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crowcravesmore · 23 days

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Dead Girl Walkin' (Frank Castle x F!Reader)

AKA 'Bounty & Bliss'

Frank Castle x F!Reader (18+)

+ After a mission gone wrong, you end up on the wrong side of Fisks gun, and now you're a wanted woman. You have 30 hours of freedom before every bounty hunter in New York has his eyes on you, so of course you run straight to Frank. Oh how he loves the sight of you.

Word Count: 5.1k ( It's actually impossible for me to write a "short" fic. I'm a wordy bitch, I can't help it. I love to talk.)

Warnings: Cursing, violence, reader getting beat tf up (She's got powers it's fine), explicit content/smut, Frank being such a softie for you, fluff (is that a warning?).

A/N: LETS GO FRANK CASTLE LOVERS! I absolutely adore this man, and I think it shows in how I write him. This is an oldie from my previous blog, but it's one of my favorite fics I've ever written. It's a long one so buckle up. (This fic was absolutely based on the song Dead Girl walking from Heathers the musical. Take that as you will.)

+ + +

It was an absolute fact that you weren't gonna die a peaceful death. Yeah no, you were gonna go out one of two different ways. One, a Bruce Willis, Die Hard type thing with at least two explosions. Or two, someone else is gonna punch your card for you. Full stop. Do not pass go, do not collect two hundred dollars, that's it.

Frank threw a guess in once. Said you’d probably go out saving a bunch’a kids from a burning building or something, because you're a soft ass like that, Sunshine, that’s why. He was three stitches deep on his right arm, and shooting you looks from his side of the couch. Ain’t that right, Sunshine?

Nope. nuh-uh, not even close. You get a grand total of thirty hours, all Courtesy of Mr. Kingpin himself. Fisk. What kind of name is Fisk anyway? It sounds too much like Fist, or fish, either way it’s awkward. You’re just being pissy, because you got caught, and Fisk is rubbing it in your face.

Third punch is to your jaw, and that’s the one that knocks you, and the chair you're strapped to, back. You’re taking this whole thing in stride, you haven't passed out or anything. Be proud of that. After the fourth punch Fisk finally waves his hand and lets— what's his name? Rick? This guy looks like a Rick —stop. You ever been hit with brass knuckles by a heavyweight? It sucks.

You were hired by an unnamed client to sneak into Fisks club, and put mics anywhere you could. It was easy getting in without being noticed, unfortunately for you Fisk has eyes everywhere. Fortunately for you one of your powers is strength, so a couple of blows by a heavyweight won't kill you. It fucking hurts though.

Fisk says something, but he’s standing on the other side of the room and your ears are still ringing, so he really says nothing. He turns, catches your eyes, and there's a curious sort of smile on his face. Your ears are still ringing but, over all of the noise, you catch him say ‘Again’, and brace yourself for impact.

Rick, son of a bitch, knocks you hard, just under your eye and you can practically hear the bruise forming. You must’ve blacked out for a second because when you blink there’s Fisk, dropped to his haunches in front of you. It takes thirty seconds after you start drooling blood for him to start back up.

“You’re a real woman, you know that?”

“And what does that make you?” Your voice doesn't even sound like you, it’s too scratchy, and your words are hard to make out.

Fisk sort of ignores you and says,“And Because I'm a nice guy,” Pulling a white handkerchief—Christ—out of his shirt pocket and wiping your mouth. “I'm gonna make this easy on you, how bout’ forty eight hours? Sound good?”

You’re so stubborn. Like, way too stubborn for your own good, that’s what you’re gonna tell Frank when you explain why you spit your blood in Fisks face. And because you’re a real woman.

“Thirty hours,” Fisk says, gripping the bottom half of your shirt, using it to wipe his face, and standing up. “Butch,—” So that’s his name, he looks like a Butch. “Show her the door.”

Brace for impact.

You can't be that mad though, I mean come on. After that stunt you pulled at the Quagmire tonight you’re surprised you’re even still walking-uh -running. So yeah, thirty hours and after that you’re gonna be a goddamn beacon of come get me for every baddie in New York. Okay, you gotta stop running or else you’re gonna pull something, and catching a cramp probably isn’t the best thing for you right now...just sayin’.

You pitch from a sprint to a light jog and eventually stop, bowing over and pressing your hands to your knees. A long groan crawls out of you, and you shake your head. The middle of 10th and 42nd isn’t the place to let it hit you. Clear your throat, spit, stand back up, keep walking.

You decide to swerve out of the road and onto the sidewalk, that way you’re not ass out for everyone to see. And it’s a helluva sight. You’ve got a bruise forming just under your right eye and your nose is busted to shit, not to mention the blood- that you’re not even sure is all yours- caked over you. All that and you probably smell like a back alley.

You shift and adjust, turn right toward the dock, and pick up the pace.

‘I can run,’ you think, digging your thumbnail into your palm. ‘haul ass to Seattle, become some poor fisherman's wife.’

That doesn't sound all too bad, besides the fact that Fisk has got eyes all over this goddamn city. You so much as even look toward the bridge and his thirty hours-oh-mercy are gone. Poof! You won't even make it out of New York.

A street light flicks off for a second before coming back to life, and you dig in your back pocket, fishing for your phone. It’s a mess of cracks and smeared blood, but still manageable. You click it on and the screen gives a few half assed flashes of light before turning on. Yeah, still manageable.

You wipe the screen against your shirt and pull it back, checking the time. Twelve oh five. Good, he's still up.

•

Frank's van is static under the west bridge, just next to the pier. It’s a beige camper he’s had since way back when, and is still too sentimental to give up. It’s rusted, a hubcaps gone missing, and the battery is standing on it’s last leg, but don’t ever tell Frank it’s anything less than perfect. Seriously, buddy, don't do it.

You called it a piece of junk once, something mumbled between Frank trying to turn the engine over and almost flooding it.

“If you don’t like it that much, Sunshine, you can walk back.” He shakes his head and turns the key over again. The engine makes an almost awkward sort of noise. Something like a cr-r-r-eek! Before gray smoke creeps its way from under the hood. “God fucking damnit.”

You're ninety percent sure the only reason he didn't knock your head through the window is because he's got a soft spot for you....Eighty-five percent.

Your boot knocks against an empty can, probably oil, and Max pokes his head up. He's lying right outside the van's side door, tucked halfway under it with his head on his paws. You go still and try to remember if this dog actually liked you or not.

When he doesn’t move you chalk it up to a definite maybe, and start walking again. He lets out a few half assed growls before crawling from under the van and barking, loud and proud. You throw caution out the window and speed walk toward him, forgetting the fact that he’s a full grown pitbull, and wave your hands in front of you, shh shh shh! No, doggy. Nice, Max! You got a million different scenarios playing in your head, and none of them are good.

Max is howling now, nose pointed to the sky and oh sonofabitch.

You hear a gun cock over your head and now you're staring down the barrel of a shotgun. This was the fourth scenario. At the end of that is Frank, standing in a pair of raggedy sweatpants, an old NYU tee, and-Christ he's not even wearing any shoes.

You're still a little wobbly in the legs so you press your hand against the doorframe, and lean. That's it. Play it cool, nice and steady.

“Hey, Frank.” You say, and then. “Can I come in?” You're batting against four hours of sleep and maybe a concussion, so hey, frank is the best you're gonna do.

His shoulders slump down and he points the gun away from you, eyes moving three speeds too fast. Like I said earlier, you’re a helluva sight, girl.

“You look like the back end of hell.” He says, side stepping to let you in, eyes catching on your knuckles. They aren’t the worst of it, but you can tell a lot about a person from their hands, and Frank’s getting the whole goddamn story.

You step up into the kitchen—living room?—and focus on everything you’ve already seen before. The sketchy stain on the ceiling, the empty Budweiser cans, your feet. Just for good measure you pick up a roll of gauze and turn it over in your hand, because this is the most interesting thing in the world, not your bloody knuckles. And definitely not Frank who’s staring down your back, shooting imaginary laser beams your way. Pew pew pew. I’m calling it now, he’s gonna get mad. You know it, I know it, so just fucking face the music before he-

“So,” oh-Kay. He clicks the third deadbolt, and leans his back against the door, gun cocked on the wall, and arms crossed over his chest. “You gonna tell me what happened or am I gonna haveta’ guess?”

He doesn't have to guess, because he already knows. But, he's gonna lean back and give you a chance to say it before he starts pulling teeth.

“This was once in a lifetime, Frank.” You're pushing out excuses and he's barely said anything. “There was an opening-”

“Y/n, what the hell did you do?”

Franks more worried than actually confused. He knows you're in some deep-I'm talking chasm into hell deep- shit, he's just worried he's not gonna be able to pull you out.

“I went to the Quagmire, and Fisk was there.” You wring your hands because of the look he gives you. Priceless. “I had a shot, I took it, I—”

“Tell me you killed him.” He's shaking his head, tilt up, and looking at the roof. He's about to start praying, and lord knows he hasn't done that in a while. “Tell me you killed him, Y/n.”

The throbbing behind your eye is enough to remind you that no, you didn't. You came damn close though, I'll give you that.

Frank blinks, slow squeeze, and groans something low in the back of his throat. He drops his head and drags a hand down his jaw, you're gonna be the death of him if you keep this shit up.

“And,” you gotta get it out now, if you don't do it now you're gonna hate doing it later. “I got a bounty on me.”

“Course you do,” he's looking at you again, but his foot is tapping against the linoleum, so he's beyond mad now. “Is it active?”

You shake your head. “No, I got thirty hours.” You would have forty eight, but he doesn't need to know that...or why you don't anymore.

“Shiiit,” he almost laughs. “Bastard gave you a helluva’ lot more time than me.” His eyebrows tilt down and you catch the way his eyes track along your knuckles. You're standing in front of him, and in this light he can finally get a good look at you. And he doesn't like it. “What'd they do to you, Sunshine?”

There it is. You let out a halfhearted dry laugh and say. “Butch, son of a bitch has a solid right hook.”

“I bet I got better,” He says, lips upturning a bit.

You say. “Oh, I know you do.” And that's it, you're both drawn back into a moment that definitely shouldn't happen. Christ, girl, the man's a vigilante with a truckload of baggage. Stay away. Don't do it to yourself.

You gotta dodge this shit, so you say. “So, what do I do now?”

He gives you a quick once over and pushes himself off the wall. “First, you gotta take a shower, get your mind right.” He stalks over to the hall closet, and starts pulling out random things; a towel, a washcloth, sweatpants, and one of his Rolling Stones T-shirts. He tosses a Then we'll talk, and figure out our next move. over his shoulder and that knocks you back a minute.

Our. Don't dwell on that. Nope, nope, do not do it. You nod, walk over to him, and say. “Thank you, Franky.” Franky’s something only you’d get away with saying, just like he gets away with the whole sunshine thing. It’s weird, you’re weird, leave it alone.

When you reach him he pulls back, giving you this half look between you really okay? and it's okay if you're not. Oh, God, he's gonna have your eyes in the shape of hearts if he keeps this up.

“I'm fine,” You reach a bit more, and he meets you halfway, pushing everything towards you. “You better have hot water though.”

“Baby, you know I do.”

“Mhm, that's what you said last time.”

He says. “Just tell me if it's not hot enough for you, I'll fix it.” And you're positive it's borderline flirty. You gotta occupy yourself with turning on the bathroom light, or else he's gonna see fuuuck written all over your face.

You gotta say something back or it's gonna be one sided, and awkward so you push out. “I'll call you if I need you, Franky.” Low and slow.

Did you just?

Franks mouth pulls up into a grin and he's gotta wipe his hand over his cheek, as if he's just feeling the stubble. Look what you did, you're making him nervous.

Before either of you have a chance to react, the door’s closed and you're pressing your back against it. If you didn't know any better you'd think the man was making a move, but you've got a migraine from hell so you're gonna chalk it up to friendly banter.

You're gonna opt for a cold shower though, just in case.

•

The shower does wonders for you. Your regenerative powers help too, giving your body the chance to heal a bit under the water. You walk out dressed and unstressed with your clothes balled up in your arms, just about to call out Franks name when you hear him say. “Back here.”

You turn and walk into the small bedroom space, just big enough for the two of you. He's laying on his back with his arm thrown over his eyes, looking like absolute sin. Okay, yeah, you're cut off from reading tacky romance novels.

“You can just put your stuff on the table, we'll get em’ washed tomorrow.” He sounds tired.

You walk to the kitchenette table and drop your clothes on top of it, before walking back to the room and saying. “Or we could just get my clothes from my apartment, that's a pretty good idea.”

“Yeah,” he shrugs. “We could, and, you know what, why don't we go to the police station while we're at it and tell them about the bad man named Fisk?”

“What?”

“Oh, sorry, I thought we were stating dumb ideas.” He says nonchalantly, before adding. “You and I both know that it's not safe for you to go to your place, or else you wouldn't be here, right?”

He lifts his arm off of his face and looks at you. Yeah, right. You nod and he nods back, covering his face up again. “Right.”

Truth be told, you'd probably still be here even if it was safe. Truthfully.

You crawl onto the bed next to him and the springs groan out something light and metallic. Lay down, face up, be quiet.

“Y/n.” That's not quiet.

“Hm?”

“You're not doin’ this alone,” Okay. You turn your head to look at him but he's still got his arm over his eyes. “Not while there's air in my lungs.”

You say, “It's not your fight.” And Frank finally looks at you. His brows tip and he props himself up on one arm so he's leaning over you a bit.

“Hell it's not, you think Ima’ just let that bastard have at you? Nuh-uh,” He shakes his head. “Sorry to disappoint, but that's not how this works.”

“Then how does this work?” You're not mad, just curious. If this is going where you think it's going, God willing, Frank’s gonna be the one starting it.

He's the one with the brick walls here, so you're gonna let him be the first to break them down.

His eyes drop to your lips and roll over the curve of your jaw. It's sharp and soft at the same time, just like the rest of you. You shift, catch his eyes, and his sight slips off to the wall.

“I, uh.” he rolls onto his back and clasp his hands on his stomach. You're making him nervous and he's the one doing all the work. Jeesus, one of you do something. This is embarrassing.

“I don't wanna die.” What? You-pfsshhh. Yeah, okay, start there.

Frank has to blink that in, but he's still too chicken shit right now to look at you. So he asks. “Why not?”

For the love of God.

“Why not?” You repeat, frowning at the ceiling. Frank squeezes his eyes closed and shakes his head, backtrack.

“No, not-” He rubs his eyes with the back of his hand and gives himself a second to get it. He doesn't, so he just nods and says. “Yeah, okay why not? Why don't you?”

You sit up and turn to look at him. He's circulating between frowning at you, and the ceiling, and the door, so when his eyes hit you on their third rotation you say. “I don't wanna die, because I'm not ready yet.” Simple.

“Says the girl who went all Annie Oakley on a mob boss tonight.”

“It was his henchmen-”

“-henchmen?”

“-and that's not the point.” You ignore him. “The point is I'm scared. I thought I could do it tonight, but I didn't and now look at me.”

He does. In the weak light from his bedside lamp he can see all of you. The bruise forming (and healing) under your eye, and on the bridge of your nose. The scratch along your neck that dips just below the collar of your-his shirt. It's a lot. You're a lot.

He shifts and pushes himself up a bit before opening his arms. “Come here.”

Then your head is pressed against his chest, with your hand resting on his abdomen. Fingers curled in. You can hear his heart beating, thu-thump. Thu-thump.

His arm wraps around you and you can feel his fingers brush against the middle of your back, right at the dip. A train's horn blares in the distance and suddenly you feel really mortal.

This is it, Kid.

You've finally hit fuck it, because now you're lifting up and kissing Frank Castle. You half expect him to push you off, but nope, his hand pushes straight to your hips, your shirt hitching up around his forearm.

There's no awkward is this okay kisses, nope, you're both just diving for it. You push your hand up to his shoulder and-oh okay, yeah you do that- slide your leg over him, so you're halfway straddling him at least.

You push both of your hands to his neck, thumbs pressed against his jaw, and lean in. It's an awkward approach, something he wasn't exactly ready for this time because your teeth collide, and you're about to pull back and apologize when he reaches down and grips your ass.

Oh-Kay. He tugs you back up toward him and this time you're both ready. Especially you, because your tongue dips into Frank's mouth and he's just here for it.

After a while of just that, you lift up and press your hands against his chest. His other hand scoots up to your hip, and he starts rubbing up and down your thighs.

“Y/n-”

“Hold on.” You scoot so you're really on top of him and sit back a bit, feeling him rub against your clit. He lets out a sharp exhale of a groan and you lift up, before sitting back again and grinding against him. Frank tugs off his shirt and you follow suit, pulling yours up and over your head before tossing it off to the side, and Frank is on you.

