Thanks, Eds. You're the best."

"That's why I'm your best friend." he teased. You chuckled, shaking your head in agreement.

"I guess so."

And then when you'd grown weary and tired, resting your head on his shoulder as he instinctively wrapped an arm around your shoulder to make sure your head wouldn't slip off, Eddie felt a foreign sensation.

His vision was slightly hazy, rose hues glazing his irises, pleasant warmth filling his stomach as if he'd just eaten a delicious warm meal. It was a completely new feeling, your presence both simultaneously feeling like too much yet not enough, his breaths coming out at a slightly faster pace as he stared down at you.

Eddie didn't know what he was feeling, but somehow, having you rest your head against his shoulder in the dead of night... After having snuck out to climb over a fence into a private garden to watch a meteor shower with you, awoke something in him.

He didn't know what to call the feeling.

All he knew was that he liked it, and he liked being around you.

And that was enough of an answer for ten year old Eddie.

-------------------------------------

21: your laughter - I always like hearing you laugh. Some days, I even think it's better than Black Sabbath and Metallica.

A crush.

That was what it was, Eddie now realized, his teenage years finally giving him the language to explain what he was feeling for his best friend.

You were sitting with your legs swinging back and forth on the park bench, tongue lazily swirling around your ice cream, a celebratory treat for having gotten through - alongside Eddie - the dreadful three years of middle school.

Well, more dreadful for him than you, he supposed.

Even though in middle school Eddie had broken out of his shell much more (having discovered a love for fantasy novels, metal music and befriending a small group of boys who were also branded "nerds"), you and him were still separated by several stratospheres in the social pyramid.

You still shared a few classes with him, during which you always sat in front or behind him, for which he was always grateful. It was one of Eddie's greatest insecurities that sooner or later, you'd realize that you were too good to be with him and ditch for someone better. But you never did, even going so far as to defend him from snide comments from the other popular kids that you were "too good" to be hanging around someone like him.

Eddie often wondered if he was a burden to you: dragging you down as you swam, weighing you down as you soared higher and higher to the sun. You always laughed off such accusations, paired with a stern talking - akin to that of a disappointed parent - which emphasized how much you valued him.

Eddie still didn't really know why.

It was the summer before the start of high school, the realization which was sitting heavy in his lower stomach, mind swirling with a cacophony of anxious thoughts.

See, Eddie had spent the three years of middle school learning guitar, reading every fantasy novel he could get his hands on, and sticking by the same group of boys who had been branded as nerds from the beginning of sixth grade.

You'd spent those years becoming the captain of the swimming club, getting invited to countless parties and sleep overs, and growing up into your features.

Eddie always thought you were a nice looking person, sure. But as soon as puberty hit and his hormones began to kick in, he realized that you were growing up right in front of his eyes. Your shoulders became more defined, thighs more toned, you'd certainly grown several inches in height from that excited seven year old who'd first offered to play ball with him. Your facial features were balancing out, eyes slightly shifting in hue, lips more plump.

And fuck, you were gorgeous.

And Eddie hadn't been the only one to notice, considering how everyone either envied you or wanted to date you.

Eddie was wondering now what it must be like to grow up that beautiful as droplets of strawberry ice cream hung from the edges of your bottom lip, hair kissed with glittering sunlight streaming through the gaps of the willow tree you were sat under.

"You excited to start high school?" you'd asked him whilst wiggling your eyebrows, as if you were passing off a dirty joke that neither of you should be engaging in. Eddie blew through his lips, quickly taking a bite off of his own ice cream cone, throwing you a nonchalant shrug.

"Meh. Probably gonna be like middle school, but shittier and with more hormones."

You laughed at that, a carefree melody flowing from your throat as you threw your head back, yellow sunlight illuminating your features at the action. It was a proper laugh, a loud sound followed by echoes of giggles, eyes turning teary and stomach aching from the lack of oxygen.

It made butterflies flutter in Eddie's stomach, fingers itching to tap your nose and lips aching to kiss your cheeks, but he remained still, content to just sit back and watch you laugh at his dumb jokes.

"You're probably right. But god, it's such a big change, it's kind of scary." you had said, brushing a stray strand of hair away from your eyes. "I mean, high school! Four years in a completely new place! Then we'll be off to university, then we'll have jobs, then we'll probably have families-"

"Hey, hey, relax." Eddie had to calm you down as you were speaking so fast that you forgot to breathe in between each sentence, his left hand springing up to comfortingly pat against your clothed back. "You're overthinking it."

"Very me, isn't it?" you gave him a sheepish smile, kicking up your legs to cross them underneath your arms. Eddie just smiled in acknowledgement.

"Sure is, sunshine."

You stuck your tongue out at that, face scrunching up as if you'd tasted something bitter.

"When will you stop calling me that? We're not ten anymore, Eds." you commented, referring to the fact that Eddie had been calling you by the nickname 'sunshine' since both of you were ten. His justification? You were sunny, fun, and you always 'brightened his days' - "you're basically my sunshine" he'd confessed, hands wringed together, shy grin on his lips.

"Never, sorry not sorry."

"Well then what am I supposed to call you? Seems hardly fair that I get a nickname and you don't." you paused, humming as you began to seemingly brainstorm an appropriate name in your head. "Moonshine."

"Moonshine?" he mocked, giving you an incredulous look, to which you threw your hands up dramatically.

"I-I don't know! I was just thinking like, if I was going to be called sunshine and we're such opposites, you'd be called moonshine."

"I'm pretty sure that's the name of that illegal alcohol too. You know, the spirit that's banned in the US for having an insanely high alcohol concentration?" he teased, before he nodding affirmatively. "You know what, now that I think about it, I kind of like it."

"Really?"

"Yeah. We're opposites - sun and moon - and I sort of dig the thought of being named after a deadly alcohol brand."

"You're hardly fatal, Munson." you'd hit back, knocking your shoulders with his.

"Eh, Wayne seems to think I am whenever I cook."

You laughed again at that, and though this time it was shorter and lighter, it still did the job of lighting his veins on fire and causing a slight blush to paint over his cheeks.

Eddie was certain that he'd say and do anything - absolutely anything - to hear you laugh at his jokes.

------------------------------------------

36: your honesty - it might break a lot of hearts, but it's so refreshing.

"Everything alright?" you questioned Eddie from behind, frown on your wet lips as you peeked over his shoulder to stare at the retreating jocks.

You were both sophomores now, a full two years into high school, and Eddie had been proven correct in his prediction that he'd continue to be an outcast and a weirdo whilst you dominated the popularity pyramid.

The basketball team had taken particular glee at bugging Eddie at school - knocking into him in the hallways, purposefully ignoring him during group discussions, whispering words like "freak" and "loser" whenever they passed by him. That was, of course, so long as you weren't near him. They were on their best behavior around you: student body president, head of student volunteering, varsity swim captain.

After all, you were kind of one of them - you sat with the popular kids: the varsity athletes and cheerleaders and student government members. Eddie, on the other hand, sat in the back of the lunch room with the science club nerds, with whom they discovered a mutual love for D&D after being grouped together for a Chemistry project.

