#matt murdock/reader

[chvoswxtch]

the entertainment

pairing: matt murdock x fem!reader

summary: matt is not on board with the plan for the latest mission.

warnings: swearing, angst

word count: 1.4k

a/n: thank y'all for being patient with me getting this update out. it's a shorter chapter, but it's setting up for some dramaaaa. as always, feedback is welcomed/appreciated!

[previous chapter] | [next chapter coming soon] | [series masterlist]

“Are you gonna change?”

“No, why?”

Matt cocked his head to the side, creases of confusion settling into his forehead that concurrently knit his brows together. 

“Don’t you think your tactical gear is better suited for this than a dress and heels?”

“Yeah, but it’s not as sexy.”

Matt rolled his eyes, leaning his hip against the edge of the rooftop, and his voice was dry with barely concealed sarcasm.

“You didn’t have to dress up on my account.”

Matt had his senses focused on the building down below across the street. Soma’s wasn’t just an Italian restaurant. It was one of the many fronts owned by the Gnucci crime family, and apparently the spot for New York’s worst to play poker on Thursday nights. There were currently eight bodies down in the basement below gathered at a large round table, and the scent of cigar smoke and liquor was just as pungent as the aromatic dishes being prepared in the kitchen upstairs. 

The guest list was a mixture of employees from the crime families left in New York, but their focus was on Dimitri Sokolov, Tarasov’s right hand man. The Krasnaya Pravaya Ruka had managed to get those left behind in Fisk’s shadow that had been fighting for the throne to comply under their thumb. How they’d done that was the million dollar question. The Gnucci’s, The Yakuza, The Carbone’s, and The Triad were now all under the same roof, chatting and playing poker like they were old friends, when just a few months back they’d all been trying to take each other out.

Whatever it was that had brought them together, it couldn’t be good, and having five powerful criminal organizations working together was probably why the cops and Matt himself had been striking out trying to get leads.

Glancing over at him, she arched one of her brows with a subtle smirk.

“I didn’t. I’m the entertainment.” 

He’d been trying to focus on the layout of the basement when her words seemed to register in his ears, and he turned to look at her with a frown.

“The entertainment? What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“You’re a smart boy, Matthew.”

Matt’s irritation threatened to slip off his tongue when the implication of those words settled in his brain. The dress. The heels. Her comment about the tactical gear. As soon as it clicked, a surprising surge of white hot anger sizzled in his bloodstream, and he clenched his jaw and his fists tightly.

“You’re joking.”

She turned to look at him, hearing the bitter judgement and incredulity in his voice. Without the cowl on, he was a little easier to read. Though his eyes were blind, they were expressive, and with the aid of the city lights around them, she could see that devil fighting against its chains in his blown out pupils.

“Did you think we were gonna rush in there horns blazing? All we need is Dimitri, no need to make a huge mess. Besides, I’m following your golden rule. Didn’t even bring a gun.”

Matt let out a dry scoff, taking a step towards her.

“You have a dagger strapped to your left thigh.”

“A girl’s gotta be prepared.”

Matt dragged his gloved hand down his face in aggravation before loosely gesturing towards the building below.

“So, what, you’re gonna go in there and seduce the information out of him?”

“If I have to.”

Something in his gut twisted at the conviction in her voice. There was no hesitation. No apprehension. Matt had figured out quickly there wasn’t a length she wouldn’t go to in order to get a job done, but he hadn’t realized what that length entailed. Her casual calmness about potentially having to put herself in a situation like that just to get a lead disturbed him.

“And you’re comfortable with that?”

“I’m comfortable with everything.”

He didn’t like the way she said it. The tone of her voice conveyed indifference, but the faint falter in her heart’s rhythm betrayed it. She might have been trained to be comfortable with anything, and he didn’t know if that was S.H.I.E.L.D.’s doing or wherever she came from before, but she wasn’t, not really. He didn’t know how to explain it, but even though everything in her body and her demeanor was committed to selling that truth, he didn’t buy it. He could just feel that she didn’t mean it. 

She wasn’t comfortable with it. She endured the discomfort. And that evoked a jarring jumble of emotions within him, with rage initially taking the lead, but a sudden streak of protectiveness was stronger.

“I’m not.”

“Matt-”

“No.”

The firmness of his voice caught her off guard. She hadn’t expected him to feel so strongly about it. He was pissed, she could tell by the wild look in his eyes and the way his entire body was rigid, practically vibrating with anger. She could feel the tension between them like a physical thing, an invisible dense fog that made her chest feel tight. This was not something to banter about, and everything about his demeanor made it clear it wouldn’t be an argument either. 

But it wasn’t just his anger that made her hold her tongue; it was the subtle flicker of disgust in his eyes, the one she’d seen before when he’d woken up at S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters after their first mission together. She wasn’t sure if it was attributed to what she was prepared to do, or to her in general, but either way, it caused a ripple of guilt and shame to crack her carefully crafted foundation that her stomach was slowly sinking through. His abhorrence was clear as day in his refusal.

Matt was a bit taken aback by her silence. He’d grown used to her retorts being fired back quickly. Every exchange with her had felt like a tennis match of smartass comments and verbal lashings being forcefully knocked back and forth, and he was going to take advantage of this rare moment.

“I’m not going to just stand by while you do God knows what for a lead. And I’m not here to be your goddamn backup either. We’re supposed to be doing this together.”

She stared at him for a moment, like she was perplexed by his reaction. The art of seduction was one of the most useful methods she’d been trained in, and no one else she’d worked with had ever so much as bat an eye when she had to use it. She’d been trained to believe her body was a tool, a weapon, to be used in whatever fashion was necessary to successfully complete a mission.

But Matt seemed adamant about not letting her go through with her original plan, and she couldn’t figure out why.

“I can handle it.”

Matt’s anger dissipated for a moment, replaced with rueful realization. There was that rare raw honesty again. Her defensive demeanor was completely gone, and it was like she was trying to reassure him about the situation.

His body was still tightly coiled, the fuse of his temper halfway blazed through, but he slowly unclenched his fists, shaking his head as he spoke gruffly.

“I don’t care if you can. That doesn’t mean you have to. Either we do this my way, or I’ll go down there without you.”

Letting out a deep exhale through her nose, she crossed her arms over her chest. This was the second time in a row he was changing her mission plans on the spot.

“I already compromised once, now you’re just being greedy.”

Matt grabbed his cowl from where it had been on the ground by his feet, and he slipped it on while taking in the layout of the basement again. There was a staircase that led up to a back door in the alley, which was currently being guarded by two armed men. If she could get Dimitri to the door, he could take out the guards, and they could be blocks away before anyone even noticed he was gone.

“Lure him up to the alley, I’ll handle the guards. I know where we can take him.”

tags: @the-swift-escape @lambmurdock @lunakkey @Lfdybadgirlsdiw @devilmurdock64 @moonyinthestars @suits-and-smirks @day-dreaming-goddess @natashasotherhalf @rebel13lion39 @pixelfaery @ebsmind @mattmurdocksscars @ahhhhhhhydbhdg @ayupcap @thepassionatereader @awenthealchemist @zomtart @superrbffun @buckypops @snicksbabe @redroomproperty @angel113431 @18raven @a-sunflower-in-bloom @shadypaperwitch @lizziela @givemylovetoall @dreadfulxives18 @jjprxntiss @bigratbitchsworld @s1xthirty @daisy-the-quake @raven18 @hipwell @scorpiovelaryon @yiiiikesmish @mel-thefrog @ponyosmom35 @daisydark @xoxabs88xox @punkshyteee @abbyhaslongshorts @wolvierinee @snowflames-world @yomnajir @fries11 @groovycass

the devil and the widow soundtrack

taglist sign up for updates

[readscreamrepeat]

Knees, Now. ~Writing Prompt~

Warning/Tags: 18+ Only, Light Sexual Tension, Snarky Matt, A bit of a late-night scare. 

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem Reader.

Summary: When you’re caught, you’re caught.

Prompt: "Get on your knees. Now."

Also Posted on AO3: Knees, Now by AilaTheTiefling

Notes:

I asked to join @mattmurdocksscars 2.5k follower celebration, and chose to write on this prompt, this was absolutely not where I thought this was going to go…but here it is. 

This is my first Reader POV story! Please let me know your thoughts. I ran it through edits, but I am sure it needs a second scan. :) Thanks for checking it out!

There were several things you were sure of at this moment. 

One: it was too late to be heading home from the bookstore, but you couldn't help it! You had gotten sucked into that new fantasy book that was released, and the store was quiet, comfortable, and warm. Your apartment's heating had been on the fritz, and the landlord hadn't come by to take a look since you phoned about the issue. Besides, your apartment wasn't that far. 

Two: Matt, would have a cow, once you spilled the beans that you walked home this late, he always was on some shit about it not being safe…granted his job as lawyer did leave him looking at the worst cases possible but…well, if something was going to happen, it was going to happen in daylight or nighttime. 

Three: There was someone following you, you dared not turn around.

Boy, were you in for an earful from Matt.

Your hand clenching around the pocket knife in your coat pocket, flicking the safety off…

You didn't have a purse on you, just a small wallet tucked in your bra, with your ID, Subway Pass, and a few dollars. Your phone was also in your jacket pocket with the knife. Before you could pull the knife… You miscalculated the distance between you and the attacker, as a rough, gloved hand gripped your upper arm and swung you into the nearest alleyway.

You sucked in air as you felt your body swing towards the wall, but your head never hit the brick wall behind you, as a large hand cradled the back of your skull. Your grip faltered on your knife, your eyes clamped shut.

“Damn it”

That voice, you cracked one eye open, and were face to face with Matt. A bit shocked, you stared up at him as his eyes danced around your face, towards your chest. “What. Are. You. Doing?” It was a low growl that vibrated where your bodies touched, your heart pounding.