You’re not wearing a bra, so he just dips his head down to lick your nipple into his mouth. He reaches up to gather your other breast in his hand, and you bring your hands up to his shoulders just to hold onto something. You bury your face in his hair, shift, and kiss along his head.

Frank starts peppering sloppy kisses across your chest before biting down on your other nipple.

“Shit,” you whisper. “Frank.”

“Mhm,” He’s got a vice grip on your hips, and then he’s bucking up into you. Slow and steady, and meticulous, and—Jeesus. His tongue swirls and bites, and you’re tilting your head back. Eye’s closed just feeling him.

Okay, you gotta-hold on. You push against Franks shoulders and his mouth comes off of you with an almost obscene pop. He starts to ask what’s wrong when you dip your head down and catch his mouth against yours. It’s slow and nasty and good, something almost too sensual to be Frank, but it is. It’s just you and him.

He mumbles. “Com’on.” Against your lips and rolls you over so he’s pressed on top of you. You’re rubbing your hands up his arms and over his shoulders when he —oh Christ, okay—reaches up to grab each of your wrist pinning them over your head. This is more of what you expected, you’re not gonna stop him though.

He peppers kisses along your jaw and down to your neck, before sucking.

“Fra-ank.” God you’re whiney right now, and Franks sucking hickies into your neck, so who the hell cares?

“What’s wrong, Baby?” Frank is an A-1 goddamn tease. Before you can get an answer out he pushes against you. Languid downward rolls of his hips, catching against you and pushing your body up juuust a bit with each thrust. “Hm?”

Your mouths open in an ‘O’ shape, and you’re positive you're not gonna be able to make clear sentences, so you lock your ankles behind him and drag him closer to you. He groans out a breathy ah, shit and pulls his head back up to kiss you again. When he lets your arms go he’s quick to get back on you, sucking and biting his way down your body, and you’re still too dazed to really get what’s happening until he says.

“Y/n.”

He’s sitting up, leaning back a bit onto his legs, with his hands resting on your hips. You prop yourself up on your forearms. “Yes?”

His mouth tips up into a half smile and he says. “I said you gotta lift up,” His fingers tap the waistband of your sweatpants. Oh, yeah, okay. You lift up your hips and he starts tugging your pants down, fingers hooked in your panties too. You lift up your legs and then he’s got everything up and off of you.

He settles back down, onto his stomach, with his head between your legs and looks up at you. You’re still propped up onto his shoulders, and you’ve got a pretty damn good view of him. He dips his head down and starts kissing along your thighs, and again it's strangely intimate for him. Out of your peripheral you catch a car's headlights move past the window, and you think to say something when you feel Frank slide his hands to the back of your knees and fold your legs back on either side of you towards the bed.

You feel him blow cool air against you and you gotta take deep breaths. Scoot, shift, and his face is right between the junction of your thighs. Your hand is in his hair when he drags his tongue up your pussy and over your clit. Your head hits the pillow and you push your other hand into the other one next to you. Gripping.

“Frank,” You breathe for no reason other than it’s just him. “Oh, God, Frank.”

He moans into you and that’s enough to get your back arching a bit. He starts in earnest, jumping between circling your clit, and looong strokes up your vulva. You start to wonder if he’s spelling his name down there, when he pushes his tongue aaaalll the way in until his face is practically buried inside of you. His tongue is pressed flat against your labia and then he’s licking inside you. There’s a pause while you gasp out a ‘Fra-a-ank’, before he starts tongue fucking you. You’re not sure what your sound limit is here so you’re doing your best to keep it to a minimum. Rotating between a string of Oh god, Yes, fuck, and Fraa-aank-just to be safe.

And then he plants his mouth over your clit and sucks, pushing a finger inside of you. Your back is almost full rainbow, pushing your head into the pillow, and your moaning out a loud. “Ooooh, fuck, Frank!”

He hums, and, without missing a beat, his tongue starts circling your clit, and he adds a second finger. Languid and intinse. Faster, tighter, you’re really pushing the sound limit here. He’s still working you to the edge, but has enough time to say. “Come on, Y/n. Come in my mouth, baby.”

You groan. “Oh shit,” But he pulls his fingers back a bit, curve, and he’s finger fucking you against your G-spot. He’s an angel.

You’re loud. Like-you’re voice is probably gonna be strained in the morning- loud. Frank pumps into you, tongue circling tightly, and gets just a little rougher with it. “Ah, fuck, Frank. Please-God-please…” He latches his lips around your clit and sucks, and it's gotta be biblical the amount of times you’ve said God’s name tonight. He presses against your legs and tucks his fingers, moans against you. Your jaw drops and you squeeze your eyes shut, pushing your other hand down to the back of Frank's head and pulling his face into you.

A strain of ecstasy pushes its way through you and you just can’t get out fast enough. “Frank-frank, oh GOD AAaaahhh!!” Your chest has a slow rise and fall to it, and Frank is back to being sensual. Kissing around your still sensitive clit and up your thighs. He lets go of your leg and pushes both of his hands onto your hips, you can feel your wetness on his fingers.

He pulls himself on top of you and this kiss is rougher, and you can taste yourself on his tongue. He props himself up onto his forearm and reaches down to push off his sweatpants, throwing them off to the side with the rest of his clothes.

“You ready?” His voice is wrecked, something you’re really not used to hearing from Frank. You think, and push up on his shoulders before wrapping your leg around his hip and rolling so you’re on top. Franks got this dazed smile on his face, and lord he is cute. Really, Frank Castle is cute.

He grabs onto your waist and lifts you up with almost ridiculous ease, before shifting his eyes down and watching as you wrap your hand around his dick and slowly guide yourself down onto him.

You press your hands against his chest and raise up, just to grind back down, and Franks gotta focus on his breathing or else he’s gonna cum way too fast.

You go like that for a while, a slow and steady rock, but Frank’s been sporting a hard on since you laid next to him so he’s not as patient as he could be. He adjusts his grip on your waist, hikes his legs up so he’s digging his heels into the mattress, “You ready, baby?” and starts to buck up into you. And you thought you were leading the show.

You’re panting out little ah’s with each thrust, and you gotta brace your hand on the headboard for some kinda leverage. Frank pulls you down onto his chest and kisses you full, mumbling a string of “You like that? Huh? Ah, fuck.” against you, before wrapping his arm around your waist. You grind down and meet each of his thrust and he’s done for. He pushes his face into your neck as he starts pistoning into you, lips mouthing at your neck. His thrust start getting sloppy, uncoordinated, and he moans out. “Com’on, Y/n.” Before reaching down and circling your clit.

And it's building and building and you rasp out. “Frank, I—”

He bites down on your shoulder and Oh, okay, yes that. You dig your nails into his shoulder and he’s forcing every ounce of himself not to scream. “Y/n!” Low and breathy. He still does. His hips stutter as he cums, and you pick up your pace, fucking him through it. His hips eventually stutter and he bucks a couple of times before sighing into your neck, spent.

You both just stay like that for a while. Breathing in each other, enjoying the come down. You can’t help but let your mind drift to thoughts of Frank outside of this. Domesticated, and lovely. He just came inside of you, so the idea of having his kids passes through briefly. You’ll deal with that tomorrow. He coaxes you off of him and onto the bed, sliding the sheets onto the both of you. Sliding his arm under your back he pulls you into his side and closes his eyes. You rest your head against his chest, hyper aware of how intimate this is. Neither of you are sure whether or not you should dwell on that or not.

He, Christ, reaches down and plants a kiss on your forehead before laying back and saying. “You’re not getting your card punched, not while I’m still here.”

Does he know what he’s doing to you? You just nod, because you’re not really sure if you believe him or not, and he sees that.

“Hey,” He says, nudging you a bit. You sit up and look at him, and he’s got this look in his eyes. Something like worry, and hope, and so much love for you it almost breaks your heart. “I’m serious, I’m not letting him or any a’ them get to you.”

You’re the closest thing this man has got to a friend, hell even a family, so yeah. You believe him. You nod and lean up to kiss him, before laying your head back onto his chest.

Thirty hours.

A/N: I'm actually obsessed with this man. Y'all please leave comments letting me know if you liked this / what you think. I wanna hear back from you! Have a great day, beautiful.

#I love writing so much what a great outlet #frank castle #frank castle x reader #frank castle fanfiction #frank castle x female reader #frank castle fluff #the punisher #marvel #marvel fanfiction #marvel fic #kash writes

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ironstrange1991 · 28 days

Text

You're My Comfort

Pairing: Doctor!Strange x Fem!Reader

Synopsis: The reader has a bad day at work and Stephen comes to take care of her.

Word Cont: 2,1k

Warnings: None, just fluff.

A/N: I am still struggling with authors block, but I'm happy for finishing this little something. It's not much, but I was in need of a comfort fic. Hope your guys like it and have a good read.

You arrived from work without even realizing how you managed to drive home. Stephen was busy talking to some Avengers in the living room and you just walked past them up the stairs and straight to your shared room.

You were too tired to even get undressed even though you knew you would feel better after a shower, but still all you could do was kick off your shoes and fall face down on the bed letting a wave of silent crying take over you.

You were tired of your job, tired of the way your boss seemed to suck out your soul along with all your energy, but at the same time you felt bad for feeling that way. After all, you should be grateful to have a job in the first place, or at least you should be grateful that your job doesn't put you in danger or be as physically draining as Stephen's. You lost count of how many times he came home injured and yet he never complained. You on the other hand, seemed like a crying little girl and thinking that way only made you feel even worse and it was a vicious cycle that you couldn't get out of. Feeling bad about feeling bad and so on.

You were still face down, tears silently streaming down your face, when you heard the soft creak of the door opening and closing and the muffled sound of boots on the floor announcing the approaching footsteps. You immediately turned your face away because you didn't want Stephen to notice you were crying and then you felt the mattress dipping.

He touched your arm gently.

"What's wrong, sweetheart?" His baritone voice held a note of concern.

You didn't answer, you just shrugged your shoulders like you did when you were a child and your mother asked why you were crying. Many times you didn't even know why you were crying, but you cried anyway and that was exactly how you felt today.

You felt his hand on your head stroking your hair gently and before he could say anything, you crawled closer to him and laid your head on his lap wrapping your arms around his waist. He seemed to like it because his body shook with what you thought was a small laugh. Contrary to what your irrational side told you, Stephen didn't care about your anxiety crisis or those moments where you couldn't say exactly what was happening. He was already used to dealing with your fluctuating moods.

"Can you at least tell me you're okay, so I don't worry?" He asked and you nodded.

"You're okay then. Nothing bad happened?" He insisted and you nodded again.

"Good." He continued stroking your hair in silence.

"I know I've been working a lot these last few days, but if that's what's making you upset..."

"It's not that." You replied with a choked voice. Of course he would find a way to blame himself. When Stephen learned to be less selfish and egocentric, he simply turned completely the other way and became extremely altruistic, which you didn't like, much less approve of.

"Then talk to me, sweetheart. I don't like seeing you like this." His hand had now gone down to the middle of your back, playing with the strands of your hair.

"I'm just tired, I guess."

He sighed "You think so? Y/n you've been working non-stop for the last few weeks."

"There was nothing else to do. You weren't here most of the time and the company needed me."

You can almost see Stephen's eyes rolling back in his head. "They like to take advantage of you, that's what. You're too good for them."

You did not answer. You knew he was right, but you didn't want to give in. He returned his hands to your head and began to caress your scalp with his fingertips lightly and you let out an involuntary groan.

"Feels good, uh?" You could hear the smirk in his voice. Always so proud that he managed to turn you into a puddle of goo whenever he touched you.

"I'm exhausted. I need to sleep. I barely slept at all last night." You confessed to what he vehemently rebuked.

"You know I don't like seeing you in this state. You need to take better care of yourself."

You shook your head. "Right now I don't think I can take care of myself at all. I'm too tired."

He chuckled, surrendering to your charm and drama.

"Do you want me to run a bath for you or would you prefer the shower?"

He asked, already running his fingers through your hair to get it out of your face. He did his best to tie them into a bun.

"You will stay with me?"

"If you want. But you know where this is going to take us, don't you?"

You denied "No funny business tonight. I'm too tired."

He hummed "As you wish, love. Come."

He patted your shoulder for you to allow him to stand up and extended his arms to help you up.

"Too tired to walk." You grumbled and he let out a small laugh.

"Come on. I'll carry you, little girl."

You found somewhere within you the strength to smile and tease him, "Yes, daddy."

He scoffed, but picked you up bride style and took you to the bathroom. He sat you on the toilet and ordered "Raise your arms. Let's take these clothes off."

You obeyed and let yourself be undressed by him slowly. It was different. Although he was used to ripping off your clothes and fucking you senseless, in that moment he was actually being gentle and there was nothing in his eyes but affection.

"Get up so we can take off that skirt." He asked and you did as he ordered. He took off your panties too, leaving you completely naked for him. A light shade of red tinting your cheeks.

"Bathtub or shower?" He asked to be sure and added it right after. "There's no way I'm leaving your side."

You nodded "Bathtub. With lavender and bubbles. Lots of bubbles."

He nodded, but instead of doing the whole process like a normal person, he moved his fingers and the bathtub filled with hot water. With a smirk he snapped his fingers and the water turned lilac and your nostrils were invaded by the delicious smell of lavender as you watched the water fill with foam. "As you wish, madam. Come."

He gave you his hand and helped you get into the tub, and you moaned contentedly with the feeling of the hot water surrounding your body.

He quickly undressed in front of you and that was a sight you would never get used to. Your eyes devoured every inch of his body before he entered the bathtub and sat right behind you.

He moaned softly as well letting the hot water relax him completely.

"Christ, I needed this." He confessed and you leaned your back against his chest feeling yourself being hugged by his strong arms and you leaned your head back letting your eyes close for a minute.

"What a shitty day I had" You blurted out, earning a small laugh from Stephen.

"It is not funny"

He buried his face in your hair, "I know. Want to tell me about it?"

You sighed, "Nothing out of the ordinary happened. I think I'm just tired of that environment, those people. Of doing the work of two or three and not getting any recognition for it. I'm tired of leaving that place feeling empty as if I had left my soul there."

Stephen listened in silence. He was good at that, at listening silently and letting you vent. It was one of his many qualities.

"And I feel bad for feeling this way. It feels like I'm being ungrateful. I know I should be grateful for being in a job in the first place, but I can't feel grateful right now and on top of that I feel silly complaining about my silly problems when you have to deal with so much..."

"Hey, don't do that!" Stephen scolded you. "Don't belittle your problems by comparing them to the things I do. It's not fair. Your feelings are valid, sweetheart and there's nothing wrong with feeling the way you're feeling right now. We just need to think of a way to make it better because I've noticed that this days when your come home like this have become more constant. You're always too tired and sad and I don't like seeing you like that."

You sighed feeling his lips on your neck and your skin prickling.

"I think I just need to stop thinking for a few minutes. My mind is my worst enemy, you know. The more I think the worse I feel."

Stephen hummed and continued placing kisses on your neck "I can help with that." His hands went down to your breasts, caressing them lightly.

"I said no funny business." You scolded him and he giggled softly and you felt him conjure up a soft sponge still under the water and started rubbing your back and neck with it. You can't stop a little moan from escaping your lips.

"I don't deserve you, Steph." You confessed to what he hummed, using the sponge to rub your arms, your belly, your thighs, every place he could reach.

"I usually think the same thing when you take care of me."

"Guess we don't deserve each other then." You teased.

"Or we were made for each other. I like this option better."

"Because you're a romantic. You want to be tough, but deep down you're soft, Stephen."

He let out an incredulous laugh "I've been called many things, but romantic is the first time."

You smiled, keeping your eyes closed and reveling in the touch of his hands when he puts down the sponge and started massaging your shoulders gently. His hand was shaking, but you even liked that feeling.

"You're different with me." You insisted. "I watch you with everyone else and you're different when you're with me, sweeter and more affectionate."

He hummed petulantly. "You didn't expect me to treat Stark and Wong the way I treat my girlfriend, right?"

"It's not that. I just think you allow yourself to be your most natural self when you're with me and I like that."

"I like it too." He agreed kissing the back of your neck.

The two of you were silent for a few minutes, his hands continued massaging your shoulders lightly and although he couldn't put too much pressure on the act, it was enough to relax you. The sound of cars passing on the street occasionally broke the silence of the Sanctum, as well as the sound of the water that was slowly cooling and his calm and steady breathing.

Eventually your eyes started to get heavy and Stephen must have felt the way you let the weight of your body rest on his because he wrapped his arms around your waist and kissed the top of your head.

"Are you feeling better?" He asked genuinely worried.

You hummed positively and he sighed looking relieved.

"Good. Now I think we can finish here and go straight to bed, what do you think?"

You didn't have time to respond because your stomach growled embarrassingly loud to which Stephen let out a small laugh.