"Everything's fine, don't worry your pretty little head about it, okay?" Eddie had joked at you, winking. "We still on for Friday movie night?" he added, hopefully, slamming his locker door shut. His smile fell in the fraction of a second at the unexpected sight of your sorry expression.

"Yeah, about that... I can't tonight." you'd said awkardly, scratching your neck.

"What? Your parents got you doing household chores again?"

"Oh, no, no. My parents are out of town this week. It's... something else."

You were clearly hiding something: avoiding his gaze and dragging the soles of your shoes on the floor as you wordlessly trailed behind him in the hallways, making Eddie's curiosity worsen. After all, you two were best friends, you never hid anything from each other.

"What is it? Come on, don't leave me hanging, sunshine."

You were chewing on your bottom lip, hesitant smile sparking on your face when you looked up to finally meet his worried gaze.

"I have a date tonight."

Shit.

Eddie halted his footsteps in the hallway, eyes wide and unblinking as the words soaked in, heart beginning to crack and fill with dread at the announcement. He wasn't an idiot. He knew that you were well desired, he knew that you were gorgeous, he knew that it was only a matter of time before you'd had a proper date and a first kiss.

But he didn't think that day was going to be today.

And to add salt to injury, it had to be on a day where it was routine for you to come over to his place to watch a shitty VHS tape over popcorn and pizza. He loved Friday movie nights. It got him through late nights studying subjects he couldn't care less about, a distraction to hold on to as a cheerleader jeered at him or a jock roughly rustled into him by the parking lot.

"Oh. Uh, nice! Who asked you out?" Eddie had tried to come off as if he'd been unaffected, as if there wasn't now a sinking, clawing sensation in his stomach and his heart wasn't filling with black tar. His efforts to keep his face neutral and voice light paid off, as you visibly relaxed, slow grin quirking up the edges of your lips.

"Tyler."

"Tyler? As in, Tyler Peterson?" he'd spluttered in disbelief: Tyler was the complete opposite of Eddie. A muscular blonde and head of the basketball team, he was a senior with a large group of friends and a penthouse in the upper side of Hawkins. Rich, undeniably attractive and popular, the stinging pain of insecurity was beginning to prick at Eddie's skin as your grin only widened.

"Yeah, that's him. Not gonna lie, I'm surprised that he'd ask me out-"

"You can't go out on a date with him." the metalhead had quickly cut in, making you cock your head in confusion.

"Why... not?"

"Because!" Eddie shouted, his mind scrambling to find an excuse. Because in reality, it made sense that two of the most popular and attractive people in Hawkins High would go on a date. "He's a senior and you're a sophomore, yeah. It's creepy."

You stuck your tongue out at him.

"Ugh, moonshine, grow up. He's still 17 and I'm about to turn 16 in two weeks. It's not like we're breaking the law." you flicked him in the forehead, playful smirk on your lips before you continued to walk down the hallway, Eddie's footsteps quickly following behind you.

"Still! That's like, gross."

"Listen, I'm really sorry about cancelling our Friday movie night, I know you look forward to them as much as I do." you sighed, turning on your heel to stare up at him. "I'll make it up to you, okay? But I really like Tyler and I wanna give this a shot, Eddie. I mean, for fucks sake-"

You quickly looked around the vacant hallways before leaning over to whisper.

"I haven't even had a proper first kiss yet."

Eddie chose to ignore how the first thought in his mind was a sly comment - "we could kiss right now and get it out the way" - and he consciously chose instead to lower his defences, shoulders shrugging downwards at your strict tone and persistent gaze.After all, if Eddie knew anything about you, it was that you were stubborn and once you set your mind to something, he couldn't talk you out of it.

Besides, the logical voice in his mind now reprimanded him, he didn't own you. You weren't his. He'd had plenty of chances to make a move on you, to push you two over the line of friendship into love, a whole nine years in fact. And he'd never done anything. And it was selfish and unreasonable for him to want to keep you all to himself, away from other boys who also noticed your attractiveness.

You were akin to a siren, Eddie thought. Sweet voice, perfect features, alluring aura that enticed people towards you. Damn your attractiveness.

"Okay, fine. I'll leave the front door unlocked though in case you still wanna swing by afterwards."

"Aw, thanks, handsome." you'd teased, elbowing him on the side. The contact burned Eddie through his clothes, skin still tingling with hot jealousy, which he quickly distracted himself from by changing the subject to something irrelevant.

Eddie was left to sulk by himself by the sofa that night, and he was eternally grateful that Wayne was working out of state that weekend so as to not see the plight of his nephew moping around in the house alone. It undoubtedly would've resulted with Wayne grunting, placing his hands on his hips, cigarette loosely dangling from his lips as he'd ask: "where's (Y/n)?"

He didn't need any additional salt in the wound, Eddie thought.

Eddie had practically memorized every detail of Poltergeist at this point, the exact dialogue exchanged, when the jump scares occurred, when a character was going to be killed - but it was far less fun when you weren't sitting next to him, narrating out loud and giggling at his dumb jokes.

This sucked. It really, really sucked - especially since he knew that you were out probably holding hands with and leaning your head against that popular blonde, the complete antithesis to Eddie. Shifting uncomfortably on the couch, Eddie just wished that he could simply melt away, the stabbing feeling of jealousy never once leaving him.

Then he heard someone knock on the door. You had opened it and leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed over your chest as if you'd just been swinging by casually as planned.

"Hey." you'd offered, student president jacket draped over your shoulders, form fitting jeans hugging your thighs. "Can I come in?"

"Y-yeah." he'd muttered out, dazed, mind whirling with the million possibilities that could've led you to his trailer. After all, when he'd said you could still swing by after the date, he didn't think you would actually take the offer. Eddie figured you'd end up being driven home in Tyler's porsche or end up at the blonde's place instead, clothes discarded on his expensive penthouse bedroom floor.

"D-did you even go on the date?" Eddie spluttered, bewildered, shifting over to make space for you. Your expression soured at that, nose crinkling at the top, lips puckering.

"I did, but... it was a total bust. Turns out, we don't have much in common."

"Really?" It was impossible to hide the complete shock from his tone, in response to which you turned around and raised your eyebrows, challenging him.

"What?"

Eddie shrugged his shoulders, shaking his head sideways simultaneously.

"I don't know, I just figured... you're both popular, attractive and outgoing people. Would seem like it'd be a perfect match on paper."

"Eh. The conversation was stilted and awkward. Our sense of humor totally didn't match. And honestly?" you paused, giggling softly before continuning. "Everything he said and did annoyed me. Like somehow he was the amalgamation of every flaw and quirk I hate in a person."

"Yeah?" Eddie hid his smile of pride and relief behind his hands, as you snatched the popcorn bowl from his lap and popped a kernel into your mouth.

"Yeah. So I called the date off short."

"What'd you tell him?"

"The truth, duh. That he's a nice guy but we're a total mismatch. He tried to argue otherwise, grabbing my wrist and tugging me back to his car, but I just stared back and told him it was clear he was still in love with his ex anyways so he should probably just chase her."