What were you doing? What was he doing? Your eyes dropped down, no red glasses, no cane, dressed all in black, as you trailed down, your eyes widened further, not gloved hands but wrapped. 

“Matthew.” You hiss out at him…”You terrified me.” His lips tilted upwards into a small smirk, leaned closer to your ear. 

“Sweetheart, be glad it was me.” 

There was something dark in his gaze, something a bit off. You tried to reply, but you only opened and closed your mouth a few times. Your heart had started to calm, but Matt had not pulled his body from you. As you looked closer at his face in the dimly lit alley, you saw blood trickling down his hairline, over his eyebrow, and into his eye. He did his best to mimic locking eyes with you, his eyebrows drawn downward, a small sign of his anger.

“So, what are you doing out here?”

Finally, his question sparked a fuse inside of you. 

“Me? What are you doing? For god's sake, you're bleeding, no glasses, no cane…and dressed all in bla…black in the middle of...” 

You paused…and something clicked. His outfit was familiar, his demeanor, the blood…

“No…no fuckin’ way.” Matt didn't move, you were sure he wasn't breathing with how tightly you both were wound together. 

Matt had taken a risk grabbing you; he knew he wouldn't be able to play off his current appearance…he was so close to telling you anyway, but when he saw you walking home, this late at night, smelling like espresso coffee and new books. He felt a bit of his control snap. He had lost his lead on the Russian mobster he was chasing due to him disappearing down a manhole. He was already feeling rather pissed and this was just the icing on the proverbially cake. AFTER he had told you to get home before it was too late at night. 

“I'm doing what I should be.” 

And as he said it, he grabbed you by the waist, pulled you up, and threw you over his shoulder as if it was nothing! You squeaked in response, as you felt him move quickly through back alleys, around corners, the small light that did filter in as he moved by…you saw a black mask hanging from his back pocket. The devil wears black in hell's kitchen.

You assumed from the direction you were headed that he was taking you back to his apartment. Matt didn't say anything, so during this time, you pondered. The scars, the strange bruises, the cuts, the blood, the first aid kit, just all of the damn things! All this time, from photos you had seen in papers, to whispers on the streets of hell's Kitchen, it never dawned on you that he kept his eyes covered. Holy shit! How did he do all that he did? 

“Matt…?”

He made a shushing noise as he set you down. “Not now, climb.” He pointed up his apartment building's fire escape. “To the roof, we have to go through my door there.” You hesitantly looked up, it was quite a climb but well if anyone did make you feel safe it was Matt…and double so since Matt was Daredevil! “I won’t let anything happen to you.” As he nudged you to the ladder.

The climb was silent again, and as soon as you both made it to the roof, he grabbed your wrist, and spun you to him,  the door knob so close to your fingers. 

“Now, sweetie, you tell me why you were out so late, and I'll answer those questions burning on the tip of your tongue.”

His breath was warm against your parted lips, his forehead pressed into yours. “Do I need a good reason? Matt. What the hell?” Your free hand gripped at his black shit. “Matt?” You didn't even know how to ask, and as you said his name, you tugged his shirt back and forth. 

He chuckled from his chest, it was deep, and you felt a warmth flutter in your stomach. 

Thick biceps, strong legs, tight grip.

“Fine, it's exactly what you think…” Matt paused, tilted his head a bit to the side. “I was out for a nightly run.” no fucking way. Your eyes nearly rolled to the back of your head… “There's only one reason you should be doing that.” His lips were near your ear now, and goosebumps spread across your arms. 

“Excuse me?” You said, turning, your mouth grazing his stubbled jaw. “Rolling your eyes like that.” There was no way. 

“I wanted to tell you sooner, I almost did the other night…when you wanted me to stay in bed with you at your place.” Matt paused and buried his face into the crook of your neck, taking a deep breath. Matt had not exposed this side of himself so willingly…but he felt like you would not judge, or run away from him. Matt had learned enough about you these past few months that this felt right.

“I'm the Devil of Hell's Kitchen, I guess now they are calling me Daredevil.” He nipped at your neck, with small fluttering bites, and your knees almost buckled. You wanted to say more, wanted to ask, but you felt like he would give you what you most wanted regardless. 

“I can do these things because I can hear, smell, and touch things with my heightened senses. That accident I was in when I was young changed me."

Matt had been telling you some things in bits and pieces, and as he spoke, you realized that for months, he had been dropping hints about those heightened senses. The way he reacted to your scent when you had never even put anything on, to the noises you made while you were pushed deep into the mattress, holding back the sounds in your chest, the way he made comments on things you said well out of earshot.

The whole time he explained things to you about being Daredevil or his sense, he would nip or drag his tongue along your neck, and once he felt he had aired enough of his secrets, Matt pulled back, letting you go. You wobbled where you stood, a bit breathless, a bit stunned, very excited. 

“I knew you were hiding something.” The words came out breathless, in a bit of a pant. “The ways you acted were a bit…strange.” 

He raised his eyebrow at you, not taking the bait of your comment. “Hmm, now answer my question?”

 No wonder he had not wanted you out at night! Damn it. You had zero defense! “I…umm…lost track of time.” He smiled, showing teeth, a bit of blood dribbled onto his lips, and your gaze followed as it dripped off his chin.  “Reading…at the store.”

“Not good enough.” He said as he pushed your shoulder, to turn and go towards the door. “Downstairs.” His request sounded more like a command, so you obeyed. The whole time down the stairs, you spoke, nervous anticipation building in your chest.

“Look…if…I had known you were the devil…I would have, I don't know, believed you?”

Matt scoffed behind you, and you could hear the tear of velcro as he began to remove his boxing wraps. 

“You'd believe the devil over Matt?”

 You giggled a bit under your breath. “Well… I mean..it's you, both of you.” 

Once you made it down the last few steps, Matt was on you, quick, his mouth pressed into yours, hard, teeth biting at your lips, tongue licking over the light indents he made. Matt's blood tasted so good on your tongue.

You responded in kind, trying to run your hands over his chest, but as you raised your arms, you felt his right hand clamp both of your wrists tightly, and suddenly, a cloth pressure began to wind itself around your wrist, over your knuckles. “Matt!” he was binding your hands with his boxing wraps!

“I”

Nip

“Told you” 

Bite

“To be”

Kiss

“Safe.” 

The Velcro was loud as it connected in your ears. Your hands bound in front of you, your fingers only slightly able to wiggle. You were hot, panting, swearing under your breath, as Matt stood in front of you, bathed in a dim light from the billboard outside, his lean frame clad in all black, and god, he was perfect, his mouth red, swollen, his tongue darting out to lick his lips. You'd do anything for this devilish man, as the most sinful thing you heard all night rumbled from his mouth.

“Get on your Knees, now.”

[feelmyskinonyourskin]

Songbird

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Reader

My Masterlist

gif by me

Summary: Angsty blurb about Matt hearing you after your breakup and yearning to be yours again.

*I never give permission for my fics, manips, or any other original creation I post on Tumblr to be copied, posted elsewhere, translated, or fed into any AI program. The only platforms I currently post on are Tumblr and AO3. Thanks!*

WC: 696

Matt's hand tightened around his cane as he walked, almost trance-like steps taking him the few blocks north of Hell's Kitchen. He knew it would only be another moment or so until he could hear it.

The bustling streets in the breezy summer evening were packed with people, barely paying attention to the blind man as he passed by. He tried his best to tune them all out; the tourists leaving Central Park for the evening, the hotdog stands selling their wares, the New Yorkers eager to get home from work and to their evening activities.

He only sought out one sound. You.

As his feet reached the steps leading up to the Metropolitan Opera, he could finally hear it. The melody that haunted him cut through the walls and windows and straight to his ears. He held his breath as the words rang through all the other noise and struck his heart.

"Mi chiamano Mimì, ma il mio nome è Lucia. La storia mia è breve. A tela o a seta ricamo in casa e fuori…"

Spanish and Italian were sister languages and the little he’d studied in college always allowed him to get the gist of the Italian lyrics you sang. His heart swelled with pride to hear you now executing them flawlessly, though the sorrow behind them stung at his heart like a swarm of bees.

Your voice is what made him fall for you in the first place. Hearing your clear soprano sing out through the streets of Hell's Kitchen as you rehearsed in your apartment. Perfectly in tune and flawless.

"Mi piaccion quelle cose che han sì dolce malìa, che parlano d'amor, di primavere, di sogni e di chimere, quelle cose che han nome poesia… Lei m'intende?"

A tear slipped down his cheek as you continued your aria to a packed auditorium behind the doors which he stood on the other side of. If only things had been different, he could instead be inside. Sitting in the front row in his best suit to witness the biggest moment of your career. You’d probably have whispered a sweet message to him from backstage, meant for only his sensitive ears to hear before you stepped in front of the lights and dazzled the public with what he knew from the moment he met you: that you were the most spectacular person he’d ever met.

"Mi chiamano Mimì, il perché non so. Sola, mi fo il pranzo da me stessa."

If only he hadn’t messed it all up. His double life as a lawyer and vigilante keeping him so busy that you always came last on his priority list. As your opera career grew and grew, the nights apart did too. You in some city halfway across the world and him in a courtroom or an alleyway. When you came home how you’d beg for connection that he couldn’t quite give to you. Then came the fighting and the tears. Then the making up only to run into the same frustrations a few weeks later. And through it all, how he could never quite be there for you in the way you were for him.

You finally wised up and one day had enough. All he had now was a voicemail from you saying goodbye and the scent of you that hung around the apartment and haunted him for months. 