"Food first, then. Come." He asked and the two of you got out of the tub.

When you finished getting dressed, Stephen in just pajama pants and you in a nightgown, you ran to get under the covers and get comfortable.

"I'll get you something to eat. How about a sandwich?"

You nodded and then asked "What did you have for dinner?"

He shook his head "To be honest, I didn’t even remember to eat. It was a pretty busy afternoon."

You scolded him with a look, "Then I guess you can bring sandwiches for both of us."

Stephen nodded.

He came back a few minutes later with a plate with some sandwiches cut in halves, which you quickly devoured. When you both finished, neither of you was willing to get up, so Stephen just placed the plate on the bedside table and adjusted himself on the pillows, letting you lay on his chest.

"I know I've said this before, but you're so good to me, Steph."

He sighed, stroking your arm gently.

"I love you." You said, closing your eyes and feeling the tiredness of the day overwhelm you.

Stephen placed a kiss on the top of her head. "Taking care of you is what I love doing most, sweetheart. I love you. You have no idea how much."

You hummed softly "Yes I do because I love you just the same."

Reblog please! Leave a comment if you liked it. Interact! I will love to read all of your comments and opinions. It inspires me to keep writing ;)

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hyperfixiation-station · 2 months

Note

Hi!!

I am totally obsessed with your fics!!! Your writing 🤌💕

I just wanted to request a fic where the reader is new to the task force but she's experienced and tough. Vibez similar to Ghost to elaborate she's more scary than Ghost cuz of her past maybe she was experimented on or trained brutally....

Reader is working hard to prove herself even if everyone knows she's the most lethal person. So one time she gets injured badly while protecting someone from the 141( probably Ghost 👉👈) and she wakes up has an emotional moment Ghost comes know about her Trauma . More like hurt/comfort....

Happy Writing 💝

Guilt-Tripped

CW: Mentions/references of kidnapping, torture, canon typical violenece Part 2, Part 3 Hiii Anon!! First off, thank you! Secondly, I am so, so, so sorry for how long this took😭 I did make this a two parter, the first part is kinda like backstoryish and the second part will be the actual story. I was gonna wait until I finished both to post but you have been waiting for way to long so I'll give you the first part now instead of waiting, again I am so sorry! I hope you like it :)) Summary: F!Reader was a part of a special program(LMK if you can guess what it is) and once she was released she joined the military.

WC: 1467 As always, I didn't proof read so lmk if there are any mistakes :3

Life had not been kind to you. Ripped from your family at a very young age, you had never known the type of love and safety a nurturing home could provide. Instead, you grew up in the confines of a Russian base, with cruel instructors and a dwindling group of girls as your only companions.

From the moment you could walk, you had been told you were a weapon. A lethal force to be honed and trained, nothing more than a tool for others to use to further their games. Brainwashed, tortured, and trained into submission, a perfect puppet. Both your brain and body were sculpted into absolute perfection, a rigorous process most people did not survive. By day, they trained to be a lethal force, an unstoppable, unnoticeable, killing machine. At night, you were handcuffed to your bed, listening to the screams of students who did not make the cut.(to this day you sleep handcuffed)

You watched, at first in horror, then with a sense of detachment, as your friendsrivals bit the dust, unable to keep up with what the program demanded of them. It got better as you got older, less girls died from their tasks. But in some ways it got worse. It was a competition now, a fight to see who would remain victorious, to see who would come out on top. It was not a place for friendship and comradery, and you learned that quickly.

You stopped trying to make friends with the other students when you were forced to shoot your best friend in the head after giving her some of your dinner when she was being punished. You were 8. And you stopped trying to even just be friendly with the other girls at 10 years old, when the instructor broke every bone in your hands after your bunkmate framed you for something you didn't do. To this day your hands are not the same, always hurting and forever scarred.

Your world was kill or be killed, and you'd be dammed if you didn't come out on top.

And come out on top you did. You graduated top of your class, a position you had fought and killed for, won through bloodshed and pain. If you had a conscience, it would have been screaming at you for the things you had done to get to the top(You laid awake every night consumed by guilt and grief)

The program was disbanded(re: destroyed) when you hit 18, just two weeks after your 'graduation'. You were given two options: Join the American military, or face a life sentence in prison.

You had a lifetime of sins to atone for, and knew there was only one way to even begin to ease your guilt. Two days later your background was sealed up and you were shipped off to boot camp.

And you excelled. This was nothing to you. What was a six mile run when you used to run until you passed out, then wake up and keep going? What was surviving on four hours of sleep when sleep deprivation had been the norm your whole life? What was any of this compared to what you had been forced to do everyday since you were five?

You scared your instructors. And the other recruits. And everyone else you came into contact with. And you were fine with that. You didn't like when people got close to you anyhow.

Love got you nowhere in the world. It was a lesson you learned hard and fast. You did not care for others, they did not care for you. And you liked it that way. Until you met the 141.

A woman named General Laswell came to you one day with a job offer. Well, not a job offer exactly, but more of a…transfer of positions. A small, (mostly)four-man team that she oversaw.

You had gotten disciplined for beating the ever-loving shit out of a recruit the week before, and Laswell had watched it all unfold. She went back to her office, read your full file, and decided you would make a good fit for John's team.

You took a look at your bunk, at the trunk that held zero worldly possessions, realized there is nothing for you here, and said yes.

Price had not wanted a new recruit, and told Laswell as much. She simply said he had a penchant for picking up strays and left your file on his desk. It took him a week to actually get curious enough to read it. A paper copy, the only one in existence that had your full, undisclosed background. He pretended he didn’t see her smug grin when he hit accept on your transfer application.

You had been trained since youth to fight and to kill, yes, but your true purpose was espionage. You were trained to study those around you, to lie, to mold yourself to the expectations of those around you. You excelled at fitting into your surroundings, at assimilating perfectly with your peers. It was all you were good for, in your opinion. So you asked Laswell for files on your new teammates. And she gave them to you. They were full of gaping holes and redacted information, but there was enough there for you to profile them.

Soap would be the most receptive to you. He most likely would also be the one to not give up in trying to get you to be open with them. Gaz would be receptive as well, but you know that your sealed background would put him on edge, Ghost, well…Ghost was a lot like you from what you could piece together. Yet another person who learned that the world was cruel and unforgiving, who had learned the lesson that love does nothing but hurt. And because he was like you, you knew he would trust you the least.

You felt a small pang in your chest when looking at this masked photo that you hadn’t felt in years. Not quite sadness, but…pity? No. It was different, it was sympathy. It weirded you out.

It was hard at first, joining the 141. You had court-mandated therapy you had had to attend, and you had slowly come to realize that some trust was good, necessary even, for life. You knew you wouldn’t be able to open yourself up to them, that you would never be able to feel the sense of brotherhood you had seen amongst other soldiers, but you wanted to try.

It was harder than you thought it would be. Hard joining men who already had comradery, who had a bond that had been forged with blood, sweat, and tears. men who weren't sure how to fit another person, much less a female, into their group.

As you suspected, Soap was the most receptive. He was fun, you thought. His Scottish accent and affinity for filling the silence made him a very pleasant conversationalist. You didn’t have to do any of the talking.

Gaz was wary of you, but did a good job of not showing it. As you suspected, he stopped inviting you out after you said ‘no thanks’ for the third time.

Ghost didn’t like you. You could see it in the slight tensing of his muscles when you walked in the room, the way his eyes pinched when you spoke.

It was a rough, rocky start, full of distrust and misunderstandings. Everything about you set his senses on high alert. They way you could sneak up on him completely silent, the way you could hold your own when you sparred with him, even the way you moved had his hair standing on end. It wasn’t until a mission that would have ended with Soap's death if you hadn’t risked your life to shove him out of the way that Ghost began to trust you.

And then he began to notice something else about you. And the more he noticed, the more concerned he grew. He noticed the way you threw yourself into battle, what little regard you held for your own life. He noticed how you never instigated conversation, never gave away the slightest bit of information that could be used against you. Noticed that you always wore gloves. In fact, he's never once seen your hands.

His constant observations of you had an unintended side effect. The longer he watched you, the more he realized you were a lot like him, the more he was drawn to you. And vice-versa.

You found yourself willfully seeking Ghost out, willingly sharing information with him. Nothing about your past, no, you would never tell anyone the things you had done. But little things, how you liked the food served this week, how your mission went, that your new pants were really itchy. And he told you things too. Told you really bad jokes, told you Soaps stupid Scottish saying of the week. And slowly you branched out, agreeing to go to the bar the next time Soap asked you, telling Gaz that you liked his new sunglasses.

It was nice, having people who looked at you like you meant something to them. Having people who didn’t know what you’d done, people who didn’t look at you with disgust and distrust. It was nice to have…friends.

So of course everything had to go downhill from there.

End scene :3 let me know what you think!!6 and be on the look out for pt.2, I hope you're ready for a buttload of angst >:) Also requests are open <3

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importantgalaxyrunaway · 4 months

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the snap (Matt Murdock x fem-reader )

Summary: after the blip Matt was blipped away. But what happens when he shows up after everyone comes back?

Part 2 Warnings: angst, I mean it this time ok? I teared up writing this. But with fluff it has a happy ending trust me. Im dyslexic so there are probably/definitely going to be spelling errors. (I’m trying yall. Let me know how I did my first fic for Matt I think I’m going to make a part 2. Please comment if you can and reblog are appreciated if you want ❤️) mentions of pregnancy and childbirth and children

My eyes take in the childrens bedroom. It was small and quant but cozy. The nightlights lit up the room and my five year old daughter was layed down on the soft pastel blankets. I sit down on the side of her bed. She was so beautiful, her sweet brown eyes and brown hair. Her name was angel Murdock, She resembled Matt so much, sometimes it even hurt to look at her. It showed his best attributes on her. Even though she was only five years old she was already fearless, the teachers at the preschool always say she’s already getting in fights with the bullies in the class, no fist fights yet thankfully. It was her bedtime so you were finishing up reading a story to her about a princess and prince who fought a dragon.

“And they lived happily ever after the end” I kiss her forehead. And get up from her sleepy form.

“mommy, why do all the other kids have dads?”

Her question struck me in the heart. Leaving a wound size I couldn’t even patch up after patching up so many of Matt’s wounds. But I remain calm and collected like her words were just a simple question. Which they were, she’s just a curious child, there is no way that she knows how deeply I am affected by them. I twist my diamond ring on my finger and bite my lip trying to figure out how to answer this question without terrifying her. I can’t lie to her, I promised I would never lie to her.

“Angel, your father….went away. Hes gone he went with another half of the universe”

“will he be comeback?”

“no, no he won’t” I answered quietly trying to keep myself from sobbing. God I feel so weak, it’s been five years! Fiver years and I still can’t get over his death

“did he leave because of me?”

“no! No, he never knew about you sweetie. He was taken before he knew”

I take a shaky breath and kiss her on the forehead “goodnight” I leave her now asleep form and creep to the kitchen. I look down and the sink and I can’t take it anymore. Grief racks my body as sobs come out in waves. Why? Why did you have to leave I know you didn’t do it on purpose but why? It’s so unfair. Mathew I miss you. I know The city needed but mainly I needed you. I bring my knees up to hug my chest. I feel so weak, so fucking weak it’s been 5 years and I still haven’t recovered. I tpull myself together and wipe my tears mainly because I hear noises outside. A lot of noises. Screams, cries, laughter, sobs. I run to the window and open the curtain. Hundreds and hundreds of people are flooding the streets. Some are hugging, kissing, others are just staring in disbelief. Poeple are running in all directions and so so many of them are confused. Who are these people? Where did they come from? Could they he the ones who were snappe—

Knock! knock! knock!

the noise of someone at my door shattered my trail of thoughts like a broken mirror, breaking me of my trance. Who on earth. Or any planet for that matter would be calling to me at this hour? I tentatively get up. Cross the room and open the door, I was not prepared.

there. Right there stood my husband dead for 5 years after the blip. He stood in his lawyer suit in the doorframe. Just as he was before he left. He’s exactly the same. To him no time has passed at all. But I’m sure he’s heard it’s been 5 years on the streets. My body is rigid from shock utter shock. He takes off his red glasses so I can see his face again. A small gasp escapes my mouth as my eyes lay upon him again. Hes so gorgeous it actually hurts. Makes my heart ache. To say I felt conflicted would be an understatement I was downright a wreck inside. He so damn pretty. Was all I could really think. my shaky hand reaches up and caresses his face as if feeling he’s actually there and this isn’t some hallucination.

“sweetheart, I’m real” he smiles

“I-i Matt you were dead—you-you—oh!” I choke out in sobs

I seizes his head and he walks closer to me closing the door. I kiss him desperately like a woman starved. The kiss is searing and leaves us gasping for air. As soon as we break the seal we dive into it again and I let out a small whimper that allows him to slip his rougue into my mouth. I immediately submit to him and let him take the dominance. After sometime in a log swaying kiss. We stumble towards the couch where he tries to explain to me what happened but with me kissing his neck desperately it’s hard for him. In the five years he was gone I never took a lover. I couldn’t bring myself to. I was always thinking about Mathew even if he was just in the back of my mind. Especially as I walked down the more dangerous streets of Hells kitchen without him.

“sweetheart—sweetheart— “ he lets out a small groan that is music to my ears “are you going to let me know what happened or let me explain” he laughs.

I pull back and bip my lip “sorry”

”I know five years have passed someone on the street told me that after they did I ran to find you I’m sorry—“ his head tilts to the side as if he’s picking up something “there’s another heartbeat in the apartment”

I take his hands “Matt this is a lot to take in I know but….”

“y/n you can tell me anything” the way my name rolls of his toung sounds like honey. He runs his finger over my silk nightgown, his favorite fabric. He takes his time training my figure and them cup up to claps both my hands again “anything”

Reassured now I start my tale “the day of the blip was also the day I found out I was pregnant. Turns out half the universe was blipped away. You’ve been gone for five years now. The pregnancy was hard, half the doctors were gone, you were gone. Without many people to support it was hard but, I gave birth to a beautiful baby girl, who looks so much like you. I named her angel Murdock.”

he’s silent for a bit. I feel sorry I know how much it is to take in “I’m so sorry I wasn’t there for you sweetheart. I left you and everyone behind. God I feel so guilty.”

“Mathew there is nothing to apologize for! You couldn’t control it!”

We’re silent for a bit and I wonder if he’s listening to angel’s heartbeat. He beams “I can’t believe I’m a father.” He laughs “ironic isn’t it?”

“what is?”

“the devil is the father of an angel” he muses. His face is bright and happy

“I never thought of it that way” I ponder “she’s already fearless like you”

��Hm, maybe not a good thing. But she sure has the Murdock fighter genes. I’m just sorry I missed the pregnancy and everything”

“well we could always try again?”

“I’d love that” he purrs into my ear in his deep voice. And his head rests in the crook of my neck as he leans into my body. And I’m so so starved for touched after all these years I hold onto him like he’s the last thing in the world. I practically melt into his touch as I haven’t been intimate like this in so long.

“don’t leave me” i whisper

“no sweetheart” his strokes my hair “im never leaving you again”

it feels so comfy with his bodyweight on mine on the couch we don’t even bother to move to the bed as we fall asleep there that night not wanting for a second to leave each other’s arms. It would be hard to explain to to angel who this man she never met was will figure that out in the morning. Things are always better in the morning. No things are always better now that’s he’s back. Everything seems fixed, my whole world.