"Huh." was all Eddie can offer in response as you flashed him another comforting grin and leaned back into the couch cushions, body loosening as your gaze fixated on the blue screen ahead.

Eddie stared down at his hands before back up to you, admiring how flickers of blue and red light passed over your face as another gruesome scene played, your jaw carved by the contrast of shadow and light dancing on your face.

It was a sight Eddie had seen a million times, but it never failed to make his heart race.

"Sorry that the date didn't work out." he whispered into the night, knees brushing up against yours.

He didn't mean it, at all.

You looked down at him with a lazy grin, shrugging your shoulders.

"Don't be, moonshine. Cause the date led me back here, didn't it? So it wasn't a total bust."

His heart fluttered at that, electricity tingling at his finger tips, as you then shuffled closer towards him to throw a blanket over both your laps. Your head on his shoulder, knees weighing against his lap as you leaned against him, all Eddie could do was nod in response.

"Definitely not."

Perhaps Eddie would be okay with you going on dates - so long as it meant more nights like this.

------------------------------------------------

58: your "i'm thinking hard" face. I don't think you realize you do it, but when you're really concentrating on something, your eyes glaze over and lighten and you pout your lips. I love that sight.

"What're you working on?"

You looked up upon hearing Eddie's muffled question, his lips preoccupied with a large muffin as you scowled and brushed away the spare crumbs from your desk. He had insisted on coming over and "helping you" study for the senior finals, which in Eddie's terminology really meant stealing snacks from your cupboard and trying to distract you as you worked.

"Senior prom planning." you'd responded, dropping your pencil onto the desk and rubbing your forehead with your fingers to soothe the stress. "It's taking fucking forever too. There's like, a million things to still work out before next Friday."

Right, the prom. Eddie remembered seeing all the obnoxiously colorful decorations around school advertising the event, alongside the countless cheesy promposals he'd been a witness to involuntarily.

Eddie didn't have an immediate response to that, so you returned your attention to the stack of papers, your face entering a trance like zone he recognized as concentration. It evened out your features perfectly and even your slightest reflexes - biting down on the edge of a wooden pencil or flicking the square corners of the pages with your delicate fingers - made you so attractive to him.

"Well, if you're planning it, I know it's gonna be fantastic." he had offered in consolation.

"You're not going?" you whipped your head back to stare at him, shocked, to which Eddie only shrugged his shoulders.

"Never been my scene. You have fun though, yeah?"

"But it's our final year!" you insisted.

"Your final year." he reminded you, his eyebrows crinkling in disgust. I have to repeat again."

You waved his comment off, abandoning your stack of papers and stationery by your desk before sitting next to him on your bed, fierce determined look on your face.

"Eddie, it's not just any dance this year. It's senior prom! One that I worked really hard on! And don't make an excuse and say that your other friends aren't going, literally everyone bought tickets - even the science geeks."

Damn, there went his excuse, thought Eddie. Your pleading gaze was heavy on his shoulders, teeth gnawing his bottom lips as he mulled over it, head turning fuzzy when you reached over and placed your hand on his lap.

"Come on, moonshine. Please? For me?"

He swore you had the ability to hypnotize people. It was the only logical explanation for when you fluttered your eyelashes and left delicate touches on his skin, Eddie's mind blanked and he wordlessly agreed to any of your suggestions. Prom and Eddie did not mix, at all, from the popular kids winning titles to the wearing of suits and cheesy slow dances, but when you were asking him....

"Come on.... I'll even save a dance for you." you had said quietly, voice dripping with undeniable affection.

"Fine." Eddie surrendered, accepting the pink paper ticket you dug out from your bag, your fingers brushing against his when he took the slip of paper from your grasp.

Then once Eddie got back to his trailer, he stared at the ticket for a few minutes in the dark, an odd stirring sensation settling in his stomach. He'd been your best friend for 11 years at this point. You were about to graduate. He was about to repeat senior year.

Next year would be the first year he wouldn't be spending every moment with you.

The panic that filled his throat was foreign, chest feeling as if an elephant was standing on top his body, prickly stabbing sensations in his lower abdomen. Staring at the pink slip of paper, Eddie turned the ticket over by the window, watching how the font of the words 'senior prom' flickered and changed under the pale moonlight.

Eddie had to tell you.

If there was any day to tell you that he loved you, that he wanted something more, it would have to be on prom night.

Letting out a shaky exhale, Eddie carefully tucked the ticket underneath a set of magazines on his desk, before forcing himself to drift off to sleep.

Prom came in a flash. Wayne had gone the extra mile of driving to the town next over to rent a proper suit for him, the velvet fabric and square shoulders fitting his figure nicely. But Eddie didn't recognize himself in this sort of attire - he was still pulling at stray hems and ruffling with the edges of the fabric in the mirror when he'd realize that he'd wasted twenty minutes just staring at himself.

"Shit."

His plan was to seek you out the moment he arrived, but the gymnasium was packed with people - a flurry of glittery fabrics and bright party lights, blue and purple balloons tied to the ivory white chairs and tables, fairy string lights intertwined with satin curtains. He'd bumped into his science club friends and before he knew it, he was practically pinned to be by their side, the sea of unfamiliar faces blocking you from view.

He caught the sight of you a full hour and a half into the dance, a brief glimpse of white velvet fabric as you easily walked through the crowd greeting people, before you disappeared from sight again. Eddie was already beginning to excuse himself from his friend group when static rang out from the stage, and the principal announced that it was time to read the results for the prom title crownings.

It was only when the party had completely died down - crushed coke cans and rumpled party banners on the floor, a slow forgettable song flowing from the speakers, half-eaten paper plates stacked on top of stained tablecloths - that he was able to approach you. You were mid-conversation with the principal, probably exchanging pleasantries as the balding man applauded your effort and all your service the past four years, before you turned and your bright eyes drooped in exhaustion.

They lightened up, however, when they landed on his figure, and you excitedly waved at him.

"There you are! Had a great time?" you questioned, excited to hear his response.

"Yeah! Shame we just uh, didn't get our dance." Eddie awkwardly added, hoping to mask his disappointment. The cleaning team had already begun to take the decorations down, the music club tidying up the DJ booth on the stage behind you.

"We can still have our dance, silly. Follow me."

You quietly led him out to the parking lot, which was now completely abandoned save for the few empty vehicles and black streetlights. Leading Eddie over to your car, you opened the front seat and dug out your Walkman from your bag. Checking which cassette was in, you grinned, pressing play and placing the player on the roof of your car.

"Come on, I don't bite." you'd joked, noticing how Eddie had seemingly tensed up as the music began to flow and you placed arm over his neck. He nodded, a weak smile on his face, before he carefully put his two hands on your waist, gently swaying to the romantic melodies of Ella Fitzgerald.

"You alright?" you asked, noticing that he wasn't making any eye contact with you, his brown orbs instead choosing to focus on how his feet shuffled on the pavement next to yours.

"Y-yeah." he breathed out, glancing up for a brief moment. "It's just-"

He paused. You looked ethereal. Even in the dull, harsh yellow light of the street lamps, you carried an almost golden glow, your facial features only seemingly complimented by the night sky. He swore he could count every individual star in the sky in your eyes, your French perfume washing over him in waves, clouding his senses like toxic smoke.