Now here you were, the biggest job of your career. A principle role with the Met. Mimi in La Boheme. And he wasn’t by your side to enjoy the moment with you. He yearned to hear your voice ring through his apartment once more, to be beside you as you celebrated this achievement. Together.

"Ma i fior ch'io faccio, ahimè! non hanno odore. Altro di me non le saprei narrare. Sono la sua vicina"

The final note as you finished your aria hung in the air and he felt the oxygen finally fill his lungs in the moment of silence before the audience erupted into applause. He wiped away the tear on his cheek and turned to walk back to Hell’s Kitchen, determination etched in his face. He had to get you back. One way or another.

[gilverrwrites]

Ooh I was the person who asked if you wrote for Marvel and someone beat me to asking about Matt. Clearly we are on same wave length. His grin drives me crazy 😵‍💫

How teasing do you think he would be in bed?

Exceptionally so. It's just in his nature to be cheeky.

He's the kind to be like "Yes, Dear? Do you need something?" When you call out his name.

"Matty... I need more... please" You're complain when he's grazing your sweet spot with the lightest flick of his tongue. He'll sound so sweet, and clueless as he asks, "More what? I don't know what you mean, you'll have to explain it to me." and then he'll laugh, with a shit eating grin when all you do is whine and try to grab for him.

And if you think he's not using his lawyer tactics on you, you're wrong. Every word out of your mouth, every promise, everything will be held against you at some point or another. "You said, and I quote 'Please Matt, I'll do anything, I'll even do that thing you like, just please fuck me.' and I did. It was verbal contract in the eyes of the law. So now you..."

He's a such a little shit.

[youvebeenlivingfictional]

Kinktober Day 7

Day Six | 🌹Kinktober Masterlist🌹 | Day Eight

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Reader

Rating: Explicit - 18+ Only. Any minors interacting with ANY of these Kinktober prompts will be blocked.

Warnings: Morning sex; fingering; oral sex; safe sex; vaginal sex

It was rare to wake up with him, and rarer still to have the time to linger. 

Waking up to Matt was always a beautiful sight, but you had time to indulge in the early morning light, and in the calm Saturday morning quiet. You rolled onto your back as you eyed the alarm clock on the bedside table. You still had a little while before the alarm would go off. You could always try and fall back asleep for a little bit…Or you could get up early and make breakfast for the two of you. 

Well. Make breakfast was a little much. When you were this sleepy, you were far more likely to just order something for the two of you and put it on plates when it got there. You glanced over your shoulder, eyeing Matt as he slept.

You carefully rolled over, tucking your hands under your head and taking in his sleeping face. There was a small cut on the bridge of his nose, but you couldn’t see any other outward shows of his typical nightly activities. You reached out hesitantly, trailing your knuckles gently over his cheek. You smiled as his brows furrowed a little, his breath drawing in just a touch sharper than a moment before. You didn’t need him to say a thing to know better. 

“I didn’t mean to wake you,” You murmured. 

“You didn’t,” He reassured, voice low and gravelly in a way that tickled your brain. “I was on my way the second you moved.” 

“So I did wake you.” 

“Mm, but not in the way you thought you did.” Matt reached out, his fingers tracing gently over your hip before he smoothed his hand around your back, drawing you into his chest. You cuddled closer, sliding a leg between his and nuzzling into his neck. You drew in a deep breath, then hummed softly. He smelled so nice, the scent of his body wash curling around you.

“Someone showered when they got in,” You teased.  

“I didn’t want to come to bed reeking like the Hudson.”

It was enough to make you reel back, your face twisted in concern. Matt shook his head gently, smoothing a hand up over your arm. 

“Just a…Little midnight swim," He added.

“In the Hudson? Voluntarily?”

“Not exactly.” 

“...You worry the hell out of me.” 

“I know. Sorry.”

“Are you?”

You were teasing, of course, but Matt’s earnest insistence of, “I am,” made your stomach flip. Your gaze dropped to his chest as you swallowed thickly. 

“You’re a real a sap, Murdock,” You mumbled. 

“You bring it out in me.” Matt’s hand lifted to gently grasp your chin, gently drawing you in for a kiss. You relaxed as he pressed a tender kiss to your lips, chased by another, and then a third. You sighed softly, smoothing your hand over his cheek, up into his soft hair. Matt steered you back onto the mattress, humming against your lips. You smiled as his lips trailed down, brushing over the curve of your chin before smoothing down along the line of your neck. 

“What do you want for breakfast?” You mumbled. Matt slid his hand over your thigh, giving it a squeeze. 

“I think breakfast can wait,” Matt murmured. Your smile widened as his kisses trailed further down, his hand sneaking up under the fabric of your nightdress. You drew your knees up, cradling Matt’s hips as he pressed closer, easing the fabric up to bare your chest. The heat of his lips was maddening as he trailed his lips between the valley of your breasts, then turned his head, tracing the curve of one, then swiping his tongue along the nipple. You moaned softly, hips pressing against Matt’s as you felt him hardening against your thigh. 

You sighed his name softly as turned his head, giving your other breast the same treatment. His lips drifted down over your belly as he scooched back, the covers drawing away from your body as he moved. Matt’s hand slid warmly over your thigh, further parting your legs for him. You bit your lip as he trailed the tip of his nose over your pubic mound, then flicked his tongue teasingly against your lips. 

Before you could even think to beg, Matt opened his mouth just a touch wider, swiping his tongue broadly across your lips. You let your head rest back against the pillows, eyes falling shut as the tip of his tongue traced your slit, then swirled achingly slowly around your clit. You let out a breathy moan as the swirls turned to lazy upward strokes, stopping only when Matt closed his lips around the sensitive nub, giving your clit a gentle, sucking kiss. You reached down, sliding your fingers into his hair and gently scraping your nails over his scalp. Matt’s moan rumbled against you, the vibration making your thighs twitch around his shoulders. 

Matt’s tongue drifted lower, teasing at where you were growing more and more wet. He slipped a hand up over your inner thigh before he gently tapped the tip of your finger against your fluttering entrance. He tipped his chin up, lapping at your clit again as he eased his fore and middle fingers into you. You whimpered, raising your hands to toy and teased your breasts, cupping them and sweeping your thumbs over the pebbled nipples. Matt tipped his head from side to side, laving his tongue across your lips and clit as he gently curled and pumped his fingers into your slick channel. 

“Matt,” You warned softly, feeling the familiar heat coil in your stomach. He hummed in encouragement, leveling another sucking kiss to your clit, chased by swift lapping strokes. You gave your nipples a light pinch, moaning as your orgasm washed over you, clenching around his still-pumping fingers. He turned his head as you settled, brushing his slick lips against your quivering inner thigh. 

You untangled your fingers from his hair, trailing your knuckles along his jaw. 

“Lay back,” You urged softly. Matt smiled, straightening from where he was nestled between your thighs. You sat up, drawing off your nightdress and tossing it aside as Matt lay back down beside you. You leaned over him, kissing him gently, then tracing your tongue across his lips as your hand drifted down his body. You teased your nails over his muscled chest and abdomen, then traced your fingers over the band of his boxer-briefs, smoothing over his hard cock. You grinned as you felt it twitch beneath your touch, and heard Matt grunt softly. You massaged him through the soft fabric before you slid your hand beneath the band. Matt’s mouth opened beneath yours, your tongue tangling together as he sighed into the heady kiss. 

You tugged the band of the boxer-briefs down, allowing his cock to bob heavily between his legs. You lightly cupped it, loosely teasing up and down the thick shaft, and giggling as Matt’s hips chased the tantalizing heat. You turned your head, swiping your tongue across your lips as you eyed the flushed head, smoothing your thumb over the tip. You shifted, kneeling on the mattress and taking his cock between your lips. He groaned low in his chest, his palm smoothing over your ass as you took him more deeply into your mouth. You took him in in slowly, savoring the weight of the spongy head against your tongue. You swirled your tongue around his glans as your hand massaged the shaft. 

“Fuck,” Matt sighed, fingers drifting down your inner thigh, trailing between your damp lips to tease your still-tender clit. It was just a moment before his fingers eased into you again, pumping lazily. You whimpered, unable to help it. You drew back and tipped your head to the side, pillowing your lips along the shaft as your fingers traced the veined underside. His cock twitched again, a pearl of precum forming at the tip. You leaned up, tenderly swiping the bead away before taking his head back into your mouth. 

Matt loosed another soft, gravelly groan, his hips tipping up into your mouth just a little bit. 

“Sweetheart,” He murmured, “C’mere.” 

You pouted a little bit, giving his shaft another swipe with your tongue before leaning back. Your pout turned to a smile as Matt rolled over, grabbing a condom from the drawer of his bedside table. You laid down, watching him kneel up and roll the condom on. He leaned over you, bracing one hand beside your head as the other hand grasped his cock. He teased the tip along your opening, smiling as you tipped your hips up into the teasing swipe. Your smile faltered, mouth opening in a moan as he eased into you. You licked your lips, raising your hands to cup Matt’s cheeks as he pushed into you slowly. His lashes fluttered as your pussy throbbed around him, and you watched him swallow thickly as a flush spread across his cheeks. You leaned up, catching Matt’s lips with yours in a sweet kiss. He sighed against your lips, shifting to prop your hips up with his, steadying himself and resting his free hand on your hip. You slid your legs over his, kissing Matt languidly as his hips began to grind. 

The two of you moaned and sighed against one another’s lips as Matt fucked you with slow, lazy rolls of his hips. He broke your kiss to turn his head, pressing his face into your neck. Your eyes slipped closed as you rested you hand on the nape of his neck. His hot breath brushed across your skin as you felt him grunting and whining against your neck. 

“Matt,” You whimpered. “You feel so good.” 

You could feel him fighting to keep his pace even, and it sent a thrill through you. You turned your head, lips brushing his ear. 