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lokisbiiiitch1993 · 10 months

Text

Nsfw - What if Frost Giant Loki - your first Time with Him - Headcanons

Nsfw - Not for Minors 🚫🔞

You both are deeply in Love - you are getting along so well - He is funny, charming and soo flirty

Loki loves calling you my little Midgardian Lady

You both spend the last weeks together - kissing and cuddling - get to know each other

The only Problem -for you -in this Relationship is his Height - he is soo big - you are very nervous and scared of getting really hurt by him and his gigantic blue Penis

You tried to put it off every time he tried to make a move on you

He understands your concerns - Loki doesn't want to hurt you

But you also don't want to renounce Sex with him completely - so you tried to research it - to find Tips to make it work

You bought some helpful Things at the Sex Shop - to try out with Loki

Later you went to him and said I want to try it - i want to have Sex with you But I want to be in Charge - i need to be in Control

Loki is happy and called you my Brave tiny Princess

Seeing him happy made you in the Mood to climb him like a Tree and kiss him deeply

Countless kisses later he ripped your shirt from your Body and touched your Breasts with his Big Hands

You got up and took off your Pants and Underwear - telling him to carefully use his Fingers - to stretch you - prepare you for the really big Thing ^^

Feeling his long fingers deep inside you -thrusting - brushing your Clit - makes you come in no time

You wanted to make him feel good too - so you freed his massive blue ice sickle - and start licking it - sloppy kissing the Tip - a groan escaped Loki - you tried to take him as far as possible - till he told you to stop - he didn't want to come yet like that

Understanding - you kissed him again - and opened the lube to use on you both generously- you also showed him the Thrust Buffer you bought for him - Loki is willing to try anything to make you more comfortable during Sexy Time

You climbed on Top of him again and took his Big Penis in your Hand to guide carefully - sit down -slide in just the tip - and slowly going for more

You are in Control of the depth of the penetration and speed - Experimenting how it feels less painful

at first it felt very unpleasant but after awhile it was amazing - you started to Moan heavily - Loki touched your Body all over - he likes to play with your Boobs

You bounce up and down - up and down ...closing your Eyes trying to engrave this Moment in your Memories for forever - to always remember feeling this full deep inside of you

He also starts to thrust from below - carefully - he doesn't want to injure you

You told him you feel -you are very close soon - Loki said he wants to come together

A few moments later you both cum - you felt his seed spilling out of you

Exhausted you stay layed on top of him - already feeling sore

Loki caresed your Skin softly - and telling you how good you felt

Later he will lay you on the bed - bring a bucket of water and a Washcloth - to clean you up

Reblogs are appreciated ❤️

My Masterlist

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pinkthick · 4 months

Text

Doctor Strange Supreme

Okay, so let’s talk about Doctor Strange Supreme from “What if?”. He really had a good start with his story, becoming Master of the Mystic Arts after losing Christine Palmer instead of losing the usage of his hands. (Since Christine is more important to him than his career in that universe). We all know how episode 4 from season 1 went, where he absorbed various interdimensional beings in order to attain enough power to alter the past and resurrect her. He succeeded even if others tried to warn him of the consequences and as soon as he resurrected Christine, the universe was falling on itself.

(Mind you, he managed to delay the collapsing universe with his powers for some good minutes. He even created a pocket dimension. 💀)

He realized his mistakes (even if it was too late) and more consequently, he regrets his actions.

“The world shouldn’t pay for my arrogance.”

“Punish me. Not the world. Not Christine.”

He has been left alone in that void for God knows how long and while he could have gotten out, he didn’t. He stayed there, making the pocket dimension his own prison. (Probably thinking of every single mistake he had done.)

Now let’s talk about episode 9 from season 1, where he literally went toe to toe with Infinity Ultron. (When the Watcher tried to fight him, he was literally losing but Doctor Strange Supreme managed to hold his ground and literally defeat Infinity Ultron).

But what I really want to talk about is when Killmonger tried to persuade Stephen into taking the infinity stones so that he could remake his universe and have Christine back. He could have easily taken them and just make his wish.

But he didn’t. He accepted his ‘punishment’ to guard the pocket dimension he made for Infinity Ultron and Killmonger, stating that it wasn’t really a punishment since he didn’t have to lose anything anymore. (He called the Watcher a friend too😭). But basically what I’m trying to get to, he said that he moved on. He had his redemption arc.

Now we’re back with episode 9 from season 2. Like what the actual hell. Why would he go through all that trouble when he could have gotten the infinity stones in the first place like..make it make sense. And don’t get me started on Peggy Carter and Kahhori. How did they even defeat Doctor Strange Supreme (what in the plot armour was this) like come on? Stephen fought Infinity Ultron and didn’t lose, but lost to Peggy Carter when she had the stones? She even punched him while he was in his monster form. 🙃

Yeah and about Kahhori. She is powerful but not that powerful.

To be honest, they should have left him have that ending from the season 1 finale if they didn’t have ideas for him anymore. Not literally make him the villain and kill him off.💀💀

But that’s Marvel for all of you.

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sidmakestuff · 10 months

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Fast Track

Bucky Barnes x fem!reader

Summary: You see him on the train on your daily commute. You secretly pine. and pine. and pine...and pine. Day after day. And then you finally get a chance to talk to him. Warnings: Angst w/happy ending, hurt/comfort, use of y/n, very insecure and soft bucky, reader using petnames slightly excessively, swearing, some references to sex, mdni!

Hope you enjoy :) Leave me some feedback pls and thx xx

You took the B train every Monday through Friday at seven in the morning. You got off at the seventh stop every Monday through Friday at seven thirty in the morning. You smiled politely at the muscular stranger who shared your stop at seven thirty in the morning. Even though he never really smiled back, only sometimes gracing you with a slight nod of his head.

You talked to everyone on the train. It started as a nervous habit. Nerves were easily appeased once you complimented a stranger and their tight-lips transformed into a glowing smile at the flattery. It was always genuine; you never made up a compliment. It wasn’t that hard to find at least one nice thing about someone, and it was worth it to be able to fall into conversation with them over constant conversation with yourself and your mind that was usually trying to convince you that you were always out of place.

Over the years, you knew every face on the seven am B train. You knew their lives, what they did, who they loved, and sometimes even made some kind friends in your neighborhood.

You knew everyone from Mr Delmar, who always watched out for you, to Peter Parker, who was always far too bruised up for a high school kid, to the humblest of men, Steve Rogers, who grew to love you as a kind soul with the remarkable ability to put themselves in anyone’s shoes and imagine quite accurately how they must feel, a compassion you extended even to him, something you said was not difficult at all, which Steve found hard to believe. But, chip by chip, you aided him in changing how he viewed himself. People did not deserve to see themselves any less than they were, least of all Steve Rogers, you told him.

Yet, of course, there had to be one remaining obstacle, one last stranger you never got to know. He didn’t really intimidate you, though you got the impression that that was his intent. You supposed, as a woman taking the New York subway, you should be wary of a tall, muscular man, dressed in dark clothing. You weren’t to be mistaken for a foolish woman. You carried around a taser the size of your forearm and pepper spray was always hardly a second out of grasp. You looked for an exit to every room you walked in. You worked for S.H.I.E.L.D for fuck’s sake. Even if you were just an engineer, you had taken self defense classes since your first day of work. Caution was in your blood at this point.

This man should have set off every red flag, and still, there was something endearing about his slightly crooked walk, his uneven shoulders and long strides. His stubble grew in all different directions as if no one taught him to shave. There was some constant uncertainty in his certain gaze. There was something remarkable at how human he was with his little ear buds and his strangely gloved hands. You wondered what he listened to every morning. You could only guess and those guesses ran from the Beatles to Motley Crue.

But then there were his eyes. Lighter eye shades usually came off more deceptive; you favored coffee colored irises like Peter’s–coupled with his childlike wonder and affliction for trouble, it made you relax around him immediately. But this man’s eyes, despite being a striking cerulean, were much, much too soft for a dangerous man. There was something so utterly tender about him that had you catching your breath far more often than you’d like.

It’s also what stopped you from exchanging words with him, fear that those eyes would turn on you in anger, something you didn’t feel that you could bear. An odd weight on your chest for a literal stranger. You chalked it up to social anxiety, though you knew there was more to it.

Still, it wasn’t for a lack of trying that you still hadn’t gotten to know him. You had wordlessly offered him many a bagel, a donut, a bear claw, a puff pastry, for crying out loud, but he had always politely waved you off, ears red in what you assumed to be annoyance. You felt a little dismissed, like Pooh trying to invite Eeyore to come play, but you knew this was likely how he treated everyone, and eventually gave into being content with knowing the people you knew. You weren’t one for a challenge that made you look stupid. You knew your place.

You still wondered what he did, though. Your stop was the same, but your routes after were different, yet you swore you saw him around S.H.I.E.L.D headquarters sometimes.

It was nearing two years of seeing him on the B train that you found out what he did. You were on your short walk from the cafe near Delmar’s where you got your morning latte, humming softly as you passed alleyway after alleyway. You were almost to the station when you caught sight of a familiar silhouette. On his knees, head in hands, there was your mystery man. No doubt about it, it was him. It was the same kevlar jacket, the same dark wash jeans and steel-toed boots, the same uneven shoulders.

You hesitated, paused beside the alley, facing him. His breaths came far too frequent and far too short, visible in the cold Brooklyn air. This was one of your worst ideas, but you couldn’t stand by and watch him stumble through this, quite awfully you might add. Unfortunately for him, it looked like he didn’t know a single coping mechanism to get through a panic attack. Hell, you doubted he even knew that he was even having a panic attack.

You took a deep breath, bracing yourself for what lay ahead, and approached him.

He didn’t notice you at first, hands ungloved, revealing that one of them was made of some sort of expensive metal. It looked like it could crush you in a second. You gulped, certain you didn’t want to scare him, and quietly called out, “Hey, there.”

He turned to you in an instant, a hand dropping to his waistline. Oh my god, he was armed, too. What had you gotten yourself into?

You knew that looking scared wouldn’t help, though. You slowly dropped to your knees as well, your worried eyes locked with his terrified ones.

“Hi, honey,” you began, your lips suddenly feeling dry.

He was still panicking, one hand on his chest, but he didn’t say a word.

You tried your best to only focus on what he needed at the moment. You dropped your bag to the ground and put your near empty coffee beside it.

“It looks like you’re having a panic attack. I think I can help you.”

He chews the inside of his cheek, hands shaking terribly. “Can I give you my hand?” you ask.

He hesitates, drawing his hand closer to his body, as if his body language could be any more inward.

“I’m not going to hurt you, love, I promise. I only want to help.” He relaxes slightly at your steady tone. He reached his flesh hand out for you to take. You grab it with both of yours and inch closer to him. You can feel how warm he is, hands slightly sweaty from panic, the pulse in his wrist thundering.

“These things always end. Know that. It’s going to be over soon,” you reassure, watching as sweat builds on his temple.

His eyes are restless, looking over you and around you, never pausing. “Focus on me, sweetheart. Just look at me. Yes, there you go. Let yourself breathe. You’re going to get through this. I know it’s stupid hard for no reason and you feel helpless, but just trust me when I say you’ll get through this.”

He gave you a curt nod, grateful eyes staying on yours.

“Can you tell me your name, honey?”

He nearly choked, voice shaky as he rasped out, “Bucky.”

Your eyes flashed in recognition. You didn’t want to say anything that might trigger him yet, though, so you softened your features and smiled. “Sweet. That’s a sweet name. I like it.”

Bucky’s breaths were slowly steadying, his pulse decelerating.

You stayed with him, coaxing him off of the edge and whispering words of encouragement.

He was dying. This was it. Some old lady in the coffee shop he frequented saw his metal arm and screamed, calling him a monster and that was it. He left the shop, unable to breathe. He checked his body for bullets, but he couldn’t find any. Bucky was certain his lungs had been shot, though. He’d only ever woken up from nightmares with this feeling. There’s no way this wasn’t real.

Heart in his throat, Bucky pulled off to a nearby alley and nearly vomited his internal organs. The world was spinning. He didn’t know how he got to his knees with his head in his hands but he was there now, unable to fight off the evil feeling that he would never be normal, never be anything better than HYDRA’s monster.

Tears threatened to breach Bucky’s eyes as he still couldn’t take in a proper breath. He imagined drowning would be a better way to die than this.

He was so caught up in his distress, in the shadows that threatened to pull him under, that he hardly heard your voice, muffled like it was underwater.

Bucky flinched hard, surfacing, immediately reaching for the pistol in his waistband. He had a fleeting thought that put into perspective for him how sick it was that the one technological adjustment he didn’t have to make from his old life to his new life was weaponry. He knew of every one; he had _used _every one.

He took you in, eyes glossing over your overly concerned figure.

Fucking hell, of course he would lose his shit in front of the woman he had become sweet on from the morning train for two goddamn years. Bucky had no real reason to take the B train. He had initially only taken it for a week when his bike was in the shop, but that week had given him more faith in humanity than anything had in the last decade.

He had noticed you the moment you had walked into the train, eyes taking in every one on the car and greeting near everyone around him. You checked in with a teenage boy’s science project and urged him to apply to an internship where you worked–S.H.I.E.L.D.

You were warm, and bubbly, unburdened by any horrors, at least not on first look, and you cared so much for every individual you came across. Bucky hoped you didn’t notice him watching you like a creep the entire ride, jaw slack and eyes way too fond for a stranger.

Though he was headed the same way you were, he went the opposite direction at the seventh stop so it didn’t look like he was following you.

He came back day after day, your blinding smile and kind eyes starting off every one of his mornings until he began to dread the weekends when he couldn’t see you–nights plagued with nightmares and memories of a person he wanted to set himself as far apart from as possible. He didn’t realize how much he had come to depend on seeing your plushy face and hearing your silken voice until nearly two years had already passed.

You were always too bright of a star for him to accept any of your kindness, however. Sometimes he felt unworthy of even looking at you, a sun in the cold world he lived in. That’s why he always waved off any of your offerings, often without even making eye contact, trying to hold down the flush of his skin from his flustered state.

He never imagined that this is how he would finally meet you.

Oh no. _Oh no, ohnoohnoohno. _This couldn’t be happening. You had definitely seen his hand. There was no hiding it now with his gloves strewn at his feet. Bucky wondered what you thought. He figured it was something along the lines of repulsion. But no part of you looked at him in disgust, only with affection.

“Hi, honey,” you practically crooned, the pet name making him practically melt into a puddle at your feet. It wasn’t condescending at all, only genuine concern in your voice. You told him he was having a panic attack. Is that what this slow death was? You seemed to know a lot about them. He hoped it wasn’t from personal experience. Shit was miserable.

Then you asked for his hand and he practically threw himself away in the dumpster closeby. He couldn’t imagine why you would offer to touch him. Him, who was the devil in disguise.

He swallowed thickly, chewing the inside of his cheek, before he gave in. He couldn’t help it. There you were, pleading so tenderly with him to take your hand. How could he refuse? He didn’t know how he ever refused you anything, to be honest. It seemed almost blasphemous.

His lungs wouldn’t stop wailing and the world still wouldn’t stop spinning. You were the only anchor and even then he wasn’t sure of his footing.

You took his hand in both of his and described exactly how he was feeling, as if you had felt it before. And you were calling him all these sweet things like honey and love and sweetheart and he didn’t know if he could survive it, but this was in a good way, a sort of death he didn’t deserve but was desperate for.

And then you asked his name. Before he knew it, he was saying it, and you were calling it sweet and then he was near choking out a sob, suddenly wishing he knew yours. He already knew he loved it.

It felt like you knew him then, and he knew you. He wondered if you felt it, too.

There was something so intimate about the little bubble you two had created, and all at once you realized just how much you had been craving the presence of this near stranger, the chance to know him. The tension was palpable and there was no true rhyme or reason to it, but it had you on the verge of tears.

Of course, you knew far more about him now. You knew he was Steve’s best friend way before he was the Winter Soldier and way before he was this–essentially an agent of S.H.I.E.L.D. You knew things about him that Steve told you, that you weren’t sure if he’d ever tell you himself. You knew he wanted to be a scientist in the 40s, but he saw Sergeant as the best way to help his country at the time. You knew how much he always cared for the little guy, a quality so deeply ingrained in yourself that you immediately adored in him. You knew of his struggles with coming to terms with his past as a HYDRA pawn, and in fact, you had helped engineer the very suit he wore on most assignments. Your fates were considerably more intertwined than you had ever realized.

Once he had fully come through the panic attack, heart in your throat, you finally admitted. “I’m a friend of Steve’s. Erm, at least, I was,” you corrected. The worst timing. You had no business dumping that on him after what just happened, but something told you you needed to blurt it out. That it would help.

At that, you heard a deep chuckle. You looked up to see Bucky full out-laughing and the sight had you biting your lip to keep away your own smile. He was so free when he was laughing, all of his teeth were out and his eyes crinkled in a way that drew at your heart-strings. So young. He laughed with his whole chest.

“I don’t see what’s so funny,” you said, smiling.

Bucky shook his head, still beaming, “It’s nothing. Well, actually, it means a lot. It’s just funny. It makes perfect sense. Of course, of course, Rogers, you little bastard.”

“What makes sense?” you pushed as he stood up, pulling you up with him.

He caged you in against the wall, chewing his lip, “It just makes sense that Steve would know exactly what I like.” He was deep red at the admission, but you were still processing, your mind slightly fuzzy from your view, his arms on either side of your head and his face inches from yours. He was going to kiss you. You could almost taste his breath when his eyes widened and he flinched away, realizing.

Bucky apologized, stepping back, “I’m-I’m sorry, that was uncalled for. I’m not a creep, I promise, I’ve just seen you around on the train and I’ve seen the way you talk to the kid and to Delmar and I have to admit I’ve grown a little sweet on ya, but I-I understand if–”

He didn’t get the chance to get through anymore because you had pulled him by his jacket, crashing your lips against his, hands immediately reaching for his hair.

He gasped in surprise, an mmph! making its way past his lips and into yours, but he quickly recovered, hands dropping to your waist and his lips bruising yours. The kisses were hungry, rushed, Bucky taking your lower lip between his only to bite down on the plump skin softly.