"We've been friends since we were 7." Eddie slowly started out as you laughed quietly, shaking your head in affirmation.

"Yeah. Nearly 11 years, crazy, huh?"

"Y-yeah. And I've been thinking, since this is our last year together in Hawkins before you go off to university, I should be... honest with you."

You frowned at that, your grin dropping for a fraction of a second before a curious smirk replaced it.

"You telling me you haven't been honest with me?"

"Not like that! But, I realized something. It's something I've been thinking about for, uh, a while, and maybe I should've said earlier but there never seemed to be a good time."

He was practically shaking with nerves, throat closing up, alarm bells ringing in his head. He could tell that you could sense his sudden anxiety, the way his breath stopped coming out in regular intervals and his shoulders tensed as if bracing for impact.

"What is it, Eddie?"

This was it. He took in a deep breath, looked you right in the eyes, and opened his mouth, "I love you" on the tip of his tongue-

"(Y/n)! You want any sides with your pizza?" another voice rang out from the car two spots down, from a blue BMW belonging to a student none other than Steve Harrington.

Fuck.

Eddie knew of Steve. They weren't friends, hardly acquaintances. But he knew that Steve was everything Eddie wasn't: popular, charming, star basketball player, adored by everyone, Hawkins royalty. Now that Eddie thought about it, he'd vaguely seen you and Steve talking in between classes and after basketball games - just catching up on random things, you'd insisted, just two close friends.

Now Eddie wasn't too sure how true that statement was.

"Just pizza is fine, thanks! But maybe some soda?" you shouted over, breaking away from Eddie for a moment, and he cursed himself for how he instantly missed your warm arms being wrapped around him. Steve flashed you a thumbs up from his driver's seat before driving into the night, leaving Eddie to stare at you with baited curiosity.

"You're... going off to Harrington's?"

"Yeah! His parents are out of town and he just got the sickest television - like the newest model - and a few VHS tapes rented out. He also helped out the most with the prom whilst I was planning it, so I offered to pay for pizza when he asked if I wanted to come over for movie night."

Red hot flashes of anger blinded Eddie's vision for a second, before it was replaced by crushing sadness - you were going over to Steve Harrington's. Alone. After prom. To watch a movie.

Something you two did all the time.

Eddie was trying his best to keep his face neutral, to prevent the devastating realization that he'd waited too long to confess his love to weigh down his smile. His efforts seemed to pay off, as the small smile on your face never faded, before you shook those thoughts off and stared up at Eddie innocently.

"Anyways, you wanted to... tell me something?"

Suddenly, Eddie hated the song that was playing in the background - Dream a Little Dream of Me - and his throat ran dry.

"Yeah. Just... once you leave, can I use your cafeteria card?"

Chuckling, you nodded, still completely blind to how devastated Eddie was internally.

"Sure, Eddie. Really, that was what you were so scared to ask me about?"

'No.' he responded automatically, internally.

"Yeah. I know, it's kinda dumb, but I just wasn't sure if the school president would be willing to bend the rules for me a bit." he teased, mock smile on his lips, elbowing you on the side. You shoved him off playfully.

"Please, I'd do anything for you, Eds. You're my best friend."

The words felt bitter on his tongue now, mouth filling with sour tones, but he nonetheless forced himself to smile at you warmly.

The moonlight was blinding him.

-----------------------------------------

66: your drunken ramblings. I swear, when you're drunk, you become a total clumsy, reckless mess. It's hilarious but also concerning, if I'm being honest. No wonder Robin is always playing the sober driver around you.

The first year without you was brutal, Eddie found.

He'd made a few new friends after your departure to Boston, boys who were equally obsessed with fictional universes and fantasy roleplaying as him - Jeff and Gareth, with whom he created the 'Hellfire Club' with - and he'd joined Corroded Coffin as a guitarist.

Anything to fill the void, now that you were no longer here.

On a good month, you'd be able to call him on a Sunday late at night to fill Eddie in on how you were adjusting to university life. He'd listen to you ramble about anything - your course, your new friends, how hectic and busy and off putting you found the bustling city - with a lovesick grin on his face, imagining in his mind how you'd scrunch up your face and toy with the telephone chord with your fingers during the conversation.

"You always let me talk too much on these catch up calls." you'd once teased, slightly embarrassed. "Feel free to tell me to shut up at any time."

"Never." Eddie had insisted, sitting up straight. He'd never get tired of listening to your sweet voice from half away across the country.

But there were many more months where neither of you could call - exam seasons, holidays spent apart, the fact that you lived by a university schedule and Eddie still went by a high school one. And though Eddie was beginning to adjust nicely to his new group of friends and was determined to graduate on his second try, nothing quite filled the gaping hole in his heart left by your absence.

So when you'd finally come back for summer break, Eddie basically refused to leave you alone. On the second week upon your return, you'd showed up at his trailer with an interesting proposition.

"You remember Amber? Head cheerleader our final year together?"

Eddie shook his head, biting down the truth which was that he had no idea who you were talking about.

"Well, I got an invitation to her engagement party and I can bring a plus one. Wanna... come with me?"

Had anyone else asked Eddie, he would've said no in a heartbeat. But he was starved of your presence, having missed you for a whole year, and how could he say no to you now when you were in front of him? Breathing, real, smiling so prettily, asking for him to spend a whole day with you?

"Sure."

Eddie semi-regretted it later on when you two actually drove up to the party later that night.

"I hate parties." Eddie groaned into his half-empty beer bottle, leaning against the balcony whilst Robin just shot him an amused grin, having been invited as a plus one to Steve.

"Then why'd you come?" she pressed, pink lips wrapping around an half empty wine bottle. The answer was simple, really - Eddie had come for you.

Otherwise, he truly couldn't care less about attending a fancy engagement party on the upper east side of Hawkins. Houses lined with white picket fences, expensive cars parked by marble driveways, huge penthouses with glazed windows and arched ceilings.

"You came for (L/n), right?" the brunette teased, licking her lower lips to catch the stray drops of alcohol dancing on her tongue.

"I guess so, yeah." he'd confessed, dropping his gaze to the floor.

"... When are you just gonna come out and say it?" Robin had then questioned, placing her hands on her hips, as if she was a parent scolding a child. "Seriously, Steve and I have placed bets since sophomore year and we're still sore losers at this point because neither of us have won our bets."

Eddie sighed, eyes flicking up to look into the large living room filled with sweaty bodies dancing to the loud house music, his eyes easily being able to scan the crowd to narrow in on your figure. You were twirling Steve around in a dramatic manner, almost making the boy bump into the table of food and topple over a stack of cupcakes, to which you quickly shouted out an apology and Steve began to laugh uncontrollably.

"It's not that simple, Buckley."

"Uh, it's very simple, Munson." she dragged out her sentence in a dramatic fashion, leaning against the balcony with one arm propped up as she looked him up and down. "You ask to go somewhere private. You say "I've loved you since we were 7." You two kiss and start to date."