“Are you gonna cum for me, Matt?” 

He groaned, teeth sinking into your tender flesh, his hips nearly slapping against yours. You gasped at the sharp sensation, chased by his tongue soothing hotly over the stinging skin. He slid a hand between the two of you, teasing the tips of his fingers over your tingling clit. You whimpered, turning your head a touch further to catch his lips again. Your tongues slipped together before you had to lean back, panting as you surrendered to the sensation of him filling you. You were so close—you could feel Matt still holding back, too. 

“Fuck, Matt, please, please,” You begged. Matt nodded, tongue swiping across your lips as he rubbed his fingers across your clit, giving you just what you needed. You came again, moaning against his lips as you tightened around him. A guttural groan punched out of Matt’s chest a few moments later, his hips jolting, then stalling against yours. 

He lowered himself over you, resting his head on your shoulder as you curled your arms around him. You sighed softly, smiling as Matt pressed another kiss to your fresh hickey. 

“...How about bacon egg and cheese from that place around the corner?” You offered. Matt nodded a little. 

“I can live with that.” 

Tag list: @missredherring ; @fantasticcopeaglepasta ; @massivecolorspygiant ; @blueeyesatnight ; @recklessworry ; @amneris21 ; @ew-erin ; @youngkenobilove ; @carbonated-beverage ; @lorecraft ; @moonlightburned ; @milf-trinity ; @millllenniawrites ; @chattychell ; @dihra-vesa ; @videogamesandpoorlifechoices ; @missswriter ; @thembosapphicclown ; @brandyllyn ; @wildmoonflower ; @buckybarneshairpullingkink ; @mad-girl-without-a-box ; @winchestershiresauce ; @phoenixhalliwell ; @wild-rose-35 ; @daisyslibrary ; @informally-liz ; @andrastesflamingtitties ; @muchacha-encabronada ; @nerdygirl0414; @elen-aranel ; @ohbee-whatcanyoube ; @kmc1989 ; @quietpainter ; @thedreadandthefugitivemind ; @kaletastrophes ; @nyx2021

[ms-nesbit]

im going to give two options for fic drops, and you decide which you prefer.

(options are seen below)

option one:

Bucky perched atop the abandoned building, hiding his shadow among the darkness of the twilight night. In the cold hours, when the birds lay their heads to rest, and devils rise from the dead, his left shoulder ached from the contact of the vibranium arm. Nevertheless, the tension in his shoulder came second to the bitter breeze stabbing his cheeks, despite the facial hair he grew solely for warm sustenance. Yet, as he sat perched along the flat overhang of the building, his combat boots pressed hard against the large concrete blocks below him, Bucky’s focus drifted from his task (which was, simply put, to observe the relation of the mob crime scene along Midtown), the dishes left waiting for him back in his quaint studio in Harlem, the bitter cold that hit so much more in late February, and her.

option two:

...

As Matthew stepped through the streets, one block after another, he encountered a pleasant concoction of jasmine, vanilla, and bergamot that he couldn’t shake off. So, Matthew pursued it, leading him to an outdoor seating area of a Greek restaurant. There, he heard a roar of laughter, followed by a hiccup, all from a single person. He grinned to himself as he listened ...

[daredevilexchange]

@marvel-kitten for @ophanimgold

Teen And Up Audiences No Archive Warnings Apply

Matt Murdock/Reader

Additional Tags: Reader-Insert, POV Female Character, Halloween, Halloween Costumes, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, First Kiss, Candy, Sexual Tension, Domestic Fluff, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Blind Matt Murdock, Matt Murdock is a Tease, Trick or Treating, Mentioned Foggy Nelson, Matt Murdock & Foggy Nelson Friendship, Happy Ending, Short & Sweet

Words: 1,872

Summary: After asking Matt to go trick or treating with you, you’re surprised by just how special the domesticity is. It’s like something new has finally passed between you. A spell to match the atmosphere of the night, drawing the both of you closer together than ever.

[infuschia]

Matt Murdock/Reader - “Black and Midnight Blue” Chapter 37 Excerpt: “Keeping Clean”

HIIIII so here we have an excerpt from my a03 matt murdock/reader fic Black and Midnight Blue! full chapter will be posted on a03 on Sunday and is... very 18+. not super integral to the plot i was just possessed to write it please don’t judge me i am only human. it’s smutty but not in typical multiple-people fashion... basically ya gurl is alone and... thoughts spiral... i’m sure you can see where this is going lol. this excerpt doesn’t feature the FULLY explicit smut part, just the lead up. if this is your thang i hope you enjoy❤️‍🔥 

----

Black and Midnight Blue - Matt Murdock/Reader - full fic right here on a03 baby

Chapter 37: *Keeping Clean

this excerpt: 1.6k words - full chapter: 5.5k

aaand smut warning🫡

----

Matt was lovely as he was. And you wanted him for that - you wanted him for him, for the great guy he was, the good man he was trying to be.

But, simply put - you also wanted him in every indulgent, desirous sense that the word "want" connotes. 

And, although you fought it, especially considering how you two had agreed to take things slow - this "want" was growing into less of a want and more of a somewhat harrowing desperation.

It was this needy thing, seeded into your gut, clawing to be let out. A prowling animal in the depths of your core, the need lurked in the back of your mind, sending intermittent twitches and slick pleasure to your cunt as it forced images of what it craved to the center of your attention. 

These images were far from what your dark circumstances made it reasonable for you to focus on. Logically, your focus should be on your half-compromised identity, the serial harasser at your workplace, the precarious balance upon which sat your professional and personal lives. The logical things were your focus, of course, and you were responsible with them, putting in all the effort you could to bring yourself justice so that you could continue, hitch-free, on your path. But every free second you had seemed to be spent in the clutches of these images. 

They were daydreams and desires of Matt, sculpted and powerful and warm, giving you every inch of him - hard and fast and rhythmically all-consuming - until you released all that deep-seated need, slick and hot, over whatever part of his body he'd chosen to pleasure you with.

So, yeah. With those thoughts pretty much cocooning your brain, and after such a heated makeout session as the one you'd had - agonizing would be the best way to describe the rest of last night.

You'd now been staying at Matt's place for about two weeks. And you were enjoying every second of it, of course. His presence and the safety of his apartment were a welcome salve for the fear lurking at the back of your mind, the danger you'd found yourself trapped in the clutches of.

Bottom line: you were incredibly grateful, happy, and more than enjoying yourself in spite of the storm raging around you.

That was what was most important.

But…

A woman has needs.

Matt hadn't exactly touched you yet. Touched you, that is, in a sort of manner that would offer you the relief you hadn't had in at least two weeks, maybe longer. And, although you didn't have the entire mechanism of his senses mapped out just yet - you were sure he'd notice if you took care of things on your own.

So, here you were, all worked up and bothered and orgasm-free for a whopping fourteen days at the least. Frankly, it was killing you.

But, on this beautiful, wonderful, perfect morning, Matt left for work earlier than usual. He'd returned to kiss your half-asleep lips before he left, whispering something about Foggy and clients and coffee, and you'd given him a mumble of a 'have a good day' before smushing your hair-covered face back into his pillow. It was still somewhat warm, smelling like him, sending heat racing between your legs with every breath you eagerly dragged in. The front door clicked behind Matt, and your new status as alone in his apartment sent your eyes right back open.

Not that I'm happy for him to leave.

It's just… we're taking things slow.

And, again: a woman has needs.

Rolling onto your back in the bed, you contemplated your next move. You couldn't touch yourself between the sheets, nor on top of them; that would be far too obvious, especially since you didn't have time to wash anything. The couch wouldn't work for similar reasons. No real spot, truthfully, could hide this plan completely from Matt's senses. That left you one last option: not foolproof, but better than anything else you could have chosen.

The shower.

Of course.

It would remove any need to desperately scrub over the surface you'd be lying upon once you were finished. Better still, it would keep you clean, hopefully reducing - if not eliminating - the chance for Matt to recognize any subtle bodily hints of what you'd done to yourself. Plus, Matt wasn't here, and any neighbors were either at work or otherwise occupied - but still, any noise you might happen to make would be well muffled by the sounds of the fan and steady water splashing hard against the shower walls.

And it's not like this was some big secret or anything that you were hiding from Matt. It was just that you were technically a guest in his apartment, and although you and he were technically some sort of a genuine thing, no confirmation had been completely made yet on what this thing should technically be labeled, not to mention the lack of sex just yet between you-

-Ugh.

All the specifics.

So much... to still figure out.

It just felt a touch too far for him to know about you jacking off in his apartment, no pun intended.

But you needed this. Almost embarrassingly so.

Your slick cunt clenched at the thought, clit twitching at the anticipation of finally being touched all the way after such a hiatus.

Time wasn't on your side, so you tossed the covers off and stood out of bed, promptly stripping yourself of Matt's shirt and sweatpants. Every footstep seemed to echo through the otherwise empty apartment as you hopped your way to the bathroom. A clean towel was grabbed tight in one hand and tossed atop the counter as you shut the bathroom door. You promptly flipped the fan on and pulled the shower curtain flush along its rod. It hung in a relatively linear fashion, hanging in only slight ripples along the tub's edge.

The shower head sputtered slightly at first, quickly spurting out into a hard, steady stream of heat and steam, promptly soaking the tub and shower walls. That towel sat neatly folded at the edge of the countertop, and the mirror had already begun to steam as you pulled back the curtain and let it fall closed behind you.

Soaking your hair was the first step, after you got used to the heat of the water. 

I did need an actual shower, anyway.