You whimpered, letting your tongues envelop each other, reaching, longing, craving something more.

Bucky pulled away, pupils blown, lips swollen red, his face utterly wrecked. You found that you wished he could always look like that, as long as it was because of you. “Wait, wait, wait. I don’t-” He smiled all crooked,, “I don’t even know your name, doll.”

You laughed, trailing your nose against his, “You can call me whatever you want if you keep kissing me like that.”

Bucky chuckled, pressing a kiss to your neck, whispering against the skin there, “Oh, I plan on it.”

You didn’t know where all of this boldness came from, but you loved it on him. “It’s y/n.”

Bucky hummed, “y/n.” It rolled off of his lips as he tasted it, testing how it felt. He lifted your legs around his waist and pushed you further into the wall. “It’s perfect.”

Your hands roamed across his torso, over the layers of kevlar as he captured your lips with his again. Your breaths were visible as you panted between kisses, both of you flushed a deep red from the cold air.

He pushed against you at just the right spot, causing the perfect sort of friction and you gasped, before moaning, “_Oh! _Bucky…”

“Shit, say my name like that again, sweetheart, and I’ll take you right here.”

You felt so far from reality then. Your boss would be a little upset but what did it matter? You were on time every day of your life. You had clung to routine for so long out of a need for an anchor from all of the chaos of this world that you had forgotten what it was like to do something spontaneous, to live, to love. While you were nowhere near loving this man, you felt it somehow only a matter of time that you ended up here, with him. He was Steve’s childhood friend. He worked at S.H.I.E.L.D. He took the bloody B train. You were bound to meet him. Something told you that you were meant to act on only your heart now, your heart which Bucky had touched so deeply without you even realizing it. He saw you. He saw your kindness. While you never did any good deed for attention, being seen for it was utterly validating. In this world, constantly making the right decision took a toll, and this was a reminder that it was worth it in the end. The right people would see it. Your choices, however small, did matter. Your empathy was your most prized possession and you would be damned if you’d let go of someone who saw that so clearly from just the morning fucking train.

Cloudy and dazed, you wrapped your legs around Bucky tighter. “Fuck it, what’s stopping you?”

Bucky’s laughed nervously, “Wait, you’re serious?”

You raised a brow, “What? Can’t handle it, Sarg?”

You could tell he liked that as he bit his lip, eyes hooded. “Oh, I think I can handle you, doll.”

You leaned into his ear, whispering, “Prove it.”

He huffed, hand around your neck as he slotted his mouth over yours, once again kissing you dizzy.

Hands tight on your hips and nearly bruising you, he moved his lips to your neck first, and then your collarbone, tongue and teeth working together to work you up so much you weren’t sure he even needed to touch you for you to climax right there.

You had a moment then. Again, rethinking everything. That was kind of your secret special power, after all. You all of a sudden saw a future. There was something so intimate about every interaction with this man, and while you never judged anyone for jumping into sex with someone, you weren’t sure it was the best way for you to start something that could be important to you, not with you being a flight-risk and constantly anxious.

You slowed your breath and put your hand on his jaw, thumbing his cheekbone, something you only felt unafraid to do while his eyes were still on your neck. When his eyes met yours, you withdrew, holding your wrist in your other hand, close to your chest. He recognized the lack of surety in your gaze, softly dropping your legs to the ground as you steadied yourself with your hands on the wall behind you. He gave you a second, both of you catching your breaths before he quietly asked, “Everything okay?”

It still felt as steamy as before, your eyes kept meeting and leaving, your pants visible in the cool air, lips swollen, plump, and a luscious pink, only centimeters away from each other, but there was also a comfortable air of quiet. There were no expectations, only patience.

You picked at the fabric of your collar, looking at his face, eyebrows furrowed in worry. “I just,” you chuckled, “I just realized I kinda want to take you out first, Sarg.” You smiled a little, “Just you know, to make sure you can handle it and all that.”

Bucky laughed, eyes crinkling as he lifted your chin with his thumb, “You’re gonna make me prove it, doll?”

“If you don’t mind,” you whispered, jutting your chin out even more.

He licked his lips, a sort of excited challenge igniting in his eyes, “Nothing would make me happier.”

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes reader insert #bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x fem!reader #bucky barnes x reader fluff #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes x reader angst #bucky barnes angst #marvel x reader #mcu!bucky barnes #idk what to hashtag anymore i just restarted afresh with a new tumblr account after a bajillion years #sidwritestuff #sidwritesforbucky #sidwritesformcu

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hotpinkrathian · 7 months

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Is Fandom just an inherently queer thing? Like mentioning AO3, Fandom, Tumblr to straight people is like explaining inflation to 5 year olds. They hit you with the 🧍‍♂️🧍‍♀️

#fandom #tumblr #AO3 #fanfiction #atla #star wars #legend of korra #good omens #harry potter #hunger games #star trek #911 #greys anatomy #what other major fandoms are there #all of them are just exceptionally gay #she-ra #marvel

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skyhook-parchment · 10 months

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Welp, while ao3 is down

opens my coat where i have hundreds* of fics downloaded for just such an occasion*

Who wants some?

*a generously small estimate

*more specifically to use with my screen reader. Or a long car ride. Or a power outage. Y'never know 🤷‍♂️

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voiceoffenrisulfr · 1 month

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Slam

Following an injury in the field, Bucky goes to check on Steve in the infirmary and confesses his feelings and his fears.

CW: Minor injury, smut, first time. Don’t forget to use lube, folks – unless you’re a super soldier.

Prompts used;

‘Bad Coping Mechanisms’, ‘Mutual Pining’ and ‘Wall Sex’ – Build-a-Bucky Bingo (@buckybarnesevents);

“You Look So Pretty Like This.” and ‘Muscles’ – @stuckybingo;

“I’m Right Where I Belong.” and “You Getting Flustered is One of the Cutest Things I’ve Seen.” – @sebastianstanbingo.

Check it out on AO3 here, or below! Boards at the bottom. Banner by @sarahowritesostucky

Bucky raced through the corridors, the serum’s power flowing through him as his feet pounded the linoleum, heart hammering in his chest.

As soon as the news of Steve’s injury had reached him, he’d been up and running, with fear he hadn’t felt in decades pulsing in his veins. Ever since Steve had been bulked up in the war, Bucky had been able to slowly let go of the terror for Steve’s longevity that had plagued him since he’d met the kid at six years old, scrawny but surprisingly bold – and prone to getting his ass kicked. But the serum Steve had received had made the once-tiny man a hulking mass of muscle and sinew, invulnerable to most things thrown at him, and Bucky had finally been able to relax a little – though he still worried about his childhood friend more than any other member of the team.

Bucky blamed it on their longstanding connection and the camaraderie born from being the only two super soldiers, both displaced from their own time by time in ice (and servitude, in Bucky’s case). It was a miracle they were both here, together, a hundred years in the future and experiencing things they never even dreamt of.

That was it, Bucky argued, when he lay awake at night thinking of the skinny kid from Brooklyn, the strong man he’d grown into. He argued it was appreciation of the smooth curves of muscle that had him fantasising about the water flowing over his back when he’d glimpsed him in the shower after a training session. It was simply concern that had him inspecting his Captain’s bare chest when his suit had been ripped in battle, checking thoroughly for cuts and scrapes.

He'd argued, but it was as he was skidding to a halt and slamming through the infirmary doors that it finally hit him that his argument was a lie.

The sight of Steve lay on the thin medical paper, his back to the doors as Bruce finished stitching a deep wound above his hipbone, had Bucky pausing and panting for breath. It’d been a long time since he’d managed to move so quickly that he was forced to breathe harder, but his strides had barely touched the floor as he’d flown towards his teammate.

“Hey, Buck.”

The Winter Soldier cocked his head sharply, smiling just a little to himself as he saw Steve’s muscles relax minutely. “How did you know it was me?”

“Heard you running. Anyone else would be far more breathless – and definitely couldn’t move so fast.” The grin in Steve’s voice was audible, and Bucky chuckled, moving closer slowly.

“Yeah, well. Nat messaged, and she wasn’t liberal with the details. All I knew was that you’d been hurt.”

“Worried, were you?” Steve’s shoulders trembled as he laughed silently, making Bucky snort as he rounded the table, casting an assessing eye over the shallow lacerations marring the Captain’s bare chest as he took a seat.

“Actually, I was hoping to get here in time to pull the plug,” Bucky quipped, grinning, and Steve rolled his eyes affectionately.

“Your life wouldn’t be worth living without me in it, and you know it,” Steve teased back, lips quirked in a fond smile before he grimaced as the doctor tied off his thread. Buck reached out automatically, squeezing Steve’s hand reassuringly, heat tingling up his palm at the contact. He’d done this dozens of times as a youth, Steve’s fingers clinging desperately to his as the larger boy had carefully cleaned yet another split lip or scraped palm, but it felt different now, with Steve’s palm comparable to his and Bucky’s metal fingers cool against his skin – and Steve’s pulse beginning to pound at the contact.

“I’m all done here,” Bruce murmured, gently pressing an adhesive bandage to the suture line. “Keep it covered and dry for a few days, and the stitches should dissolve in a week or so. You’ll be good as new by then.” The doctor grinned, shaking his head fondly. “If only all of my patients recovered so quickly!”

Steve chuckled obligingly, pulling the edge of his suit a little higher to obscure both bandage and sharp curve of bone. “You’d be out of a job, Dr. Banner. Thanks again,” he added as Bruce rose, receiving a polite inclination of the head for his gratitude.

The boys were left alone, fingers still entwined together, Steve fiddling with the ragged edges of his clothing idly. “I’m gonna have to get a new suit… This one got pretty shredded.”

Bucky laughed, running a palm over the lacerated star hanging over the edge of the table. “What the hell happened to you?”

“I got thrown. Road rash sucks,” the Captain replied with a shrug, and groaned as he pushed himself into a sitting position. “But you heard Bruce – I’ll be good as new in a few days.”

James nodded, eventually releasing his friend’s hand with a discreet twitch of his jaw. “Yeah. You were always the strong one.” Steve snorted and raised an eyebrow, considering his fellow soldier pointedly, but Bucky only laughed and shook his head. “Maybe, when we were younger, I could pick up something heavier than you. But you were always so… Tough. You weren’t scared of anything.” He smiled softly, head tilted minutely. “Actually, no. You were scared, but you always stood up for yourself anyway. You never let anyone keep you down or underestimate you. That’s real strength.”

Steve chuckled, his cheeks pinkening minutely as he looked away. “Not always,” he muttered, hands knotting uncertainly in his lap. “There were some things I just… I didn’t fight when the insults and assumptions started flying.”

“The assumptions?” Bucky repeated softly, head cocked. When Steve only shrugged, Bucky leaned forward conspiratorially. “You getting flustered is one of the cutest things I’ve ever seen.”

Steve blinked in surprise, his back straightening nervously. “I-I… What?”

Bucky smiled softly, leaning a little closer. “Those assumptions… Do you mean the ones about your sexuality?”

Steve hesitated for a moment, eyeing his friend nervously. “… You heard about that?”

The sergeant arched an eyebrow, head inclined. “Of course, Stevie. You’re my best friend. Besides… We spent a whole lot of time together. It wasn’t just you that they made those assumptions about.”

“I’m sorry,” Steve replied quickly, looking away as guilt creased his features, but Bucky simply chuckled.

“Don’t be. They were right.”

The words sat in the still air for a moment before they collided visibly with the Captain, sending him jerking backwards in shock.

“They- You- … What?” Steve stammered, his eyes widening in shock.

“I’m gay,” Bucky replied easily, shrugging. “Well, no – I’m bisexual. But we both know it’s not the women you were asking about.” Steve’s mouth worked wordlessly, and Bucky smirked. “So? What about you? Were they right about you, too?”

Steve glanced around uncertainly, examining the empty space as if checking for someone hiding in the shadows. “… Why did you come so quickly, Buck?”

“I asked you first.”

“I’m trying to answer. Humour me. Why did you come so quickly?” he repeated, looking down to where his fingers were knotted in his lap.

“Because… Because I care about you?” Bucky offered uncertainly, and Steve nodded, eyes diverted.

“As a friend?” he prompted quietly. Bucky hesitated for a moment, watching as his Captain struggled silently to find the words he was looking for. “… I’m not gay, Buck.” The sergeant blushed minutely, opening his mouth to respond, but Steve held up a hand to stop him. “But I’m not straight, either. I… I’ve only ever wanted to be with – been in love with – one person. After all these years… It’s still only ever been one person.”

Bucky sat silently for a moment, and when he spoke, his voice was soft, apprehensive. “Who?”

“Don’t make me say it,” Steve replied, a wry grin quirking at his lips.

Bucky reached out, fingers finding his best friend’s once more, swallowing nervously. “Tell me, Stevie. Please.”

Steve glanced up at last, the brush draining from his cheeks with the sincerity of the moment, ice meeting cerulean in an all-encompassing gaze. “You, Bucky. It’s always been you.”

The words released a feral urgency in his fellow soldier, moving forward to kiss him in a clash of lips and tongues, a low whine escaping the brunette as he tangled his metal fingers in the other’s hair.

“I’ve wanted you for so long,” Bucky muttered, shifting to trail kisses over the broader man’s jaw, his free hand finding Steve’s hip to pull him closer. “I can’t believe I wasted so much time trying to bury my feelings in drinking and whoring…”

Steve nodded weakly, head instinctively tipping back under his sergeant’s rapturous ministrations. “I-I… I never knew you… I never expected…” He swallowed audibly, hips twitching as his arousal became ever more evident under the skin-tight material of his uniform. Bucky let out a quiet groan of desire, fingers trailing over Steve’s hipbone slowly – but the blond grasped his wrist as his fingertips brushed against his increasingly stiffening length. “Wait.”

Bucky winced, drawing back with a quick, apologetic shake of his head. “I-I’m sorry. We don’t have to, of course, I-”

Steve kissed his lover softly to interrupt him, shaking his head with a smile. “I want to,” he breathed, his fingers finding the back of Bucky’s neck to press their foreheads together. “I’ve just- I… I’ve never…”

Bucky’s face went blank as comprehension dawned, lips parting minutely. “You… Oh.” A smile flickered across his features, and he cupped Steve’s jaw gently. “That’s fine, sweet boy. We go as slow as you like, and do as much or as little as you want. It’s all up to you.”

Steve nodded slowly, then more firmly, and pulled Bucky back to him by the neck of his t-shirt, crushing his lips desperately against the taller man’s.

Buck’s hands were gentle as they explored the Captain’s bare chest, tracing the dips and curves of bone and muscle reverently, mapping each detail and committing every modicum of minutiae to memory – just in case. Steve shivered under his touch, the hand on the back of the sergeant’s neck drawing him closer as he lay back, gasping at the thigh that pressed lightly against his throbbing length.

“Buck, please,” he whispered, tugging gently at the other man’s shirt, purring with delight when the material was shed and dropped to the floor. His hands fumbled with the taller man’s belt, hesitating only minutely before pressing a palm to Bucky’s boxer-clad member and blushing shyly at the relieved groan the motion elicited.

Buck’s lips trailed slowly along jaw and throat, over Steve’s collarbone, proceeding patiently over chest and stomach. Bucky’s knees met the floor as his fingers curled in the waistband of the other man’s underwear. He glanced up to receive clarification, and when he was offered a nod, nervous but sure, he slowly slid Steve’s boxers down, trailing gentle kisses in their wake. When he looked up again to take in his Captain in all his glory, his mouth ran dry, tongue darting out to wet his lips in anticipation. He rocked on his heels for a moment, enjoying the sight for a little longer before falling forward, growling hungrily. His mouth encompassed Steve’s length quickly, eliciting a gasp and a whimper from the soldier pinned to the table, his hands tangling frantically in Bucky’s wild hair.

“I- Oh, Buck, th-that’s so…” Steve trailed off into a desperate moan, his back arching instinctively to press himself deeper. Bucky, in his experience, simply swallowed around his amateur partner’s erratic thrusts to take him into his throat, hands finding his hips to help smoothen his pace, earning a quiet, stammering exclamation for his efforts. The feeling of Bucky’s tongue massaging the underside of his cock as it passed between expert, kiss-flushed lips had him quivering and mewling uselessly until the sergeant pulled back, oceanic eyes dancing with joy. “Good?”

Steve all but sobbed in his pleasure, raising his head to nod weakly. “A-Amazing. Please, honey, Buck… I want… I need…”

“Anything you want, baby boy,” Bucky purred, wrapping a loose, coaxing hand around Steve’s length while he spoke – but unable to keep from leaning in intermittently to pass tongue or lips over the leaking tip, delighting in the gasps and jerks the simple gesture invoked. “You just say the word, and I-”

“I want to make love to you,” Steve interrupted softly, pink tinging his cheeks as he spoke, his twitching cock betraying his enthusiasm. Bucky blinked in surprise before smiling tenderly with an amused shake of his head.