She counted off of her fingers one by one as if crossing off a hypothetical list, before smiling at the metalhead. Eddie just scowled at that - god, none of his friends knew just how hard it was for him.

"It's not just... that. Like it's one thing that I've kept this a secret for over a decade now."

"Then what's stopping you?"

Eddie paused. He'd never confessed this to anyone before, he realized, staring up at his friend's curious face. He'd kept his insecure thoughts close to his chest, afraid of letting any of them see the light of day, afraid of the judgment he'd call upon himself upon being vulnerable.

But hell, what did he have to lose?

"I just don't know if... I'm good enough."

"What'd you mean?"

"Like... I've always been the outsider. The weirdo looking in. Sunshine's not like that. Popular, extroverted, outgoing, friendly - good at everything, loved by everyone. Even though we've been best friends for over a decade now, I've always felt as if... (Y/n)'s out of reach from me. I don't think I'd really be able to match up to someone like that."

Robin's smile faded into an expression of sympathy, which Eddie flashed her a grateful smile in response, her left hand then springing up to clasp onto his shoulder.

"Shit, Eddie... That's heavy. I had no idea."

Eddie wasn't quite sure if he appreciated or loathed the sorry smile on her face.

"Yeah, well, it's whatever. Just how things are, I guess."

Robin opened her mouth to object when you and Steve messily cut into the conversation, you practically tripping on your feet with how drunk you were, the sting of alcohol wafting off of you in waves.

"I've had seven shots of vodka." you proudly announced, steadying yourself against Eddie's shoulders by shakily grasping his body. He had to steady you upright as you toppled over on a step you didn't see, his sturdy arms hooking underneath your shaky arms. "Oops."

"Jokes on you, I've had eight." Steve countered, swaying from side to side, leaning on Robin who only rolled her eyes playfully and shoved him off.

"You alright?" Eddie whispered underneath Robin and Steve's loud bickering, brushing away stray strands of hair from your glazed over eyes. You nodded, humming lowly, before your bottom lip protruded in a pout.

"Mmhmm. I need more vodka though."

"Oh no you don't-" Eddie had to physically drag your body out of reach from the stacks of vodka bottles decorating the main table, your small frown quickly displaced by a mopey grin as you buried your drunken head into the pit of his arm. "I'm taking you home."

"I don't need to go home, I just need to sober up a bit!" you'd insisted, pushing away from Eddie, flailing your arms around. "Come on, the cake hasn't even been brought out yet, and I promised Amber I'd stick around till then."

"Fine." Eddie set his red solo cup down by the wooden railings, before decisively grabbing your left hand in his. "We're going for a walk to sober up then, okay?"

"Okay."

It was a chilly summer evening, green leaves and stray weeds crunching underneath his boots as you stumbled behind him, your warm hands a stark contrast from Eddie's cold ones. He could feel his metal rings shift against your skin as you swayed your linked arms together back and forth like a child, wide smile on your lips.

"Sobering up?" he'd teased, shooting you an amused grin in the dark, the empty streets illuminated only by the flickering yellow streetlights, the crescent moon hidden behind a fog of clouds.

"Hardly." you grumbled.

"Guess we need to walk a bit more."

Eventually, the two of you stumbled across an empty playground, and before Eddie could talk you out of it you'd decided to make a run towards the seesaw, forcing him to follow behind you closely.

"(Y/n)-"

"Sit, Eddie." you'd instructed, pushing down on his shoulders to force him down on one side. "Please, Eddie? Like the old times?"

Eddie smiled at that - it felt just like yesterday that Eddie was seven, red flushed face peeking underneath half-formed head of curls, clutching onto the seesaw in the school playground. Letting out an exaggerated sigh, he pretended to surrender into it, sitting down on to the wooden plank.

That somehow devolved into chasing you around the playground: pushing you down the slide, racing you to the top of the monkey bars, spinning you on the merry-go-round until you physically couldn't breathe anymore from how hard you were laughing. Eddie was no different, eyes tearing up as he fell onto the trampoline next to you, heavy breaths meeting the cold air as he tried to regain his breath.

"So much for a quick walk." he'd muttered, staring up at the few stars twinkling above.

"Did the job of sobering me up a bit though." you countered. "And plus, you can't tell me that playgrounds aren't real fucking fun. Even if we're adults."

"Not denying that, sunshine."

You turned over to stare at him, face a few inches from his, and there was a certain glint in your eyes that he couldn't quite read. Hint of a smile on your dry lips, your hands came up underneath your head to support it, fabric rustling as you adjusted your posture.

"It's crazy, isn't it? We're now at a age where our friends are getting fucking engaged."

"It's mental, yeah."

"... You ever think you'd want to get married? Like Amber?" you raised your eyebrows, voice half serious but half playful. His immediate answer - that he often thought about marriage with you - passed by his mind like a bullet train before he quickly replaced it with a safer answer.

"I'd like to think so, eventually, yeah. What about you?"

You hummed.

"Not sure. I'm a bit scared by the whole 'life commitment' aspect of it. I think the only person I've been able to tolerate my whole life has been like, you. Funny, huh?" you'd joked, sitting up right, as Eddie did the same.

His heart was pounding at a million beats per minute, your innocuous comment sparking electricity in his veins, but he had to remind himself instantly: you didn't mean anything by it.

"Yeah, funny."

Once returning to the party, Eddie found that the rest of the party participants had devolved into a game of truth or dare and spin the bottle. He'd participated in the latter, semi-half heartedly, at your insistence. All was fine until the beer bottle landed on you, and the person to your left announced that you had to kiss whoever you knew for the longest in the circle.

You'd done the unthinkable to Eddie, simply turning towards him, grabbing his face and giving him a fierce, wet kiss. It was the kind of kiss that had all the girls screaming in excitement and all the boys hollering with whistles, the kind that made Eddie break out in red flushes of embarrassment, mouth still tingling with the aftertaste of vodka and your honey chapstick when you pulled away.

"Didn't wanna lose, sorry Eds." you'd commented against his lips, flashing him a wink. He would've given you a joking comment in response, but his mouth was dry and his palms were sweaty, mind still catching up with what had just happened.

It was a joke. You were drunk.

But damn, Eddie wanted to have your lips on his again.

----------------------------------------------

83: you're an absolute whiz with the kids. Not just Henderson, the whole gang. Sometimes, I think they like you more than me - which I can't be offended by either. I like you more than me.

Second year without you in Hawkins.

Eddie was repeating senior year again.

God, it sucked. There were only so many late night calls and hastily written letters he could exchange with you before he went mad. He swore it had become a nightly ritual to stare at his house phone and to check his calendar each morning, counting down every day before any major holiday during which you might return to Hawkins.

You'd missed Christmas last year due to a research project and you'd similarily chose to spent Easter in Boston, leaving Eddie bored and a bit lonely. Sure, Eddie had gotten used to Hawkins High at this point. Hell, he'd started to revel in being the weirdo, the outcast, of purposefully pissing off the popular kids.

But it never got easy missing you.

It was a boring Tuesday morning. Eddie was thinking of anything in particular, eyes still laden with fatigue and his head still stuck in his semi-dreamlike state, when he'd stumbled over to his trailer door and swung it open.