Steam swirled up and around you, a balm on your skin where the water didn't hit it directly, and you shut your eyes and dipped your head back into the open arms of a hot downpour. Matt's shampoo was pleasant to you; though it's difficult to make any product completely scent free, this was pretty close. Still, you caught the subtlest whiffs of something clean-smelling, possibly swirled with vanilla. Your hair was promptly lathered, but as your fingers pressed into your scalp, your mind fell back in time to the time Matt had washed your hair.

That night, he'd worked his hands against your aching head with so much care. You were so drained - from the physical effort, the smoke inhalation, the blood loss - and Matt had snapped to attention, his soot-covered clothes the least of his worries, your comfort being the most. Every press of his fingers and thumbs against your scalp, every lather of shampoo, smear of conditioner - it had been like magic to your worn body, your anxious mind. Here, in this shower, your hands had stilled in your hair at the memory of Matt's massaging touch, each connection between a fingertip and your hazy head having sent waves of electric comfort through your entire body.

You couldn't help but wonder if he'd touch your cunt with the same care, the same pressure, the same attention to exactly what would make you feel relief - what would let you fall into soaking hot release at his offering. 

Though shower water poured down over you, smearing soap along your hair and back until it dripped into the base of the tub, the wettest part of your body at this thought was still the throbbing heat between your legs.

Conditioning your hair was a much quicker process. Washing your body, though, brought those very same sorts of thoughts back into your steam-filled head, a hot knot of thickly-coiled rope tightening in your stomach. With every stretch of your palms along your body, you rubbed with just a bit more feeling than normal, squeezed at your skin and curves and limbs with more pressure than you typically would. Eyes closed, you pretended it was Matt's hands on your body, warming you up with the lather of soap and the unrelenting pelt of hot water on your skin. As the suds slipped down your legs and swirled into the drain, you took note of how much deeper your breaths had grown, how intensely your clit had begun to pulse with every cleansing movement your fingertips made.

In spite of the heat, you shuddered, shivering as you reached up to tilt the shower head slightly downward so it wouldn't spray right into your face.

Matt's hands clutched tight at your mind, groping you from the inside, and you had to hold onto the tub's edge to steady yourself as you lowered all the way down. Your body felt placid, yet purring, ravenous and needy with every new inch of your back that touched the tub floor. Laying your head back, you relaxed into a long, choked breath, and let your bent legs part.

----

and it expectedly keeps going LOL if this snippet (the-only-part-i-have-edited-so-far-ha-ha) has piqued your interest hit up a03 on sunday to get the rest😚

[thatboisus]

me logging onto tumblr after consuming a new piece of media

[goodkidmadcity]

when the fic was so good, you just sit and wish it was you there rn….

[itshelia]

My mom to her friends, my aunts, and literally everyone she knows: Yeah, my kid is so smart. She is on her phone a lot of the time, but it's not like you guys think, She is not like how kids nowadays are, She reads a lot of books on her phone!!

Me, a fanfic reader who can survive off nothing but just words and day dreams herself to sleep:

[winnysplayground]

“i can fix her, i can fix him, i can fix them”

i think we need to work on you first.

[danysdaughter]

Hold Your Breath

pairing | civil!war!bucky x fem!reader

word count | 6.6k words (whoopsie)

summary I After a panic attack triggers something raw and vulnerable in Bucky, a desperate kiss turns into a night of urgent, clothed intimacy where he clings to you for grounding, connection, and humanity.

tags | 18+, (MDNI!), p in v sex, clothed sex, unprotected sex, emotional sex, desperate sex, riding, dry humping, titty sucking, begging, subby!bucky, soft!reader, angst, soft dom!reader, vulnerable!bucky, slow burn to sudden burn, hurt/comfort, PANIC ATTACK! platonic!steve x reader, oh and PLOT! but premises: Fuck His Pain Away

a/n | THIS MIGHT BE THE FILTHIEST THING IVE EVER WRITTEN. uh, Matt Murdock cameo. and Steve and reader lowkey act romantic but they're purely platonic. inspired by THE Stiles and Lydia. ENJOY!

likes comments and reblogs are always appreciated ✨✨

ᴍᴀsᴛᴇʀʟɪsᴛ — ᴘᴀʀᴛ 2

divider by @cafekitsune

The warehouse looked like it had been forgotten by time. Rust flaked off corrugated walls, the windows long since caked in grime and dust. Faint light filtered in through the cracks in the ceiling, catching on floating particles like a snowstorm of ash.

You stepped through the open door slowly, your heeled boots echoing softly against the concrete floor. The weight of silence sat thick in the air—one broken only by the distant hum of traffic and the occasional creak of aging steel. Sam stood off to the side, posted up by a boarded window, his eyes scanning the outside world like a hawk. Ironic.

He gave you a short nod in greeting, then jerked his chin toward the stairwell.

“He’s upstairs. With him.”

You nodded silently, then started climbing. Each step was slow, heavy with things unsaid. You reached the upper landing and paused at the threshold of a dim corridor, where you finally saw him.

Steve Rogers.

He was leaning against the doorframe to a room that looked like it had once been an office, now stripped bare. His arms were folded, his head slightly bowed, lost in thought. The sharp angles of his jaw were drawn tight, his eyes shadowed with more than fatigue.

He looked tired—drawn in a way you rarely saw. Shoulders too tight. Worry clinging to him like a second skin.

And yet the moment he looked up and saw you, something in his face unspooled.

“You came,” he said, voice low, thick.

You smiled softly, stepping closer. “Where else would I be?”

Steve gave a dry little exhale. “I don’t know. Somewhere safe. Somewhere warm.”

“I’m exactly where I need to be,” you said.

He nodded once, but didn’t move from the door. The weight of the air between you stretched.

“You sure about this?” he asked.

You straightened, gaze steady. “I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t. You don’t have to ask.”

“I do.” His jaw flexed, eyes flicking away. “Because I don’t know how long I’ll be gone. We’re stretched thin. And Bucky… he’s not in a good place.”

“I know,” you said, voice gentler now. “Steve, I know. I’m not scared of him.”

He let out a breath and dragged a hand down his face, tension radiating from every inch of him. “I’m not either. That’s not it. It’s just—he’s been through so much. He barely speaks. Sometimes I think he’s back—my Bucky—but then I see that look in his eyes and I don’t even know who I’m looking at.”

You took a step forward, heart aching.

“You’re worried he’ll hurt someone.”

Steve didn’t answer right away. His mouth pressed into a tight line.

Then, almost too softly: “I’m worried he’ll hurt himself.”

That cracked something inside you. You reached out, fingers curling gently around his arm.

“Then I’ll be here,” you said, firm and calm. “I’ll sit with him through it. However long it takes.”

Steve looked at you, truly looked, and you could see it then—how much weight he was carrying. And how close he was to shattering under it.

“There’s more,” he said after a moment, voice even lower.

You nodded. “Tell me.”

He hesitated, like he didn’t know if he should. Then—quietly, brokenly—he said, “I don’t know what’s happening to us. The Avengers. The world. It used to feel like we were fighting for something good. Something that meant something. Now… it just feels like we’re tearing apart.”

You let his words hang in the air. Let him breathe. Then you stepped closer.

“It’s going to be okay,” you whispered.

But Steve shook his head. Slowly. Distantly.

“I don’t think it will be.”

There was something so human about him in that moment. Not the Captain. Not the soldier. Just a man who’d lived too long, lost too much, and still hadn’t learned how to stop hoping—even when it hurt.

He looked at you—really looked at you. The intensity in his eyes bordered on overwhelming. But what you saw there wasn’t fear. It was trust. Worn, heavy, aching trust.

“You can back out at any point,” he said, voice rough. “If it’s too much. If he—”

“I’m here,” you interrupted softly, a small smile blooming. “And I’m here to stay.”

Steve stared at you for a moment longer, then—without warning—you stepped in and wrapped your arms around his neck.

He folded into you immediately, arms winding tightly around your waist like the weight of the world was something he could put down, just for a second, if he held onto you.

His breath was warm against your hair.

“Thank you,” he murmured, voice frayed at the edges. “For being here. For me.”

Your fingers curled at his nape, anchoring him. “Always.”

When he finally pulled back, his hands lingered on your waist. The kind of touch that said, I can’t ask for more, but I’d be lost without this.

You gave his hand a final squeeze, then watched as he turned and opened the door to where Bucky waited.

The door clicked shut behind Steve with a soft finality.

Bucky sat on the edge of the mattress, shoulders hunched forward, elbows on his knees. His hair was damp from where he’d splashed water on his face earlier. There was still blood crusted in his hairline from the fight in Bucharest. He hadn’t spoken in hours—not really. Just a grunt here and there when Steve checked on him.

The room was dark and cold, lit only by a single bulb hanging overhead, flickering just enough to be annoying. Dust danced in the light. The walls were bare. There was a thin mattress pushed into the corner and not much else.

He could hear someone talking outside. A familiar voice. And a softer one.

Then footsteps. Boots against concrete.

He didn’t look up when Steve entered.

Steve took a breath and crossed the floor slowly. He didn’t say anything at first, didn’t try to force conversation.

He just sat, giving Bucky space to choose.

"You holding up?" Steve finally asked.

Bucky shrugged. His metal fingers flexed slightly. “Still breathing.”

It took another minute before Bucky spoke again, voice hoarse, low.

“You’re leaving.”

Steve nodded. “Not for long.”

Bucky lifted his head, the shadows under his eyes deeper than ever. “Where?”

“Sam and I need to pull some others in. It’s moving fast.” Steve leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “But I’m not leaving you alone.”

Bucky’s mouth tightened slightly. “You’re not?”

“No.” Steve gave him a look. “She’s staying.”

Bucky’s brow furrowed. “The woman outside.”

Steve smiled faintly. “Yeah.”

Bucky paused, then asked—carefully, cautiously—“That your girl?”