“And here I’d had you pinned as a bottom… What a pleasant surprise,” Bucky breathed, powerless to stop one of his hands from grinding against the straining in his sweatpants desperately, eyes blown wide with lust. “I’ve thought about you fucking me so many times…” He winced minutely, expecting a reprimand from his straight-laced captain for his language, but the blond simply smiled.

“I may be inexperienced, Buck, but I’ve overheard enough sleeping in the room next to Tony’s to expect a little cussing in these situations.”

Bucky simply nodded, standing to pull his shirt over his head, and Steve gulped. He’d seen the brunette in varying degrees of undress on countless occasions, but always he had kept his eyes diverted and downcast, never looking up for fear he would give himself away. But now he could let his gaze roam freely, taking in the curve of the sinew and muscle, of strong arms and well-defined pecs, his expression softening minutely as he took in the puckered ridge of scar where flesh met metal. Bucky shifted self-consciously, raising a hand to rub uncertainly at the marred skin, and Steve pushed himself quickly to his feet, catching the other man’s fingers. “Hey… You’re beautiful, he whispered, dropping his head to pepper kisses along the seam reverently.

Bucky stiffened infinitesimally, relaxation gradually easing the tension in his muscles, a soft sigh escaping parted lips as his eyes closed. “I want you, Steve,” he breathed, fingertips trailing through the short hair adoringly.

Steve could only nod in response, hands fumbling with Bucky’s belt as he dropped to his knees, one flushed, pink lip pulled between his teeth. His breath ghosted over the bulge in the sergeant’s boxers, making the taller man shiver with delight. With a slow, nervous exhale, he wrapped his fingers in Bucky’s waistband, eyes widening minutely as the soldier’s cock was freed at last. Bucky smirked, hand resting gently on Steve’s head, letting out a quiet groan as the barest flick of a tongue passed over his tip. “Please, baby boy, I need you to-”

Bucky’s words were interrupted by his own sharp yelp as Steve clumsily but enthusiastically took him, his inexperience making him gag at the depth, but he recovered to bob his head just as eagerly. The taller man groaned, hand knotting in pale strands, head falling back as he attempted to guide his needy lover into smoother motions, but Steve grasped desperately at his hips, still frantically attempting to take Bucky’s length deeper. “Easy, Stevie,” he breathed, shifting one hand to cup the other man’s jaw tenderly, smiling at the soft whine around his cock. “You really want it deeper, hm?” Steve blinked balefully up at him, tongue still eagerly caressing every inch available, and the sergeant chuckled quietly, gently raising Steve’s chin slightly. “Swallow,” he murmured, pushing forward slowly, using the rhythmic motion of his lover’s obedience to sheath himself fully in Steve’s throat with a shudder. “Fuck, baby boy- so goddamn hot… You look so pretty like this…” His eyes found the other man’s, the pale blue shining with joy, lips parted wide around his cock, and Bucky could have come undone simply at the sight. Steve could only mewl with satisfaction, lashes flickering in pleasure as Bucky rocked his hips, driving his length into his Captain’s throat before drawing back just far enough to let him snatch a breath.

It didn’t take long for the brunette’s muscles to begin to tremble and clench, incensed by the sight of his lover stretched and kneeling before him. The fingers in his hair tensed, and Steve’s eyebrow twitched questioningly. “I-I can’t- I’ll- I can’t hold out,” Bucky stuttered, the rock of his hips become spasmodic – but Steve simply dug his fingers into the other man’s flesh, groaning encouragingly. Bucky hissed with the realisation, free hand joining the first, holding Steve’s head still as his thrusts became more forceful. The feeling of soft whimpers vibrating around his length spurred him on, and he stammered out a quick warning before burying himself deeply, fingernails catching against scalp as he pinned his submissive Captain against him. “Fuck, Steve- Stevie!”

Steve’s eyes closed in pleasure as his sergeant emptied with a guttural groan, swallowing eagerly, licking his lips as his trembling partner drew back at last. “Thank you,” Bucky breathed, unclenching his hand to smooth the messy blond strands tenderly. Steve opened his eyes to meet his gaze, hesitating only briefly before scrambling to his feet to pin the brunette to the wall, earning a grunt of surprise and a dry gulp.

“I’m going to fuck you,” Cap growled, one hand wrapping lightly around his sergeant’s throat, smiling when a quiet whimper and desperate nod came in response. Bucky groaned as he was turned quickly, hands flat to the wall and ass offered willingly, the Captain’s cock pressing against him teasingly. Steve spat in his palm and slicked his length quickly, one hand steadying himself with his lover’s hip as he lined himself up.

“Please- Please, Stevie, I need you, I want you- please, just-” Bucky moaned needily as Steve pressed inside him roughly, his forehead finding the other man’s metal shoulder as he groaned.

“Bucky- Buck, honey, you feel so good…” he grunted, dragging out slowly before slamming home once more. Slowly at first, the movements of his cock inside the taller man felt incredible, the spark of discomfort from the lack of preparation or real lubricant fading quickly until Bucky was rutting back desperately, trying in vain to increase the pace. “Sweet boy, you’re so eager!”

“Yes- God, yes Sir, please, Stevie- Cap, I need you to fuck me, baby boy,” Bucky panted, fingers curling against the plaster. Steve’s fingers found his, pinning his metal hand to the wall either side of his head, while the other wrapped around his already-stiffening cock, stroking him in time as he thrusted harder. Bucky yelped in surprise, back arching. He’d been fucked many times in his life – but never by someone whose strength parallelled his own, his very bones creaking under the strain as Steve pounded against him with bruising ferocity.

Steve was lost in the heat fizzing through his veins; there was nothing but this, the feeling of Bucky wrapped around him, tight and hot, the air full of the scent of sex and the lewd sounds falling from their lips. This was everything he’d ever wanted, and he found his body reacting automatically, knowing just what to do as he drove himself deeper, their hands on the wall creating cracks in the plaster under the power.

“So beautiful – so good, James – I love you,” Steve groaned, fisting his sergeant’s cock faster as he felt his climax approaching, too far gone and too eager to slow down, to take his time in this. Bucky simply whimpered in response, his forehead pressed to the plaster, soft sobs of overwhelming pleasure falling from his lips between pleas and gratitude, rutting back against each perfect thrust. “Please- Stevie, fuck, just like that- I-I’m going- I-” His spine arched as he came without warning, painting both his lover’s hand and the wall before him, muscles clenching around Steve’s length.

Steve wrapped an arm around his partner’s waist, dragging him against his chest as he fucked him harder still, groaning out a plea for mercy into Bucky’s throat as he finally, blissfully, emptied himself inside his sergeant.

Bucky lay panting with his head on Steven’s chest, sweat-damp and exhausted, his backside bruised, entirely blissful.

“D’you want to get up?” Steve murmured, tracing his fingers gently down his lover’s spine, earning a lazy shake of the head.

“I’m right where he belong,” Bucky whispered in response, pressing a tender kiss to the bare skin under his cheek.

#fanfiction #mine #fandom: marvel #writers on tumblr #writing bingo #rating: e #pwp #stucky smut #bucky barnes x steve rogers #plot what plot #smut #bucky barnes smut #sebastian stan bingo #sexy seabass #stucky bingo #build a bucky bingo 2023 #bucky barnes events

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courtforshort15 · 9 months

Text

Chapter 8

Pairing: Matt Murdock x FemReader

Word Count: 7,600

Summary: It's a Wednesday when the sky quite literally opens up above you. The Battle of New York rages around you, and the only thing that gets you through is the stranger standing next to you. Matthew Murdock is more than he seems, keeping you safe in a city that is literally crumbling around you, and even once the dust settles, his hand is the only thing you don't want to let go of.

Trigger warning: This chapter is a little dark and features the death of an un-named character. Read with caution if that might be triggering.

You speed up so that you’re at a jog, trying to move as fast as possible while keeping yourself upright, and though you can barely see him, you follow the blurred gray figure up ahead of you that’s moving swiftly. He takes a sharp left and disappears out of sight, so you push your legs as fast as they can go, hoping you don’t fall too far behind and lose track of him altogether. Your legs burn, the muscles straining and aching, but what’s a sore muscle in the grand scheme of things?

If you survive this, you won’t remember the sore legs, the blisters, the cut across your hand; you’ll remember the crumbled buildings, the ruined city blocks, and the fear that was so thick that it was a struggle to breathe.

Will you ever breathe the same again, secure in the knowledge that you’re safe? You’re not sure.

The smoke and dust in the city creates a brown haze, and it settles through the streets like a hot and suffocating blanket. Dodging this way and that, you keep to the side of the buildings as closely as possible, hoping that you’ll avoid being seen by the things still flying overhead, still unable to keep yourself from flinching with every crash and siren that pierces the city.

You take the same corner Matt had taken, and it doesn’t take perfect vision to see the spilled concrete and rising flames of twisting oranges and reds that crackle and pop from where they burn just half a block down. Stumbling to a stop in the eye of a burning building, your breath hitches on a gasp. Even from the corner, you’re able to feel the heat brushing across your face, and each millisecond you stand still, it only grows in intensity.

It’s not long before you force your feet to take you closer, but you still hesitate longer than you would have liked. You’d been raised with the knowledge that fires were to be left to the professionals, to those with heavy gear and helmets and oxygen masks, but in a city that seems to be consumed by nothing but open flames, the people inside don’t have the luxury to wait for a team of firefighters to show up.

They’ll have to settle for the likes of you; vulnerable, insignificant, and completely overwhelmed.

Your spine does its best to turn to steel even as your fists clench at your side, shoving your panic down ruthlessly, and your tentative steps forward speed up back into a jog. There’s already a few people surrounding the building, digging frantically through the rubble and moving stone, wood, and brick aside to get to those who are trapped inside. It’s subtle, especially with your eyes the way they are, but you notice the second Matt becomes fully aware of your presence, his head shifting to angle towards yours ever so slightly as he helps another man pull away a large piece of stone.

You’re not sure where the other people came from - the streets had seemed deserted as you made your way to the subway station - but you marvel at every single person who has thrown their own fear and caution to the wind and jumped in at the prospect of someone else needing help. Time and time again, the people of New York have risen to another’s defense, banding together in the face of tragedy and destruction.

The scene is horrendous, something out of a twisted nightmare, blurry as it is in your limited eyesight. Brick and stone have toppled off of the building, leaving behind a large, mangled mound to sort through and push away in an effort to have access to pull people out. The front door is hardly visible with too many things blocked up against it for it to be usable. Most startling, however, is the large hole that sits around the second floor of the four story building, leaving an aching wound that surely must look worse from the inside than it does from the street.

Bloodied skin and frantic looks of terror and urgency decorate the faces of those helping to pull the chunks of debris away from the building, throwing their full weight into digging and shoving through the damage. Flames twist and pull, scorch and dance, as they burn the building from the inside out, heedless and apathetic to the sensitive skin and lungs of its occupants.

The horror of the destruction is only outmatched by the screaming.

Each cry scalds across your skin in a blaze hotter than the flames and causes you to flinch backwards, overwhelmed by the devastation and pain that oozes sharply from the wounded street, and for a split second, you consider turning on your heel and running away. You’re not brave, not entirely selfless when it comes to easing someone’s pain at the cost of your own sanity and safety, and you hate the way you hesitate when people are so clearly in need of help.

But one glance of the determination and grit on Matt’s face changes something in you, pulls you into a space that allows you to acknowledge your fear without sacrificing your desire to do good, and your feet are suddenly moving faster towards the rubble before you’ve had a chance to fully think about it.

The city may forgive your cowardice in the face of such dread and horror, but you never would.

Twenty feet in front of you, a small group of men and women shove away more debris, their faces dark with soot, and you immediately run to assist them, wordlessly jumping in and pulling brick and stone away from the door. Someone attempts to scale the large mound of debris, but he only manages to get so far up before his weight shakes some of the stone loose, sending them tumbling down. The person next to you pulls you sharply to the side as a brick flies down in your direction, and you send a brief but startled grimace their way.

“Help me lift this,” says the woman to your right, her voice strained as she struggles to pull up a large clump of bricks that have stayed together through the strength of the concrete. You don’t hesitate this time, leaning down and sliding your hands underneath the object of ruin. The large cut on your hand protests loudly, but you ignore it, even as it feels like the newly-formed scab has ripped open under the pressure.

“One, two, three, lift,” the woman directs, words changing into a hiss as she begins to rise. The weight in your hands aches, but you struggle through it, putting all your effort into lifting it and walking a few feet to the side before dropping it. It hits the concrete with a crash, the brick finally breaking apart, but you pay it hardly any attention, following the woman back to the small section of the pile she’d been working at.

“This piece next,” you tell her, pointing at another collection of bricks, wiping a drop of sweat off of your forehead with your other arm. It seems the scab had indeed torn quite a bit, as you’d predicted, because blood is trickling down your arm from underneath Matt’s tie that is still wrapped tightly around it. The red stands out, even through the dust that lingers upon your skin, and you’re close enough to see the other woman wince.

“Are you–”

“Doesn’t matter,” you brush her off, already bending down to lift another piece. “Gotta keep going.” She drops the topic quickly, joining you at a crouch, and grunts as the clump slowly raises from the pile.

One by one, the two of you wordlessly move large pieces of brick and concrete to the side, trying to clear a path for people to get to the shattered window of the building where they can help people escape. It’s slow going for the pair of you, your efforts taxing and seemingly little in comparison to the group of men who are able to move faster. The heat around you builds, as do the cries of the people trapped inside, and it only makes you push harder.

“It feels like this isn’t going anywhere,” you remark with a gasp of air. You feel more and more discouraged by the second, the task at hand feeling far too large for your tiny hands. You hated this feeling of helplessness, even as you did everything in your power to help. The two of you shove a large piece to the side, and it falls with a groan and crack as it breaks apart slightly. The woman turns away from you, eyeing the small clearing you’ve made.

“They’re close to clearing the door, I think,” she says. She bends over and rests her hands on her knees for a split second as she takes in a large gulp of air, but quickly straightens back up and follows you back to the side of the doorway urgently. “It’s helping, the people will be out soon. Hopefully.”

“Hopefully.”

The panic mixed with grit and determination on her face is only matched by yours, and you let it drive you forward.

As if on cue, there’s a sharp cry of relief as the top of the front door is revealed, about a foot of wood paneling finally visible behind the stone that had blocked the exit. The digging continues frantically, and the sight of it refuels you with renewed speed and strength as you move back to another piece of stone the two of you will be able to lift.

The woman continues to look exhausted during the next two pieces you lift, face drenched with sweat and red with exertion. She’s just above middle-aged, with frail arms and wrinkles exaggerated as she frowns and groans under the weight, and her strength seems to be waning even as she does her best to work through. She’s clearly struggling even as she puts one foot slowly in front of another, and a warning bell sounds in your head. You watch with clouded vision as her form begins to lose its shape, hunching over the slab of concrete you’re moving to the side, and a flash of fear suddenly rips through you.

Her arms shake under the weight, face twisting in pain. “I can’t–”

“Don’t drop it,” you wheeze, walking backwards more quickly. Sweat continues to pour down your face, the heat of the intense labor creating a burn that slides upon your skin as it joins forces with the flames from the building. “We’re almost there.”

She wheezes, her red face rapidly increasing its shade. “I’m gonna–”

“No–” Your eyes widen with horror as her hands begin to slip, her face shifting into one of panic. Your foot is directly below the slab of brick, and instinctively you know there’s no way you can move your foot quickly enough to get out from under the brick, not without jostling her and causing her to drop it quicker. It all seems to go in slow motion, the sliding of the slab through her fingers, the beginning of its descent, and your body freezes in anticipation of the pain, one that will likely bloom viciously from the breaking of your foot.

Your eyes slam quickly shut as you tense up for the impact.

But suddenly, the brick is rising back up, the weight taken on by another force, one that even lessens its own load on you.

Eyes flying open with a gasp, you’re surprised to see Matt’s sweaty face in front of yours, mouth twisted in a frown as he lifts the brick, a quick groan slipping out. His eyes are wide open, the sun hitting them and highlighting them hazel, blindly aimed to the left of your ear as he holds up the brick.

“Keep walking,” he tells you gruffly, pushing you gently but urgently along as he steps forward and off to the side. The woman steps out of the way quickly, and you catch the look of relief on her face. Your legs, still tense from the fear that had pierced through you, protest with every step, even as he takes the brunt of the weight. It feels like forever, but Matt finally indicates to place the slab down and out of the way, and you follow without question, grateful to let the heaviness of it go, rolling your shoulders as you stand up.