But you were waiting for him on the other side, in a pair of blue jeans and a warm maroon university sweatshirt covering your figure, your arms outstretched for a hug.

"SURPRISE!"

He blinked at you silently like a deer in headlights, to which you chuckled nervously and lowered your arms slightly.

"Oh. Did I-"

Eddie didn't let you finish your sentence before he basically pummeled into you, wrapping his sturdy arms around your waist, squeezing you so tight that you couldn't breathe as he mumbled his next words against your neck.

"Holy shit, I missed you so much." his voice was wavering the slightest bit, tears lingering in the corner of his eyes which he rapidly blinked away before you could see them form properly.

"I missed you so much too, moonshine." you replied softly, voice tinged with adoration and fondness.

"H-how, or I guess, why are you here?"

"I got a day off earlier than I thought on my research project and I don't have any plans for the weekend so... figured I'd swing by Hawkins!"

"Swing by? You're not staying?" Eddie's smile fell by a fraction.

"I'm only here for a day before I'm flying back - I have to start preparing for midterms, plus I told one of my friends back in Boston that I'd help her move."

"Well." Eddie had teased, wrapping one arm around your shoulder, his other hand dangling the keys to his van. "Guess we gotta make the most of these 24 hours, huh?"

His first stop was to take you to the diner you were obsessed with, a small red and white colored establishment hidden behind the gas station that served the best french fries and milkshake you swore you'd ever tasted.

"God, I've missed this." you groaned, taking a light sip of the frothy dessert. "This is why I came back, actually." you joked, making him pout like a petulant child.

"You're mean."

"Eh. You like it."

His smile was automatic - he was just too happy to be in your company again, to see how your cheeks dimpled with a smile, to hear your lively voice right by his ears.

"I do."

The next stop was decided by you to be the arcade. Impatient at how slowly Eddie was walking, you grabbed his left hand to tug him along, making him chuckle at how excited you seemed to be over a couple of video games.

"(Y/n)?" a small, quiet voice rang out, stealing your attention away from Eddie and making you drop his hand.

"DUSTY!!!"

You eagerly waved over the curly haired boy whose face lit up in a wide grin at the sight of you, before he stumbled over and hugged you fiercely, awed expression marking his face.

"I thought you'd still in Boston!"

"I am! I'm just back for the day."

"Cool! Who's this?" Dustin had asked, pointing at Eddie, semi-frown etched on his face. Eddie had to suppress a scowl at that, as well as swallowing a harsh "get lost." He had no idea who this middle school kid was, but he already didn't like that (a) this kid had taken your attention away from Eddie and (b) now the boy was cutting into your one day back in Hawkins with Eddie.

"Oh right, this is Eddie, my best friend! Eddie, this is Dustin, one of the kids I used to babysit."

"Nice to meet you." Eddie had forced out, attempting to give the younger boy a reassuring grin. The faux smile didn't seem to work on Dustin, who only scrunched up his face in response, his sour expression melting away into a warm one the moment his eyes met back up with yours.

"Speaking of babysitting, I hope Steve's been treating you well." you teased, ruffling Dustin's hair. The younger boy sighed dramatically at that.

"I wish. In fact, Harrington's supposed to be 'watching me' here at the arcade - in reality, he's here to flirt with her."

You looked over to where he was pointing to see Steve leaning over the counter of the arcade, coy smirk on his face as he clearly tried to charm a pretty blonde girl.

"Tragic. I see his flirting skills haven't improved." you teased, making Dustin chuckle as well. "Hey, remember when you thought Steve and I were dating?" you looked back at Eddie, wiggling your eyebrows.

Eddie flushed red with embarrassment at that, whilst the younger boy's mouth dropped open in surprise.

"You two DATED?"

"No, Dusty, never. But this silly man over here-" you elbowed Eddie, and he shoved you off quickly with a small scowl on his face. "Thought that Steve and I were an item at one point. Senior year, in fact. As if Steve's not like the big brother I never had."

"You two do fight like siblings." Dustin added, and your smirk only widened. "Speaking of Steve, uh, since he's basically ditched me for the blonde - can I hang out with you for the rest of the day? Please?"

"Of course you can!" you exclaimed, nodding enthusiastically. "It's okay if Dustin joins us, right?" you'd asked Eddie, turning around to smile at him.

Eddie wanted to say no. The word was begging to be let out from his lips, sitting heavy on his tongue, but when you flashed him that hopeful glance and that damn kid gave him his puppy dog eyes (damn, Dustin was good at that), Eddie couldn't bear to be the bad guy and deny the invitation.

"Yeah, of course. Come on in, kid."

Eddie eventually loosened up to Dustin's presence over the night - the first hour or so he sulked in the background, feeling like a third wheel to your inside jokes and excited conversations with the boy, until you left to go to the bathroom. Eddie was leaning against the railings with Dustin sitting cross legged on the floor, before the boy picked his head up and pointed to Eddie's shirt.

"What's Hellfire?"

Eddie scoffed.

"You wouldn't get it, kid."

"Uh, I'm about to be a freshman next year, I'm pretty sure I can handle it. Come on, I wanna know."

"It's like a... club I started. Where we play games."

"What kind of games? Like Defender and Tron?" the young boy's question was so genuine, expression so innocent and full of wonder, that Eddie couldn't help but laugh a bit and let his guard down.

"No, no. It's called Dungeons and Dragons, D&D for short. It's like a roleplaying game."

Dustin continued to stare at the metalhead, peeking upwards to silently urge him to go on, and within minutes, Eddie was telling the curly haired boy everything he had to know about D&D. To his surprise, Dustin's attention never once wavered, only interrupting Eddie to ask questions and to press him further for more information.

"Aw man, that sounds so cool! I wish I could play right now." Dustin stated, eyes wide with awe.

"Well, Hellfire Club is open to any Hawkins High student - once you're a freshman next year, you and your friends are all welcome to join."

"Really?"

"Yeah dude! More the merrier, right?"

"Oh, awesome!"

"Did I miss something?" you'd joked, wiping your hands on the knee pads of your jeans, eyes flickering between the two excitable boys. You'd clearly missed a bonding moment between them, it seemed, and it warmed your heart to see your best friend and Dustin get along so well in your absence.

"Eddie just told me about D&D and said I could join his club next year! Isn't that cool?" Dustin rambled, tugging at your sleeves. You chuckled, nodding.

"That's very cool, Dustin. Now come on, I'm pretty sure I'm still better than you at Centipede and I want to prove it."

Night settled into Hawkins quickly, dark black skies covering the streets as you ushered Dustin into the back of Eddie's van, refusing to let him cycle back home in the dark. Eddie had to stop at a gas station for a brief moment, and you stopped him from getting out, waving your wallet in your right hand.

"Stay. I'll cover gas."

"And can you pick up some beef jerky too? Please?" Dustin asked from the back, jostling up and down from his seat. You chuckled at his antics, unstrapping your seat belt.

"Sure, Dusty. I'll be right back, okay?"

Once you shut the door and your figure disappeared behind the bright lights of the gas station store, Dustin spoke up.