Steve huffed a quiet laugh, looking down at the floor. “No. God, no. She’s… she’s just a friend.”

“Doesn’t sound like ‘just a friend,’” Bucky muttered.

“She’s just my friend,” Steve said again.

Bucky studied him for a long moment, the gears clearly turning behind his tired eyes. “You trust her.”

“With my life.”

“And you’re leaving her with me.” That wasn’t a question. That was Bucky quietly testing the weight of what Steve was asking.

“I’m not leaving her with you like she’s a babysitter,” Steve said, voice firm but warm. “She offered. Because she cares. Because she’s kind. And because she’s not afraid of you.”

Bucky’s head dropped slightly. “That’s a mistake.”

“No,” Steve said firmly. “It’s not. You’re not the man Hydra turned you into.”

“You sure?”

Steve stood slowly, walking over to the window, eyes scanning the alleyway below. “Yes and she’ll be here when you need her. Whether you like it or not.”

Bucky grunted. “Sounds annoying.”

Steve chuckled. “You’ll get used to her.”

He moved to the door but paused with his hand on the knob. “Bucky?”

He looked up.

“She’s not my girl,” Steve said again, softer this time. “But I do care about her. She’ll look after you. Let her.”

Bucky stayed quiet for a long moment, watching his friend’s back. The silence stretched.

Then, quietly, “She got a name?”

Steve turned back to him with a small, knowing smile. “Ask her yourself.”

Silence stretched. The tension in Bucky’s shoulders didn’t ease, but something in his eyes flickered. Not quite trust. But maybe curiosity.

────────────────────────

Outside, you were waiting patiently, arms folded, gaze flicking down the hallway as he approached. You gave him a questioning look.

“How’d it go?”

“He asked if you were my girl.”

You blinked, then laughed softly. “That’s a first.”

“I told him no. Just a loyal, stubborn friend.”

You nudged his arm. “Stubborn’s a little rude.”

“I meant it as a compliment.”

He gave you a final, grateful look—the kind that carried years of friendship in one glance—then disappeared down the stairwell, leaving you standing in the dim hallway outside Bucky’s room.

You inhaled slowly, squared your shoulders, and turned toward the door.

The door creaked softly as you stepped inside.

The air inside was still—almost unnaturally so. Dim light filtered through the cracked blinds, casting lines of gold across the worn floorboards. The mattress sat low to the ground, old and bare, and on it sat a man who looked more like a memory than a presence.

Bucky didn’t look up right away.

He was perched on the edge of the mattress like he didn’t know what to do with his body. Shoulders squared. Hands resting on his knees. The metal one glinting faintly under the weak light. He didn’t move as you entered, didn’t speak—just turned and looked at you as if you might explode if he blinked.

His face was as unreadable as you'd expected. Blank. Cold. Not hostile, just... emptied out.

Still, you offered him the softest smile you could manage.

“Hi,” you said softly, introducing yourself.

No reaction. Not even a flinch.

You took a step forward, slow and steady, keeping your voice warm. “Steve asked me to check in on you.”

Still nothing. But he hadn’t asked you to leave either

“I’m not here to watch you,” you spoke, stepping forward slowly, palms open, posture relaxed. “Not like that. I’m just here if you need anything.”

Silence.

But his eyes followed you, blue and unreadable.

“I’m not an agent or anything,” you added. “But I figured a quiet face wouldn’t hurt.”

His gaze dropped back to the floor.

Your eyes drifted to the gash above his eyebrow again. The skin around it looked irritated. Dry blood had trailed down his temple, now flaked and cracking.

“You’re bleeding,” you murmured. “Your forehead.”

He blinked once. No acknowledgment. Just the same blank stare.

You nodded slightly to yourself, then crossed to the nearby table where Steve had left a bottle of water, some basic medical supplies. You grabbed a cloth and dampened it gently.

When you returned, you paused beside him.

“Can I…?” you asked gently, holding up the cloth just slightly. “Take care of that?”

There was a long pause. A flicker of something unreadable passed through his eyes—suspicion, uncertainty, maybe even something like confusion.

Then he gave a small, stiff nod.

You didn’t sit on the mattress beside him. That felt too close. Instead, you knelt down on the floor, leveling yourself just enough to reach him, and held the cloth delicately in your fingers.

“Okay,” you said, mostly to fill the silence. “This might be a little cold.”

You dabbed gently at the gash on his forehead, careful not to apply too much pressure. The dried blood flaked away slowly under your touch. You worked in silence, the only sound the soft rustle of the cloth against his skin and the hush of your own breath.

Bucky didn’t flinch.

But he watched you.

Close. Unblinking.

Like he was trying to find the trick in your movements. Waiting for the shift—when the care would curdle into expectation. Or interrogation. Or pity.

But you just kept working, your touch steady, your face calm.

After a long moment, he finally spoke—voice low and rough, like unused gravel.

“You an Avenger?”

It caught you a little off guard, but you smiled faintly, not stopping your work.

“Not at all,” you said. “Maybe honorary. I just help Steve out. Here and there.”

You wiped the last of the blood from his temple, then lowered the cloth.

“But mostly,” you added with a small shrug, “I stick to New York.”

He was still staring at you. His brow twitched slightly. “Doing what?”

You chuckled, folding the cloth neatly in your lap. “I’m a lawyer.”

The expression on his face shifted for the first time—just a flicker, but there. His eyes narrowed slightly. Disbelieving, “A lawyer?”

You nodded. “Mhm.”

His look said it before his lips did.

What the hell are you doing here?

You didn’t need him to ask.

You met his gaze—steady, warm, sure.

“A lawyer that knows right from wrong,” you said simply.

The room fell quiet again.

He stared at you like he was trying to see the catch—trying to spot where the kindness ended and the judgment began.

It didn’t come.

“I’m just here to help,” you said, barely above a whisper.

You stayed kneeling for a few more moments, wringing the bloodied cloth between your fingers, giving him space even while sitting right in front of him.

Bucky still hadn’t moved.

He just watched you. Not with suspicion exactly—more like quiet observation, like he was still figuring out what you were.

You gave him a moment, then sat back on your heels and rested your arms on your knees.

“So,” you started gently, as if you were just catching up with someone over coffee, “Steve said you were from Brooklyn.”

His eyes didn’t move.

You waited a beat. Nothing.

“I’m from Hell’s Kitchen,” you added, offering a half-smile.

Still nothing. But something in his eyes flickered. Just barely.

“Grew up around a lot of noise,” you went on, your voice soft but casual. “Corner bodegas. Fire escapes. People yelling out their windows at four in the morning.”

Another pause. You risked glancing at him again.

Still no words. But his gaze lingered now. Slightly more engaged.

“I used to go up on the roof with a book and just... tune it all out,” you said, smiling faintly at the memory. “Never worked. Some jackass was always blasting Sinatra or arguing about Mets scores.”

You caught a flicker at that—almost a breath of amusement in his expression. Almost.

“Guess Brooklyn wasn’t so different back then, huh?”

Still silence.

But now, he was looking at you—not through you.

You shrugged, eyes gentle. “Anyway. Just figured I’d try to talk. Doesn’t have to mean anything.”

His eyes finally dropped to the floor again, but his shoulders had eased. A fraction.

You added, “And if it helps at all… I talk a lot when I’m nervous.”

That got you a flicker of eye contact again.

You smiled, soft and unbothered. “And you, from the looks of it, don’t talk unless you absolutely have to. So, we make a solid pair.”

No reaction.

You let out a small sigh.

The room had settled into a quiet sort of calm by late evening.

Bucky hadn’t spoken much—if at all—but he hadn’t pulled away when you refilled his water or dropped off a spare blanket either. A win in your book.

You hadn’t meant to take the call in front of him.

But you also couldn’t afford to ignore it—not when Matt Murdock’s name lit up your screen with its usual stubborn persistence.

You shifted where you sat on the edge of the room’s lone table, pressing the phone to your ear while still keeping Bucky in the corner of your eye. He sat on the mattress, back against the wall, arms folded stiffly over his chest. Watching. Always watching.

“Good evening,” you greeted softly, careful to keep your voice low.

There was a pause. Then, sharp and unmistakably annoyed, “Where the hell are you?”

You smiled. “Hi to you too, Matty.”

“I came by your loft, you weren't there.”

“No, because I’m in Germany.”

There was a long pause.

“…Germany?”

“Yes.”

“You do realize international borders exist, right? And that we’re not technically allowed to cross them at will?”

“You do realize you’re blind and still have better spatial awareness than the TSA, right?”

“You were just in New York yesterday,” he said, exasperated. “You can’t keep dropping everything the second Steve Rogers snaps his fingers.”

You rolled your eyes. “Wow. Jealousy and judgment in one breath. Impressive.”

“I’m not jealous,” he bit out. “I’m concerned. You didn’t even tell anyone you were leaving the country.”

You sighed, leaning back against the wall. “I didn’t plan to. Things moved fast. It’s not like I’m on vacation, Matt.”

“You think I don’t know what fast looks like?” he shot back. “This is the kind of fast that gets people killed. You’re not a soldier. You’re not—”

“I’m not you,” you snapped, before immediately softening your tone. “I’m not you, Matt. But you don’t get to lecture me about dropping everything for a ghost from your past when you've barely been present since yours came back.”

The line went still.

You exhaled. “I’m not trying to fight with you.”

“I know,” he said finally, voice quieter now. “I just… I worry. You matter to people, you know?”

“I’ll be back tomorrow,” you promised. “Just keeping someone safe until Steve gets back.”

There was a beat.

“…Is that someone dangerous?”

You glanced across the room. Bucky’s eyes were still on you, narrowed faintly in curiosity.

“No,” you said. “Not to me.”

Matt didn’t sound convinced. “Call me when you land.”

“I will.”