He’s directly in front of you a second later, steadying you and matching your grimace.

“You’re bleeding again,” he says, grabbing your arm and lifting it slightly, seemingly examining the blood he can’t see. “It’s as bad as before.”

You try to bring your hand back to your body, but his grasp slides to your wrist as he all but cradles your palm in his. A loud sigh escapes your lips, though you imagine it could almost be considered a hiss when he puts the slightest bit of pressure over the wound. “Can’t be helped, Matt.”

“No, maybe not,” he responds with a deep frown. His face has a few smudges of dirt on it, and his shirt can hardly be considered white at this point. “But maybe you should think about finding shelter again. I don’t want–”

You hate how tempting it sounds. “Absolutely not.”

He runs an aggravated hand through his hair. “I don’t want you getting hurt any worse.”

The smile on your mouth is as bitter as it tastes. “Everyone here is hurt, too. Including you. It’s not going to stop any of us. There’s still people who need help.”

“Fine,” he says with another frown, this one bordering on a wince, rolling his stiff shoulders before pulling slowly away. “But…just watch it, okay? You’re not helping anyone if you get yourself hurt. Don’t bite off more than you can chew.”

“Why do I feel like that’s advice you never follow yourself?”

He snorts, the sound of it abrupt and out of place in a city that’s hardly standing, already moving back towards the entrance of the building that still blazes. “I hardly–”

“Hey buddy!” someone calls out a few feet away, waving in Matt’s direction. It’s the group of men Matt had been working with when you’d arrived, and it catches his attention as soon as the first syllable is out. Matt’s head turns swiftly towards them, tilting in question. “Can you come back over here? We need help with this one.”

Matt’s nodding before the man’s already finished. He throws you one last glance, reaches out to squeeze your uninjured in a subtle goodbye, before running back to the group. His touch is missed the second it’s gone, something about the warmth of his hand acting as soothing heat that almost overpowers the flames behind you. You watch him go, his form tense and seemingly ready for whatever challenge could come his way, choosing to focus on the task at hand rather than the unfamiliar ache in your chest that he leaves behind.

That’s…not something I can focus on right now.

You eye another piece that needs moving. Its removal will help clear an easy path for those trapped to get to the end of the sidewalk and out of the way, so you grit your teeth and look up at the woman to see if she’ll be able to help. She wipes her forehead briskly and pushes a lock of red hair behind her ear, head nodding at the unasked question.

She’s ready to move again after a small breather, and you ground your teeth together to prepare for the same. You turn your back to her as you make your way over, stepping quickly around the littered debris and squaring your shoulders.

But out of nowhere, there’s a loud, piercing cry behind you, the sound nothing but a sheer whine of terror, and you whip your head around just in time to watch a quick flash of color shoot straight into the woman’s chest before she falls to the ground, the scent of burning flesh and sight of a blurred hiss of smoke rising up.

You stare at her in horror, your own scream bubbling up and leaving your lips before you can help it.

But before you can step towards her, before you can even fully process that she’s gone, the sound of heavy footsteps behind you catch your ear, and an ice-cold chill runs down your spine. Your breath stops in your lungs, your heart beats painfully in your chest, and your skin prickles in dread.

Slowly, you turn around, unable to help yourself.

Its purple, mottled skin stands out amongst the black of the road and the white sidewalk behind it, its posture stiff as it holds the large weapon. From where you are standing just ten away, you can barely see its features beyond the sharp beak-like structure and glowing eyes that observe the group of you with unrestrained hatred and a disturbing amount of glee.

You wish you hadn’t looked.

All efforts to clear the door have temporarily stopped, each person staring at the alien with blood-drained faces. It holds its weapon close to its chest, claw-like hands wrapped tightly around something that looks like a trigger, and it’s almost like it's deciding who to kill first.

Swiftly turning your head away from the sight, your eyes land on the remains of the woman that lay carelessly to your side, nothing more than an empty, beaten shell that had once housed a person, and the contents of your stomach roll and speed up through your throat. You barely keep it in as tears blur your vision, a hand rising up to cover your mouth as a scream, this one silent, parts your lips viciously.

While you stare in horror at the broken body to your left, another boom of the weapon rocks the city block, and it's quickly followed by the nightmarish sound of another person falling to the ground. It’s suddenly mass chaos as people begin running and diving behind the rubble, doing their best to protect their bodies as the thing advances. Someone makes a run for it, sprinting across the street in hope of reaching shelter, but there’s another flash of light, a startled scream, and a suddenly lifeless form that slams against the pavement.

“Oh God, oh God, oh God,” you chant under your breath, making a split decision to run and duck behind a large pile of bricks to your left. It’s futile, you know, but it’s your best shot.

Sure enough, before you can make it, before you can throw yourself down to the ground, an ear-splitting blast sounds from behind you. Your body tenses up, all too aware of what’s coming, waiting for something to tear through your body, and a scream leaves your mouth before you know you’ve opened it.

But the blast doesn’t hit you, it hits the pile of bricks you’d been about to duck behind, as if the being had miscalculated slightly and expected you to be diving to the ground a split second before you actually had. You had been too slow, or him too fast, and it had temporarily saved your life.

The brick explodes next to you, and you let out the most piercing shriek you’ve ever had slip past your lips as you do your best to cover your face. In your terror and pain you quickly lose your balance, and it’s as if the force of the blast might as well have knocked you down itself. Your head smacks crudely against the concrete, the sound of your skull crashing down nothing but a solid crack, and the sound of your scream rattles your head and ears in a way that’ll haunt you for days to come.

Brick falls down over you as you lie there, each piece nicking you on its way down, and you can do nothing but huddle in on yourself and cry until the dust seems to finally settle.

Your vision is hazy when your eyes manage to open, and you’re not quite sure if it’s solely because of the eyes that have needed glasses for years, or if it’s because your head had slammed to the concrete with the force of a bat slamming into a baseball thrown by a major league pitcher. You’re facing upwards, and despite the heat of the raging flames around you, there’s a slight chill that brushes your skin as you lay in the shadow of the skyscrapers surrounding you.

A large form, gleaming from the strange shine of its blotchy skin hanging from solid angles that make up its inhuman frame, steps into your limited field of vision, weapon raised with fingers still on the alien trigger. Your heart stutters, your breathing stops, and dread curls down your spine as you watch it lift its gun again. It seems to relish the look of terror on your face, finding enjoyment in your panic, and there’s nothing human about the way it looks down on you.

There’s a voice somewhere in the distance screaming your name, getting closer and closer with every millisecond, but you’re well aware that the speed of the anguished sound isn’t going to make a difference, the person still too far away to change how your story is about to end.

There’s only one person who could be screaming your name, and you’re grateful that his lack of sight will keep him from the image of your mangled and burned skin.

You look past the being in your face, choosing that your last moments be that of the blue sky behind him. It doesn’t give you any sense of peace, not really, but the blue has inspired poets and musicians and artists for thousands of years, and will do just fine for the last image you’ll ever see.

The monster in front of you lets out a warbled sound that’s both grating and groaning, no doubt communicating to whatever part of his army can hear him, and you brace for the impact. But before it can follow through, before a flash of light can penetrate your body and leave behind a shredded hole of blood and flesh, it just….

…drops.

It crumbles just to your left, the mottled gray form falling to the ground bonelessly, eyes open and mouth still twisted in a snarl. For a second, all you can do is continue to stare at the sky, far too confused to know what’s just happened. The lack of a weapon in your face does not yet ease the fear, bone and muscle immobilized from terror, and your lungs still struggle to push air in and out of your body.

The site is silent for a split second as the group of people stare in disbelief at the fallen alien, but it’s not long before the screaming and sobbing starts again, though it seems to slip past you as your brain threatens to shut off. You feel numb all over, and just for a second, you give into it.

You must drift shortly into unconsciousness because the next thing you know, Matt’s face is hovering directly over yours, his mouth opening on words that take you a few seconds to process.

“--ey, hey, you’re okay,” he says hurriedly when you shift with a groan, and you’re relieved that sound has finally come back to you. He frowns as he runs a hand lightly down the side of your face, fingers grazing over something on your left cheek that burns at the contact. The contact is jarring, and you can’t help the way you flinch as you try to sit up.

Matt’s face is alarmed at the movement, pressing gently at your shoulder until you lay back down reluctantly. “Woah, hey. Don’t move. You need to stay down for a few.”

“They’ll be back,” you respond with a cough, struggling against the hand that presses lightly into your chest. “We should–”

“I think they’re gone,” he tells you, and you notice the new cut that’s been added to his jawline, “all of them just…it’s like they’re dead.” His voice is absolutely bewildered, his eyes wide, head shifting from side to side as if struggling to comprehend the way the street had suddenly changed. “Whatever they were, they just fell to the ground. It’s the same with the other ones in the area.”

You don’t ask him how he knows.

The wailing and crying in the background has continued, but you pay it no mind. Your energy is draining rapidly, and you don’t have the ability to focus on much more than the man on his knees next to you.

“I–” you’re unsure of what to say at first, just as perplexed at the sudden death of the aliens. You turn your head slowly to the side, jumping when you remember the being that had fallen next to you, its blank face not seven feet from yours, mouth hanging open lifelessly. From up close you can see every ridge in its armor, every line and splotch in its face, and it’s even more terrifying up close.

You find it hard to think even as a shudder wracks your body. “Are you sure? I don’t–”

“I’m sure.”

“Ok.” A deep breath surges through your body, the first full gulp of fresh air since you’d fallen, but you cough harshly as the air leaves, barely managing to cover your mouth with your trembling hand. “But I should still-”

A shaky hand gently pushes down on your chest again, the one that had touched you on your cheek just a few seconds ago, and your eyes widen at the bright flash of red that stains his palm.

Blood.

His?

No. Yours.

“Don’t move,” he says, voice a little more firm than last time. It’s got a thin veil of steel behind it, the same one that’s been present the past few hours, something that hints at a far more forceful interior that he perhaps doesn’t let others see. The tone doesn’t startle you, doesn’t stop you, as you’re far too focused on the fact that there’s another reason to get up on your feet. How had you forgotten about the people who needed rescuing? “Just lay here for a second.”

Your tone is incessant. “Let me up. The people in the fire need–”

Matt shakes his head, and the motion is suddenly more fuzzy than it had been just seconds ago. “Everyone got out, everyone’s fine.”

Your eyebrows raise in confusion. “How–”

His blank eyes rake over your face. “You were out of it for a few minutes. I–you hit your head really hard.” He shudders briefly. “I heard it from all the way over there.”

“But–”

“You’ve lost a lot of blood,” he says as gently as he can, though he’s still incredibly blunt, “and you need to go to a hospital.”

For the third time, you move to sit up, but he stops you with a firm shake of your head.

“I’m going to pick you up. You shouldn’t be walking.” An arm reaches underneath your knees, pulling your weight closer to him, and it takes all of two seconds before you’re struggling against him.

“I’m fine,” you argue, pushing him lightly away, though he easily overpowers you. Your head continues to pound, the throb as forceful and abrupt as a loud snare drum, and it takes a second to gather your thoughts. “It’s just my cheek, it’s fine.”

“It’s not just your cheek,” Matt grunts as he finally snakes his arm again under your knees, holding a little tighter this time. He floats in and out of your vision, not because he’s moving, but because you suddenly feel like you’re swaying despite his jerky movements. “You’ve…the crown of your head. You have a gash, it needs stitches. As soon as possible.”

Oh.

Your mouth parts in immediate shock, and without a word, your hand lifts and runs over your head, the wince on your face sharp and dramatic as the pain that suddenly flares out. Between the sting of the wound and the pounding in your head, it quickly becomes too much, and you’re very suddenly overwhelmed and having even more trouble focusing.

“Yeah,” Matt mumbles, correctly assuming that the pain’s finally hit with full force. He lifts your arms before helping tie them loosely around his neck. You allow the movement easily as if your body has lost its ability to function with the new knowledge of just how hard you must have hit your head.

Well…that makes sense.

“Maybe,” you begin slowly, your tongue feeling heavy in your mouth, “m-maybe that’s why I feel so…so dizzy?”

Matt hisses in displeasure, something about the slurring of your words triggering his need to move faster. You let an undignified squeak as he pulls you up and straightens his back, and though before you might have wrapped your arms around his neck tighter in a split second of panic, you find your arms suddenly too heavy to move. They flop uselessly to the side as if the muscle is no longer attached to the bone, just a dead weight of torn skin and fingers that tingle.

“Where–where are you t-taking me?” you slur out, and you don’t have the energy to make your voice louder or more clear. He picks up a swift pace, and you’re unable to tell which way he is going, only that he’s walking away from the people he’d helped save from the building. No one calls out to him to return, though the tears and cries left behind are present and haunting, and Matt seems to be single minded as he takes you away from the fire that still burns behind him. “Where–”

“There’s a hospital a few blocks away,” Matt responds immediately, his body randomly jerking you to the side as steps around something. “We can…we should be able to make it there safely now that there’s nothing to stop us.”

You try to wiggle out of his hold in protest, but your body refuses to work with you, especially once Matt seemingly strengthens his hold on you. All semblance of a fight leaves you as exhaustion suddenly hits you heavier this time. “Matt, no. You can’t carry me that far, it’s not–”

“Don’t argue,” he says tightly. “Your head…you’re losing too much blood. And you’ve probably got a concussion. You need a doctor.”

Your eyes flutter shut before snapping open again. “There’s…there’s people who are w-worse off. They-they need to be h-helped fir–” Something inside you abruptly cuts off your ability to speak, tongue feeling too heavy in your mouth before you’re able to finish your sentence. Your head falls backwards, strength rapidly draining from your bruised and tired body, and you hear Matt grunt when he adjusts slightly so that your head is resting on his shoulder as best as it can. Your eyes grow heavy, the lids making a valiant effort to stay lifted even as a sense of darkness beckons you below.

“Don’t close your eyes,” he tells you urgently as he continues to pick up his pace, his steps feeling more and more jarring as he quickly turns a corner. “Stay awake for me.”

You don’t answer, you can’t, and your body continues to do nothing but sag into his. He mumbles something, something you can’t hear, the blurred lines of his lips tilting into a deep frown.

It’s a lovely mouth, now that you think about it. You wish you’d seen a smile such as his in the life that had existed before today.

Matt continues to move, his voice soft and almost warbled in your ear, and with every step, you feel yourself floating outside of your body, whatever string that ties your spirit to your physical form attempting to snap and separate. It’s nice, almost. The feeling of dread and terror slides away, the throbbing of every inch of your body beginning to dissipate. You’re aware that bells should be ringing in your head, some alarm that tells you that your sudden emotional and physical numbness isn’t a good thing, but you’re too far gone to care.

“Sweetheart,” Matt says with a shake of his arms, trying in vain to wake you up even as you continue to slip away, “you gotta stay with me. Don’t close your eyes, stay with me. I need you to–”

But you don’t hear what he needs. The black catches up to you, forces your eyes shut, and leaves you with nothing more to cling to.

—----

Matt’s heart falls into his stomach when you lose consciousness again, though he had known this was a possibility long before your words started slurring. The thump of your heart is growing weaker by the second, fading with every drop of blood that leaves your body and soaks his shirt, and every step he takes towards the hospital feels far too slow, far too unsteady.

Despite his fear, despite the way he trembles as your head lulls back and over his arm, Matt’s navigation is on point. He knows exactly what block he’s on, knows exactly how many steps are needed until he’ll get to the corner he’ll turn at, and even while screams and sirens tear through the bruised and beaten city, his sole focus is your safety.

His sole focus is you.

You, who had run in the opposite direction of the crowd to help him, even while people ignored him standing there by himself on that apartment stoop, nothing more than a liability in the face of death. He could have found a way to find shelter on his own, he knows that, but he hadn’t needed to, not with you there, a beacon so bright that he didn’t know how he could have missed it before.

You’d been terrified, blood circulating viciously through your system with every uneven breath and pounding of your heart, but all he could think in that moment was that he had never met someone so selfless, so…fearless.

Matt isn’t fearless now, though. He’s in agony as distress and panic roll through his system relentlessly, a deep and abrasive flaying of his nerves with every second that slips by.

He’s a city boy, born and raised in the underbelly of New York City, a place that lives and breathes tension and apprehension, so in an awful way, the anxiety he’s feeling is familiar. He’s used to it crawling up and down his spine, long before he gained and familiarized himself with his abilities, but nothing could have prepared him for this.

Matt vaguely recalls Stick talking about the war and wonders briefly if this was what he’d been talking about, but he quickly dismisses the idea entirely. Stick’s stories had always seemed so human, and there had been no mentions of aliens tearing through the sky and beating the city, his city, into the ground.