"How long have you been crushing on (Y/n)?"

"WHAT?" Eddie had spluttered out, choking on air as he coughed repeatedly to let air back into his lungs. Dustin just shook his head sideways at that, clicking his tongue against the roof his mouth.

"Come on, dude, it's obvious. How long have you been pining after my babysitter? A year?"

Silence.

"Three years?"

Silence.

"MORE THAN FIVE YEARS?" Dustin shouted out, surprised. Eddie bit his lower lip, before the admission fell out with a heavy sigh.

"More like twelve."

"TWELVE?"

Eddie quickly turned around from his seat up front, twisting his upper body to glare at the younger boy.

"Yeah, 12 years, anyways, that's not that important. How the hell did you know?"

The curly haired boy just shrugged, smiling smugly as if it was common knowledge and Eddie was the idiot for not figuring it out.

"You were glaring daggers into Steve's head when he accidentally touched hands with (Y/n) whilst they were talking. Oh, and you won't stop staring. And smiling. And subtledly flirting. And you have that lovesick grin on your face that Lucas gets for Max or Mike gets for El."

"I don't know who those people are." Eddie had countered.

"They're my friends - whatever, it's not important. The point is, Eddie, you look at my babysitter the same way my friends look at their girlfriends."

The heated conversation was cut off short by you reappearing by the driver's window, the metal door swinging open as you waved the beef jerky packet over your head before tossing it to Dustin in the back seat.

"Gas has been taken care of and here is your jerky, Dustin. Ready to go?" you asked cheerily, totally oblivious to the conversation you've just missed between the two boys. Innocent smiles on both their faces, both boys nodded silently, though Dustin flashed Eddie a sly smirk in the rearview mirror.

"Where to next?" Eddie teased once Dustin had been dropped off.

"My house, please. I need to pick up my backpack before I head off to the airport, gotta use the phone to call a taxi too."

"Let me drive you." Eddie offered immediately, swallowing down his tired yawns. You frowned at that, worried.

"Are you sure? It's a bit of a long drive, Eds, and it's already kinda late at night-"

"Nonsense, sunshine. I'm driving you and that's final."

In reality, Eddie was trying to stretch out as much of his time with you as he could. He knew he had an early start tomorrow and he was feeling rather tired, but he'd be damned if he was going to lose out on an extra hour next to you by letting you take a taxi instead.

"Alright then." you smiled, nodding.

His van pulled up to the airport too quickly for Eddie's liking, his immature first thought being that he wanted to lock his car doors to prevent you from getting out.

"Take care of him for me, would you?" you'd asked once Eddie had driven you to the airport, swinging your backpack over your shoulder, fiddling with the clasps. "Him and all his friends, if you end up meeting them all next year as freshmen... They're all lovely kids. They could all use someone as amazing as you looking out for them."

His heart melted at your admission and he nodded automatically, slow grin appearing on his chapped lips.

"Of course. They're in safe hands."

"Thanks, Eds."

You stepped forward to give him one last hug, your face squished against his upper chest, and Eddie took his time to commit the feeling of your arms around him to memory.

All the loud noise - the intercom announcing flight details, the distant chatter of conversations from strangers, the shuffling of luggage and dragging of feet on the floor - dissipated into the background, his senses overwhelmed with one and only one thing.

You.

And how much he loved you.

"See you soon?" Eddied added hopefully once you two parted. He'd beg you to come back for at least Christmas, but that was never a given and he didn't want to be standing in the way of your career. You smiled back at him gently, patting his hands reassuringly.

"See you soon, moonshine."

----------------------------------------

95: your bravery. I'll never forget how you handled finding out about the Upside Down. Whilst I wanted to run as far away from the monsters, you dived in headfirst. I was worried sick for you, you know. But I knew it was dumb of me to expect otherwise - you're the type of person willing to put your life on the line for your friends.

Eddie wished he'd seen you again in much better circumstances.

Not when he was repeating senior year for the third time and he was being hunted down by Jason Carver and the entire police department under suspicision for murder.

He immediately tensed when he heard footsteps and a crowd of voices ring out from the entrance of the lakehouse, his breath catching in his throat as he tried to remain as still as possible from his hiding spot. His mind was racing with an array of threats and worst case scenarios, his hands immediately reaching to the knife digging into his thigh.

"I'm telling you, Steve, things don't add up! Eddie would never kill someone."

He knew that voice. It was you. There was a rumbling amongst the group before the lakehouse fell back into the silence, save for soft padding of a single pair of feet against the wooden floor and the creaking of the front door.

"Eddie? You in here?"

Hesitant for a second but too eager to see you, he lifted his head slowly, dropping the knife back into his back pocket as he straightened up to meet you face to face. To his surprise, your face lacked any sign of judgment or disgust - instead, your eyes brightened with relief and you pulled him in to a bone crushing hug.

"Thank god you're okay! You are okay, right? You're not injured?" you frantically fired off one question after another, hands clutching his chin to lift his head up, eyes grazing over his entire figure scanning for any injuries. He smiled at that - the first genuine smile on his face in weeks - before gathering your hands up in his own and clasping them tight.

"I'm alright, sunshine. Don't worry. More importantly, why are you here?"

"Steve called."

"And?"

"Said you were in trouble. Suspcision for murder. I cancelled all my plans, lied about a family emergency and got here as fast as I could." you rambled, pausing for a moment to shoot him a look of shock. "By the way, did you know that the town is like connected to this hellish mirror universe called the Upside Down? And like there are these supernatural entities showing up threatening to break the very fabric of reality?"

"I don't know too much but based on what I saw with Chrissy, I'm... inclined to believe you more than not." Eddie responded, only to be cut off by Steve's voice from outside.

"YOU'RE STILL ALIVE, RIGHT? CAN WE COME IN NOW?"

You rolled your eyes at that.

"YES, STEVE, I'M ALIVE. They can all come in, right? I swear Steve and the kids can explain everything better than I can."

"Of course."

Eddie had a slightly easier time grasping everything than you - when you'd shot him an incredulous look he simply shrugged and smirked, insisting that it was akin to the many villains and monsters possible in D&D.

The day bled into night quickly and led to you, Nancy, Robin, Steve and Eddie standing by the edge of the lake whilst staring at a rickety wooden boat.

"I call shotgun." you yelled out, brustling past Eddie, only for him to grab your arm and yank you back.

"Uh, I don't think so. You're staying back."

"Says who?"

"Says me! Look, this is too dangerous, I'd rather you stick with the kids or at the very least just wait for us here."

The thought of you getting injured - his nightmares still haunted by what had happened to Chrissy in front of his eyes - made Eddie sick with dread and disgust, goosebumps rising against his skin.

"Tough shit, moonshine." you'd countered, undeterred. "I'm getting on that damn boat whether you want me to or not."

God, you were stubborn, Eddie cursed internally whilst running a hand down his face. He shot his friends standing behind you awkwardly a pleading look.

"Help me out here, guys, come on."

"... Hate to be that person, but if you're coming along then I don't see why (Y/n) can't." Robin added, shrugging her shoulders.