You ended the call with a gentle sigh, letting your head rest back against the wall.

Across the room, Bucky was watching you.

Not glaring. Not tense. Just watching—with that unreadable look he wore like armor.

You raised the phone slightly. “Work colleague.“

His brow lifted, slightly skeptical.

You tilted your head. “Okay, close work colleague.”

He didn’t respond. But you swore you caught the briefest twitch at the corner of his mouth—something almost like amusement.

You didn’t press.

You just leaned your head back and closed your eyes.

And that’s when you heard it.

Footsteps.

A faint but steady rhythm outside, boots against gravel, echoing just enough through the warehouse walls to mimic something far more sinister.

The blood drained from Bucky’s face in an instant.

His body snapped upright, rigid. His eyes locked on the door.

And his breathing changed.

Subtle at first. A slight hitch. A break in rhythm. The kind of thing you’d miss if you weren’t paying attention.

And you weren’t.

You were halfway to the window already, your phone still in hand, distracted by the soft scrape of boots on gravel outside. You weren’t even looking at him when you said, “I’ll be right back. Just want to check it out.”

You moved with ease, brushing aside the edge of the tarp covering the glass. From where you stood, you caught a glimpse—just a guy with a backpack, head down, walking briskly down the alley. Civilian. No uniform. No earpiece.

Harmless.

You turned back toward the room, already ready to reassure—

And stopped cold.

Bucky hadn’t moved from the bed.

But everything about him had changed.

He was still seated, but his hands were clenched into fists, white-knuckled. His shoulders were drawn in tight, and his head was tipped down, jaw locked, chest rising and falling in shallow, rapid bursts.

“Bucky?”

His eyes snapped up.

Wide. Unfocused. Wild.

Your heart dropped.

You took a step closer. “Hey. You’re okay, it was just someone walking past. No one’s coming.”

But he didn’t hear you. Not really.

His breath hitched again, sharper this time. A low sound escaped his throat—almost a growl, almost a sob—and his metal hand twitched violently on his knee.

“I can’t—” he choked, fingers clawing at the edge of the mattress. “I can’t—breathe—”

You froze for half a second, then rushed forward, dropping into a crouch in front of him, palms out, voice gentle but firm.

“Okay. Okay, Bucky. You’re having a panic attack. I know it feels like you can’t breathe, but you are. I promise, you are. You need to try to slow it down, or your body’s going to lock up on you.”

His chest was rising in harsh, ragged gasps now, every breath shallow and frantic. His eyes were darting around the room like he was trapped, like every wall was closing in.

You hovered your hands near his knees, not touching, just there. “I’m not gonna grab you. You’re safe. You’re in control. You’re not back there.”

He squeezed his eyes shut, body trembling. “I can’t—I can’t get out—I can’t—”

“Hey. Hey.” Your voice broke on the word. “You’re not trapped. I’m right here. You’re with me, remember?”

No response.

His breathing was worsening. He wasn’t inhaling fully anymore. Just choking down gulps of air like they weren’t sticking. His fingers curled against the mattress, his body rocking slightly.

He’s going to pass out.

You forced yourself to stay calm, to keep your voice steady even as panic rose in your own chest.

“Okay. Listen to me. We’re going to ground, alright? Just do what you can.” You reached up, hovering your fingers closer to his arm. “Five things you can see. Look around, just five.”

He blinked rapidly, lips parted, shaking.

“Five things,” you repeated. “Just name them. Anything.”

“I—I can’t,” he rasped. “I can’t—I can’t see—fuck—”

Your gut twisted.

“Alright. It’s okay, it’s okay,” you whispered, watching his eyes roll slightly upward as if his mind was spinning off. “Bucky, please. Just hold onto something.”

But he couldn’t.

You could see the fight in him, but the grip of the attack had its claws in deep now, dragging him down. His hand jerked, metal fingers spasming like his nerves were short-circuiting.

He was slipping.

You didn’t think. You didn’t plan.

You just acted.

You surged forward and crushed your mouth to his.

Your hand cupped his jaw, thumb grazing the scruff of his cheek, your lips moving against his like your breath could anchor him, like your body could pull him back from wherever his mind had gone.

At first, he didn’t move.

His breath hitched hard in your mouth, his body rigid.

And then—

He breathed.

Not perfect. Not deep.

But something shifted.

The tension in his shoulders dipped slightly. His mouth softened just enough under yours. The rigid rock of his spine eased.

You pulled back after a beat, gasping softly, shocked at yourself, still close enough to feel the heat of his breath on your lips.

His eyes snapped open.

Blue. Wide. Raw.

You blinked, stammering. “I—I didn’t know what else to do. I read once—somewhere—that when you’re panicking, holding your breath can reset your lungs, and so—” You swallowed. “So, when I kissed you… you held your breath.”

His lips parted, still trembling.

Your hand was still lightly on his jaw. You started to pull it away, “I’m sorry—”

But then his hand—his metal hand—caught your wrist.

Gently.

He stared at you, breathing hard, but steadier now. Something wild still flickered behind his eyes—but it wasn’t panic anymore.

It was something else.

Something desperate.

Your breath caught somewhere in your throat.

Bucky’s hand—cold metal and trembling restraint—was still wrapped around your wrist, keeping your hand pressed to his jaw. His skin beneath your palm was warm, rough with stubble, tense with something unreadable.

You should’ve tried to pull away again.

You should’ve said something. But you couldn’t speak.

Not with the way he was looking at you. Like you weren’t real. Like he’d dreamed you up in some quiet corner of his broken mind and was terrified you might disappear if he blinked too long.

Your heart pounded against your ribs. Your mind raced, caught between guilt and instinct.

“I—I shouldn’t have done that,” you whispered, barely able to hear your own voice. “I just didn’t know what else—”

And then you felt it.

His other hand.

You hadn’t even noticed it moving. But now, his warm, flesh hand was at the back of your head, fingers tangling through your hair, firm and certain.

You barely had time to breathe before he pulled you in.

The kiss came fast.

No hesitation. No apology.

It collided with your mouth like a dam breaking—like a gasp swallowed between parted lips and bruised hearts. His hand on your wrist still held you in place, while the other tilted your head just enough to claim every inch of your mouth.

You made a startled sound—something between a breath and a gasp—and your hands moved instinctively finding his shoulders as you fell forward into his chest.

Your body hit his with more force than you meant, but he didn’t flinch. If anything, he pulled you closer, like your weight grounded him.

His kiss deepened.

It wasn’t gentle.

It was hungry.

Like he needed this more than air. Like the feel of your mouth, the press of your body, was the only thing holding him in the present. His lips moved against yours with bruising pressure, desperate and hot, tongue flicking past your parted lips like he couldn’t stand not to taste you again.

And you melted.

Every thought, every question, every ounce of guilt evaporated the second his tongue touched yours.

Your fingers tightened on his shoulders. Your knees threatened to give out. His breath was ragged in your mouth, nose brushing yours, body trembling with barely leashed tension.

This wasn’t just comfort.

This was need.

Pure and primal.

His hands were on you now—both of them. The right still cradled the back of your head, fingers buried in your hair, holding you close. But the left… the left had found your waist, sliding up beneath the hem of your shirt, fingertips brushing along your side like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to touch but couldn’t help himself.

You felt the chill of metal and the heat of human skin, trembling and unsure.

He kissed you harder. Mouth moving against yours with clumsy, desperate hunger—no rhythm, no restraint. He wasn’t kissing to seduce.

He was kissing to feel.

When his lips broke from yours, they didn’t go far. They dropped to your jaw, then your throat, his breath hot and uneven as he murmured something unintelligible against your skin.

His tongue dragged along the side of your neck, followed by soft, open-mouthed kisses—rushed, messy, too fast. Like he didn’t know where to start. Like he wanted to taste every inch of you at once.

“God…” he breathed, mouth moving to your collarbone. “You’re so soft…”

His hands moved again, a little braver now—palming your waist, then your back, then your hips. He tugged at your shirt, his fingers grazing over the fabric like it was in his way, like he needed to touch more.

And that’s when your thoughts finally broke through the haze.

You gasped, blinking hard, fingers coming up to press gently against his chest.

“Bucky,” you said, breathless. “We should stop.”

He didn’t move. Didn’t pull back.

His lips paused just below your ear, trembling.

“This isn’t good for you,” you whispered. “You’re in a bad headspace, and I don’t want to take advantage—”

He pulled back enough to look at you, his eyes wide and pleading, voice cracking.

“Please,” he whispered.

Your heart shattered.

“Bucky—”

“Please,” he said again, more desperate now. “I—I need to feel you. I need to know I’m still here. That I’m not… that I’m not him.”

Your hands trembled where they rested on his chest.

His voice broke entirely. “Just… just let me touch you. Let me feel something that isn’t pain. Please…”

You stared at him for a long moment, his words still ringing in your ears, his hands trembling against your waist.

Let me feel something that isn’t pain.

The breath left your chest in a slow, trembling sigh.

And then you leaned in.

Your lips met his again—not rough this time, but slow, deep, deliberate. A promise.

Bucky responded like he’d been holding his breath.

His hands flew to your sides, tugging you closer until your knees straddled his thighs, until your chest was flush with his. He let out a broken, needy sound as you kissed him, fingers dragging up your spine, gripping, clutching, like he was terrified you’d vanish if he let go.

You pulled back just long enough to whisper against his lips, “It’s okay. I’ve got you. I’m gonna take care of you.”

He moaned at that—actually moaned—his mouth crashing into yours again as his hands started moving, frantic and restless, skimming beneath your shirt, tugging at the fabric like it was an obstacle, not clothing.