The brick of the wall next to him suddenly disappears, indicating that the building has ended and he’s reached the end of the block, and he takes a sharp turn, feet expertly avoiding the stone and brick that lies broken over the sidewalk, no doubt from a building close by that had been devastated by the force of an explosion. The smell of fire still lingers in the air, but he’s all but numb to the world, nothing existing but his feet, his path, and you cradled in his straining arms.

He takes a second to adjust again, hoisting you closer and further up his body, ignoring the slight burn as his arms accept the weight of you in a slightly different position. Like this, your head is now closer up by his, your silken hair brushing lightly his chin, and he can’t help shudder at the feeling.

His adjustment jostles you enough that it startles out a low moan, one that is filled with a sense of pain that he wishes he could take from you.

“I know,” he mumbles into your hair as his pace picks back up again, following the path that his head has laid out for him, filled with the angles and pressures and temperatures that only his mind is able to process. It’s a clean shot down to the hospital, just three blocks down, and Matt can’t help but press a soft and short kiss to the crown of your head in relief. “I know, sweetheart. We’re almost there.”

He walks as fast as he can with you in his arms, and each step is filled with as much relief as fear, because what if…what if he gets you there in one piece, but there’s nothing they can do?

Your heart has slightly evened out, though it’s still weak and slow, and Matt admits that he has done little more than monitor it the whole journey to the hospital, hell, the whole journey since he grabbed your hand. Two hours with you and the sound has been seared into his memory, its pattern just as familiar as the back of his own hand.

It’s only a few more minutes before Matt’s walking briskly through the automatic doors, somehow managing to focus even as the sound of broken cries swarm around him on all sides. He’s walked in through the ambulance bay, he thinks, judging by the lack of furniture for waiting friends and family and a check-in desk. The lights are fluorescent, and he can hear their loud humming, so different from the soft lighting and calmness of a waiting room. There’s so much going on around him, so many people shifting and rushing past him, the wheels of gurneys screeching across the linoleum floor, and he can’t help but be temporarily overwhelmed.

The scent of blood is so strong it’s sickening, and Matt has to swallow down the taste of copper that floods his senses ruthlessly.

He finds himself floundering for a second, unsure of which way to walk as chaos swells around him on all sides. Your blood is soaking his shirt with every second he wastes stalling there, and it’s finally enough to push forward. He’s hardly taken a step before a man is standing in front of him, his hand outstretched to stop his movement. Matt opens his mouth to protest, unsure of the man’s reasoning and instinctively wanting to keep going, but the man cuts him off.

“I need a gurney over here,” the man calls out sharply, turning his head to the left. He sounds frayed at the edges, too, and Matt can’t help but shudder. “Now!”

Relief floods through his system, and it’s only a brief few seconds before a gurney is wheeled his way.

“Here, put her down,” says the man urgently, lowering the rails down so that it’s easier for Matt to lean down. He hesitates for just a moment, something in him suddenly unwilling to remove you from his body, and even though he knows he needs to place you on the padding, his heart protests so sharply that it startles him.

I don’t want to let her go.

But Matt pushes the thought aside, finally placing her gently on the gurney, pulling back as the man raises the railings back up and wheels her up against a wall a few yards away. He immediately begins hooking you up to various machines, one monitoring your heart rate, the other your blood pressure. Matt is moved lightly to the side by another pair of hands as a second nurse or doctor steps up, placing an oxygen mask on a face that feels like it’s been permanently scarred with the remains of blood and tears from the day.

“What happened?” the man asks as he begins a quick exam, watching as your stats begin to populate on a screen to the left of your head.

“They…she…” Matt struggles to find the words at first, language failing him for a second as the sound of your body slamming against the pavement echoes through his head. His fists clench uselessly at his side as he tries to focus on the facts of what happened instead of the way it had caused a panic so abrupt that he wasn’t sure if he’d ever recover from it. “She…she fell as she was running. One of those things–it shot at her and missed, but she lost her balance. She must have hit her head on something because she started losing blood and eventually lost consciousness.”

The man continues his exam, not bothering to look up, which causes a strange sense of relief. Matt’s not wearing his glasses, he’s pretty sure he lost them around the time he sprinted to your side when all thought and reason left him, and while it’s the least of his concerns at the moment, he’s still grateful the man has yet to notice that he’s not making eye contact.

He’d promised to tell you everything if the pair of you survived, and he’d stand by that promise gladly, but the idea of someone else questioning his sight made his skin crawl. This was a secret meant only for him and you, now.

“When was this?” The man pulls Matt out of his head with the question, moving your head from one side to the other to determine the level of damage. He is thorough and almost detached in his examination, brusque and to the point, but Matt detects the tremble in his hand, notes the skin that is likely too pale, and knows the man is trying to remove himself from his own fear in order to focus on those who need him.

It’s a trait that Matt will become achingly familiar with in years to come.

“How long ago did this happen?”

“I, uh…probably about ten minutes ago. We were a few blocks away and I had to carry her here,” Matt responds, licking his lips with a nervous tick. “Is she–is she going to be okay?”

“We’re going to have to take her up for a CT,” he responds, pulling out a chart and writing on it, his chicken scratch sliding abrasively on the paper. “I have someone who can do that for her in a few minutes. Can I get her name and date of birth for her paperwork?”

Matt freezes briefly, because of course he doesn’t know your date of birth, and he never got your last name, but to admit that he doesn’t know either implies that he doesn’t know you, and it causes him to lurch in place.

He does know you. He does.

Maybe the day hadn’t started out that way, but he knows you in a way he doesn’t know anybody else, because what else is there to know about a person other than how they’ll react when push literally comes to shove? He knows that about you now, already knows the kind of person you are, and he hopes he’s shown you equally the kind of man he is and wants to be.

On paper you are a stranger, but his heart knows differently.

So instead, he lies about the information the doctor is requesting and gives the doctor his father’s birthday as her own, simply changing the year so that it’s only a few years younger than himself. The doctor doesn’t notice the lie and simply nods, writing it down quickly.

“First name?”

Matt gives it swiftly. It’s a name that he’ll never be able to forget.

“And last name?”

It’s out his mouth before he can hold it back. “Murdock.”

He doesn’t know why he says it, but it’s too late to pull it back, so he adjusts his form and does his best to not give away the false statement that had poured from him so easily like wine from a barrel.

“And you are?”

Matt clears his throat. “Matt Murdock.”

“Relation?”

“She’s my wife.” The lie comes out just as smoothly this time because Matt quickly realizes the advantage of the situation. He won’t have to leave you, he’ll be able to stay by your side as you heal, and no one will question it. Watching over you has become his sole focus since the sky first opened up, your strength in the face of your fear nothing short of addicting, like you were a flame that burned only for him, and he isn’t about to leave you now.

Your blood matted hair rests lifelessly on the padding he assumes is white, and something in him is glad he can’t see the red of it staining the sheets, knowing that it’s life leaching out from the gash on your crown.

You’re still as a nurse begins stitching up the back of your head, a thin needle expertly swaying in and out of your flesh as the wound gradually begins to close. His hands hold on to the railing tightly, ears catching the beat of your heart faster than the screen can count it, and he keeps track of every stitch that’s tied off. Slowly, the blood seeping out begins to lessen as the nurse continues her work, and when she walks away, Matt’s overcome with the sudden need to touch you. His hands are dirty with blood and sweat and ash, but he reaches down anyway and pushes a lock of hair behind your ear, resting his forehead against yours in a brief attempt to assure himself of your warmth, before placing a gentle kiss and pulling away.

He’s barely standing up straight before the nurse comes up and informs him they’re ready to take you up for the head scan, and there’s nothing Matt can do except pray while the wheels of the gurney disappear down the hall.

#matt murdock #daredevil #human disaster matt murdock #marvel #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock x you #matt murdock x fem!reader #matt murdock fanfiction #daredevil x reader #daredevil x you #daredevil x fem!reader #the avengers 2012 #what if

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moritashie · 9 months

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I HAVE A FIC IDEA vol #5

• Tony and Peter start spending some time together after the events of Homecoming. Sometimes Tony would invite Peter over to the compound to tinker in the lab, other times he would join Spider-Man on some mission a little over the teen's level.

∘ While these meetings become something more frequent, they always end up doing something that requires his influence, is connected with a lot of public, his status as a superhero etc.

• Gradually, Tony finds himself spending more and more time checking in on the kid, whether it is through the baby monitor protocol, talking with May or the kid himself.

∘ Rhodey points that fact out one time they decide to have a drink at a bar together, joking about Tony becoming quite parental when it comes to Peter, and that leads Tony to the realization that he does in fact view Peter as his kid.

∘ At the same time he realizes that Peter must feel nowhere near the way he does. To the hero-worshipping kid he must only the "OMG it's freaking Ironman!", and he figures out that he is quite bothered by that fact. He has to change it.

• Tony devises a special plan to do as many awesome (read: fatherly) things with Peter as possible, to distance himself from the media image of Tony Stark.

FOR EXAMPLE (but doesn't have to be any of these)

∘ Building a tree-house together

∘ Teaching Peter how to make Italian pasta

∘ Going camping with him and Rhodey

∘ Organizing a Movie night with snacks

∘ Telling Peter some more casual/wild stories from his youth, (ones that Peter could relate to)

#rhodey could be Tony's wingman in this #i have checked out “WikiHow” just to get some ideas for what these two could do LMHO #This could become a one-shot SO easily #also. Peter probably does feel similarily about Tony but what do I know #there is a lot of potential in there #peter parker #iron dad #spider son #marvel #spiderman #marvel art #irondad and spiderson #spiderman fanart #irondad fanfiction #irondad fluff #marvel fanfiction #spider man #marvel mcu

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wwilsonbarness · 8 months

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don't tell my boyfriend, it's not what he's made for

pairings: sam wilson x reader

summary: you try hide your bad days from Sam but he knows you too well. (Based on What Was I Made For by Billie Eilish.)

warnings: depression, mention of bad relationship with parents, angst, fluff, sam being the best boyfriend. I think that's it?

word count: 1559

a/n: my first Sam fic YAY!

Feedback, likes and reblogs are much appreciated :)

I do not give permission for my work to be copied, reposted or translated on any other platform.

masterlist

It’s been 3 days since you last saw Sam, not because he was on a mission or fighting a giant purple-thumb looking alien but because you couldn’t bring yourself to let him see you the way you are right now.

Things had been tough since you graduated college, you had your degree, you’d done everything your parents had asked of you, but you’d never really done anything that you wanted. Your parents didn’t seem to care what you did now, you’d gotten your degree, you’d moved to the city, you’d got away. They’d “done their job” they told you, but what were you meant to do now.

That’s what has been on your mind the last few months and all the stress has finally caught up with you. You weren’t leaving the house, you were hardly eating, you hadn’t seen your friends in weeks. Then there was Sam, you’d been pretending to be okay around him, and it was killing you. You couldn’t do it anymore so you’d been avoiding him, first not going to his apartment, then cancelling plans, and now avoiding his text messages. It only made you feel worse but you couldn’t let him see you this way. He’d probably break up with me.

You had bags under your eyes from the 2 hours of sleep you were getting each night, your eyes were red and irritated by the countless tears that had fallen from them. You hadn’t showered since you last saw Sam and that was only because he surprised you with a picnic in the park.

You’d tried to enjoy that day but all you wanted was to lay in bed and cry, to forget about everything else. But more than anything you wanted Sam, wanted him to hold you, to tell you everything would work out, but that couldn’t happen. You couldn’t have him realise what a mess you were, you couldn’t risk him leaving you.

So that’s how you ended up here, curled up into a ball in the dark on your sofa, crying quietly into your blanket and ignoring the feeling of a slight buzz from your phone beside you. You didn’t know who it was and quite frankly at this point you didn’t care. It had been like this since you woke up, you have no idea how long it’s been, and you had no intention of finding out. That would make you feel worse, knowing you’d wasted another day. You had no intention of moving at all, and that didn’t change when you heard a knock at your door. Just leave it, they’ll go away soon. But they didn’t, they kept knocking and knocking, until Sam’s voice came through the hard wood. His warm and gentle voice being the only thing breaking your almost comatose state.

“Y/N? I know you’re in there, please I just need to see that you are okay. Please?” You felt your heart break as his voice cracked with his last word.

You freeze at first, not knowing what to do. If you didn’t answer you were 90% sure he would kick your door down. So you did the only thing you could do and walked slowly towards the door, cracking it open slightly, not even removing the chain.

His head fly’s up from the spot he was staring at on the ground when he hears your door creak open.

“Hi Sam.”

“Y/N,” He goes to push the door open only to be met with the resistance of the chain. “Can you open the door properly? Please?”

You don’t really want to let him into your depressive bubble but at the same time you wanted him, his warmth against your skin, the smell of his cologne that always made you feel safe. So you nod slightly and remove the chain.

He immediately steps in and pulls you towards him. Your head finds its usual spot against his chest and his warmth seeps into you which instantly makes you feel a little bit lighter.

“Thank god.” Sam sighs in relief as he wraps his arms around you, bringing his left hand up to the back of your head to cup it slightly. “I thought something had happened to you when you didn’t answer your phone all day, I was so worried about you baby.”

All day? You had no clue that much time had passed, and now you were angry at yourself for worrying Sam, he doesn’t deserve all this. He deserves someone better.

You start to feel your eyes burning as more tears threaten their escape. “I’m sorry Sammy.”

“Hey, none of that, okay? You wanna tell me what’s going on?”

Sam had kind of guessed what was happening, sure he mostly had experience working with Vets with PTSD, but he definitely knew the tell tale signs of depression. So when you started to pull away, and started acting not quite like yourself he had made sure to clear his schedule as much as he could to be there for you.

“I.. I don’t really know.”

“That’s okay baby. Can I stay with you for a bit?”

You shake your head against his chest and start to pull away from him as it hits you how you look, how your apartment looks. Panic starts to overtake every other emotion already running though you. “Oh my god. The mess and I haven’t even- I look so gross and I didn’t-“

Sam cuts you off before you can spiral more. “Hey, take a breath. It’s okay.”

“It’s not okay, nothing is okay anymore.” He guides you to the sofa gently and sits beside you, slightly turning himself in your direction.

“Try and breathe for me, okay? In and out. Copy me.” You try to listen and copy his breathing. “That’s it, good girl. You're doing such a good job baby.”

“I don’t know what to do anymore.”

“What do you mean?” He replies, with a hint of confusion.

You shake your head before continuing. “No, I don’t want to burden you Sam. You can leave if you want to, I’d understand.” You were so sure he’d leave, there was no way he could want to stay with you now. Right? Deep down you knew your brain was lying to you but you didn��t have it in you to fight what it was so easily telling you.

“Baby,” He looks at you with pure concern and love in his eyes. “I’m not going anywhere, you can tell me what’s wrong, you can tell me anything.”

You look down and start to play with your sleeves before you answer him. “It’s not what you’re made for, you don’t deserve to have to pick up all the pieces everytime I fall apart. You deserve someone who’s happy, and I…” You pause to try and figure out how to say what you are feeling. “I think I forgot how to be happy.” It comes out as an almost whisper, in fear of it chasing him away.

Sam’s heart breaks hearing how you are feeling, he’s never felt this much love for someone or something before and wants nothing more than for you to be okay. He needs you to know how much you mean to him.

“Y/N, look at me?” You shakily bring your eyes back up to him. “That’s exactly what I was made for, you’re everything to me and I want to help you in any way that I can. Who was there when I beat myself up for Karli’s death? You. Who picked me back up again when I worked myself too hard? You did. So please, let me help you. Let me in. I will be here to pick up every little piece of you for as long as you will have me.”

The tears had managed to find an escape route now, and were freely rolling down your cheeks. You knew Sam loved you, he’d told you every chance he got and you hated that your brain could convince you otherwise.

“I love you Sam.” He brings his lips to your forehead and places a gentle kiss.

“And I love you too, so much, and whenever you’re ready to talk, I’m here to listen, okay?”

“Okay..” You weren’t ready to talk yet, you just wanted him. “Could you just hold me for now?”

“Of course, anything you want.”

He lays back on the sofa and brings you into his lap. Your head finds its place in his chest again, seeking his warmth. Things were silent for a few moments, each of you soaking up the feeling of being close with one another, until your stomach rumbling broke the silence.

“Baby?” he asks gently but concerned.

“Hmm?” You know where this is going but you try to play innocent.

“Have you eaten anything today?” You shake your head in embarrassment that you hadn’t managed to do that.

“Want me to order something in?” You nod against him. “The usual?”

“‘Mhmm. Can you get some of the-“

“Chocolate dumplings.” You say together which makes you both laugh, your first real laugh in a while and it feels nice.

“How could I not?” Sam says as he playfully rolls his eyes. “But until there’s a knock at the door I’m not letting go of you.” He squeezes you extra tight to show you he’s not kidding.

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