"Also, if this portal is underwater then it'd be good to have another great swimmer in the group." Steve chimed in, and you smirked at Eddie proudly.

"See? And I was varsity swimming captain all four years in high school. You're outnumbered, Eddie, now stop worrying so much."

Biting down his protests, Eddie gave in, though he made it a point to sit as close as he could to you should something go wrong.

And of course things went wrong - Steve got dragged in by an unseen force, you jumped in to the freezing waters right after him, so quick that Eddie hadn't even registered that you'd dived into the lake until the freezing cold waters splashed down onto his jeans.

Shit.

Black slime coating your fingers, grey ash dotting your eyebrows and crimson blood dripping from your coarse fingers, you were a terrifying sight to behold when Eddie saw you next. Clutching a carving knife strapped to your side, you were fearlessly cutting through the swarm of demon bats, saving Steve from potential death.

No, certain death, Eddie thought as you leaned down and helped Steve stand up on shaky legs. A twinge of jealousy stabbed at Eddie's chest at the sight of you shrugging off your jacket to wrap it around Steve's scarred torso, and Eddie couldn't help but think that Steve's hand lingered for too long on your back for it to just be friendly.

"Stop fuming at Steve, yeah? He did save our ass." Robin commented quietly from the side, smirking.

"Was not fuming at Harrington." was Eddie's weak response, to which Nancy and Robin only shot each other an amused glance. The girls ran to support Steve as Eddie walked right up to you, your eyes still on your muddied jeans as you wiped away the excess grime on the faded fabric.

"Hi again." you'd said nonchalantly. "Great weather we're having, huh?" you'd joked, wry smile on your dry lips.

Eddie couldn't believe you.

"You're impossible. And insane. Like actually, totally, insane." he'd responded, shaking his head sideways, awed and impressed.

Here you were - having just found out the truth about Hawkins and confronting a swarm of deadly supernatural creatures, covered in dirt, blood and ash - joking with him as if it was just another normal Wednesday. He didn't know whether to applaud you or scold you for your intense loyalty and bravery.

"You love it though." you stuck your tongue out at him, straightening up.

"I do." he'd said softly.

'And I love you.' was on the tip of his tongue.

But he swallowed it back, being grounded back to reality once Nancy called out to you two to catch up. Shaky feet almost slipping on dirtied grime and blood underneath, he figured there were much bigger things to worry about.

Much, much bigger things.

----------------------------------------

100: you.

Eddie used to think that that day was the most terrifying for him. Watching your body disappear under inky waters, running from demonic creatures, his fingers aching from repeatedly clenching around a metal baseball bat.

No, he's sure now that waiting for you to finish reading the letter is the most terrifying thing ever to have happened to him.

It's a painful and silent twenty minutes, during which he watches your lips quirk into fond smiles and silly frowns - he has to remind you repeatedly to continue reading, and to stop interrupting yourself to say something sentimental to him - all the whilst his heart beats so loud it drowns out the rain beginning to pour outside.

He figures you've finally reached the end when your expression suddenly twists into one of confusion, and you slowly look up at him through your lashes.

"Did you give up on the final point?" you joke, making Eddie frown.

"What'd you mean?"

"For number 100. You just wrote one word: 'you.' For all the other numbers, you wrote down more than that."

"Right." Eddie affirms, lacing his fingers together nonchalantly. He hopes the dim lighting in the room is masking his flushed cheeks, and that his voice is remaining as stable as he thinks it is in his head. "I told you I wrote a list of 100 things I love about you, right?"

"Yeah." you repeat back, still not grasping it.

God, he wonders, how could you be so bright yet so oblivious that he has to spell it out for you?

"All the other numbers combined, leading up to number 100. The thing I love the most about you is... that you're, uh, you." he slowly finishes.

Eddie's sentence hangs heavy in the air, atmosphere in the room suddenly sweltering hot and thick, your fingers slowly closing the envelope with your arms falling to your lap.

"... What are you saying?"

There was no going back.

"I love you."

There.

He'd said it.

Nearly 15 years of secret pining, of watching you date one guy after another whilst feigning disinterest, of being teased by all your mutual friends for his infatuation for you, of accepting your warm hugs and nightly cuddles as nothing but platonic...

All down to those three cursed words: i love you.

It's out in the open now, Eddie's stomach twisting with a tornado of emotions as he carefully tries to gauge your reaction. You're motionless, eyes wide and unblinking for a moment, your deft hands dropping the letter onto the bed.

"A-are... are you serious?" you squeak out.

Eddie suppresses a laugh at how shocked and in disbelief you seem to be.

"Well... yeah. Trust me, I wouldn't write 100 things I love about someone just for anyone."

You just nod at that, emotionless, eyes falling to your carpeted floor. He can't figure out what you're thinking, but it feels as if time is ticking by achingly slow and his lungs burn with anticipation with every beat of silence that passes in your bedroom.

It's killing Eddie, not knowing what you're thinking, and for a second he's worried that he's done for.

That he's destroyed your friendship, you're about to frown and tell him that you're sorry but you don't feel the same way. He opens his mouth to quickly begin to let out a string of apologies, preapred to swallow back all his words and beg for forgiveness, but he doesn't get to it.

He can't speak, he can't breathe, he can hardly process anything else other than the fact that your lips are now suddenly on his, your legs straddling his lap as you tackle him onto the mattress. Teeth clashing against teeth, it's desperate, his fingers gripping onto your waist tightly as your lips chase his.

He can taste the remnants of the buttercream frosting from your birthday cake, your lips pillowy and soft. He's kissed you once before, sure - that drunken kiss for the game of truth or dare - but nothing compares to this, the way his vision blinds in ivory white, finger tips buzzing with electricity, heart aflame with infatuation and lust at the way you growl and deepen the kiss.

"I love you too, Eddie." you reply afterwards, lips still swollen from the aftermath of the kiss.

"Really?"

It's his turn to be shocked, heart skipping at the amount of adoration and awe in your hoarse voice.

"Yeah. But w.... why didn't you say anything earlier?" you ask quietly, bewildered. Eddie laughs awkwardly at that, shrugging.

"That's the million dollar question, I guess. I don't know, I just... everyone loves you and wants you. You're so beautiful and talented and outgoing and I... I wasn't sure if you'd ever want to choose me." he mutters out hesitantly, scratching his neck, purposefully avoiding your gaze.

Eddie's a little embarrassed and ashamed to be admitting it now, knowing that you do indeed love him back, but it all melts away like ice in the summer heat when your fingers redirect his chin upwards to meet your gaze.

You're practically glowing with happiness, golden halo around your hairline.

"Always, Eddie. I'd always choose you."

a/n: ANOTHER slow burn Eddie fic down! If you're actually read this right now and you read to the end = thank you. After the overwhelming love y'all gave me for 'you made me hate this city', I knew I had to add another fic to this collection. And ofc, Taylor is my fave artist of all time so it seemed only fitting i honor her with a fic.

SIGH so this fic ALMOST wasn't published. Like i really genuinely didn't know if I would end up posting this. I was (and still am) afraid of putting it out there lmao bc of its length and the unusual writing (like the flashbacks and letter structure), but alas.

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