Your fingers slid up into his hair, holding his face between your palms like he was something fragile. You kissed him deeper, letting him pour himself into it, letting him need you. And all the while, you rocked slowly in his lap, hips rolling in a subtle, steady rhythm that made both of you gasp.

“Fuck,” Bucky whispered against your mouth. “You feel so good… I can’t—can’t get close enough.”

He pulled harder at your shirt, his hands shaking with how desperately he wanted more of you. You broke the kiss just long enough to fumble with the buttons, undoing only a few before he lost patience entirely.

His hands flew up to your chest, and in one frantic motion, he tugged your bra down beneath your breasts.

“Bucky—”

But then his mouth was on you, and the words dissolved.

He latched onto your breast with a groan so guttural it vibrated through your core. His tongue swirled around your nipple before sucking it into his mouth like he was starved for it—like this was the only thing tethering him to earth.

You gasped, eyes flying wide, one hand clinging to his shoulder as your hips jerked against him.

“Oh my—Bucky—”

He didn’t stop. He couldn’t.

His metal hand clutched your back, holding you in place as he lavished your breast with open-mouthed kisses, warm and wet and messy. His other hand palmed your waist, guiding your hips in time with his own.

You rutted against him harder now, both of you still fully clothed, the friction unbearable and perfect. His cock pressed thick and hard against you through his jeans, and the way he groaned into your skin when you ground down on him made your thighs tremble.

“Please,” he whispered, voice wrecked. “Please don’t stop.”

You tangled your fingers in his hair, guiding him, anchoring him.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you breathed. “I’ve got you.”

And he moaned again, mouth still on your skin, hips jerking upward into you like he was begging you to believe him.

Your breathing was ragged. His lips were still wet from your skin. And when you pulled back slightly—only just enough to break contact—Bucky let out a whine.

Not a word. A sound. Broken, instinctual.

“Don’t—” he gasped, trying to follow you. “Please, don’t go.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” you whispered, your voice barely stable as you pushed gently against his chest.

He let you guide him back, his body hitting the thin mattress with a soft thump, arms still reaching for you like he couldn’t stand a single inch of distance.

“I’ve got you,” you promised again, voice low and sure, even as your hands moved fast.

You didn’t fully undress—didn’t need to. You shoved your jeans down, just past your knees, the waistband biting into your thighs as you knelt between his legs. Bucky’s chest heaved as he watched you, pupils blown wide, lips parted like he was starving.

“God, you’re…” he breathed, voice hoarse. “You’re not real.”

You reached for his jeans, fingers fumbling slightly with the buckle, your own hands shaking now with the sheer pressure of what you were doing—what this was. You unzipped him, tugging his waistband down just far enough to free him.

And there he was.

Hard. Leaking. So fucking ready it made your mouth go dry.

He twitched when your hand wrapped around him—just once—and he gasped, hips jerking slightly off the mattress.

“Please,” he murmured again. “I—I need to be inside you. Please, I need—”

You didn’t let him finish.

You rose back up onto his thighs, grabbed his cock at the base, and positioned yourself with practiced urgency.

He held his breath.

And then—you sank down.

Slow, steady, deep.

Bucky cried out, head snapping back against the mattress, eyes fluttering shut as your heat wrapped around him. “Fuck,—Jesus—”

You couldn’t even breathe for a second. The stretch was intense, overwhelming—your thighs trembling as you adjusted, hands braced on his chest.

Beneath you, he was shaking.

Completely undone.

His hands flew to your hips, gripping tight, not to guide you—but just to hold on.

You stayed there a moment, full of him, pulsing around him, feeling every tremble in his frame.

Then you leaned down, lips brushing his cheek, and whispered, “You feel that?”

He nodded, frantic.

“That’s real. I’m real. And you’re not alone.”

And then you started to move.

You moved slowly at first—hips rolling, drawing his cock in deep, then easing back up, dragging every inch of him against your walls. Bucky’s head tipped back, a shudder ripping through him, his mouth slack, eyes blown wide as his hands dug into your waist like he was terrified you might stop.

“God,” he rasped, “you feel—fuck, you feel so good—”

You didn’t answer. You didn’t need to. The way your body wrapped around him, the rhythm building in your hips—it said everything.

You rode him harder, faster now, the tension rising like a fever. The denim of his jeans and the way your own clothes clung to sweat-slick skin made everything feel even messier, even more raw. The friction burned in the best way, every drag of your body against his driving him closer to the edge.

Bucky couldn’t stop touching you. His hands were on your waist, your thighs, your back—like he couldn’t decide where he needed you more. His voice was low and broken, a litany of groans and murmured please, please, please, even when you were already giving him everything.

When you leaned in and pressed your forehead to his, your fingers tangling in his hair, he was right there with you—breathing you in like oxygen.

His chest was rising fast now, the rhythm in your hips growing sloppy, desperate. You could feel him pulsing inside you, getting close.

Then—suddenly—he surged upward, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you into him as his mouth found yours again. The kiss was rough, needy, all tongue and teeth and shaky breath. He needed to be connected—to feel you pressed against him in every possible way as he unraveled.

And then he came.

You felt it—deep, hot, twitching inside you as he groaned into your mouth, burying his face in your shoulder, his entire body trembling as you held him through it. His arms clutched you tight, almost too tight, like if he let go you might vanish.

You didn’t.

You stayed with him. Arms wrapped around his shoulders. Lips at his temple. Your hips finally stilled.

You hadn’t come. You weren’t even thinking about it.

This—this—had never been about you.

It was for him.

To remind him that he was here. That he was human. That he was held.

You were still catching your breath, his body trembling in your arms, when it happened.

Without a word—without even looking up—Bucky shifted beneath you, tightening his arms around your waist. And before you could ask what he was doing, he flipped you.

Your back hit the mattress with a soft thud, and you barely had time to gasp before his body followed, pressing you down, caging you in.

“Bucky—” you started, surprised, dazed.

But the look in his eyes stole the words from your mouth.

Focused. Intense. Wild with a need you hadn’t seen before—but not for his own release this time.

For yours.

He was still hard inside you. Still there. And now, he began to move.

Not gently.

Not slowly.

He pounded into you—hips snapping forward with frantic rhythm, as if something had cracked open inside him and he couldn’t bear not to give you back everything you’d just given him. Every thrust was deep, hard, messy. His breath came in grunts and gasps, his forehead pressed to yours, his body slick with sweat.

You clutched at his shoulders, your own body struggling to keep up as pleasure started to crash over you like a wave.

“Let me,” he panted, voice low and wrecked. “Let me make you feel good. You—fuck, you were so good to me—I need—I need to make you come—please—”

Your breath hitched, head falling back, eyes fluttering shut as his cock drove into you again and again, hitting all the right angles now with dizzying precision. His hand slid down, slipping between your bodies, fingers finding your clit, rubbing fast, desperate, trying to draw your pleasure up through every inch of you.

The pressure built fast. Too fast.

You were already so full, so overwhelmed—his voice in your ear, his fingers on your body, his cock so hard inside you—and the way he moved… God.

“You don’t have to—” you started, already trembling.

“I want to,” he growled, fucking into you harder, deeper, like he couldn’t get close enough.

You whimpered, body jerking beneath his as the tension in your core snapped tighter, tighter, tighter—

“Come for me,” he groaned. “Please. I need to feel it.”

And then you did.

You came with a moan that tore out of your throat, back arching, hands clutching at his back as your body spasmed around him. Bucky groaned, dropping his head into your neck, hips still moving as he rode you through it, holding you like he never wanted to let go.

Like giving you pleasure was what made him feel whole.

His body trembled as he came down, the last few ragged thrusts losing momentum until finally—finally—he stilled, buried deep inside you, heart pounding hard enough that you could feel it through his chest.

He hovered there for a moment, arms shaking, breath catching in his throat.

And then he collapsed.

Not all at once. Slowly, carefully. Like his strength gave out in stages. But even as he let himself fall into you, he caught his weight on his forearms, mindful, always mindful—never fully resting on you. He curled slightly, pressing his face into the crook of your neck like he needed to hide. Like the world was too bright again, too loud, and your skin was the only place left that felt quiet.

Your arms came around him without hesitation.

One hand slipped across his back, fingers splayed wide, gently grounding him with each stroke up and down his spine. The other cradled the back of his head, thumb sweeping slowly through his damp hair, cradling him like something precious.

His breath hitched once.

You didn’t speak right away.

You just held him.

He melted into it slowly, his metal arm resting against the mattress beside your head, his human hand fisting weakly in the blanket beneath you. You felt the tremble still in his muscles—aftershocks of everything he’d just released.

“Shh,” you murmured, soft against his ear. “You’re okay, baby. You’re okay. I’ve got you.”

His forehead pressed tighter to your throat.

“You’re safe now,” you whispered, voice low and steady. “Right here with me.”

He exhaled, shaky and fragile.

“You’re not alone. You’re not him. You’re not broken.”

He didn’t answer—but he didn’t need to.

He let you hold him.

You kept going, voice like a lullaby, your fingers never stopping.

“You’re gonna be okay,” you murmured. “I don’t care how long it takes. I’m not going anywhere.”

His grip on the blanket loosened, and he shifted just enough to finally let some of his weight settle into your body.

Not too much.

Just enough to trust.

[l0caltiredgirl]

when i want fluff/angst fics and all i’m getting is smut

the struggle is real

[love-at-first-sight-23]

Welcome to the world of “Being in love with a person who doesn’t exist in real life but you pretend they do anyway because you’re obsessed” ✧˖*°࿐

[chuulyssa]

being an x reader writer and trying to be inclusive of all readers makes me overthink so much like should i write about you having smth with milk in it? no no what if the reader is lactose-intolerant. about the reader being the big spoon? noo what if they wanna be cuddled like a little spoon. about fingers through your hair? noooo what if the person reading it is bald