GrimStone

gettin silly with it Grim - he/she/they - 20+ y/o

[twentytomidnight]

shouldn’t you know to avoid s((ex)) pollen by now?

Wally West/Reader, Vic Stone/Reader, Eobard Thawne/Reader, Plastic Man/Reader, Adam Warlock/Reader, Bullseye/Reader, Matt Murdock/Reader, 3.4K

a/n: big ups to @timetothirst, @harv3sting, @froggibus and the brave anons who persuaded me to write a part two :)

cw: SMUT/18+, dirty talk/degradation (Eobard’s part), knifeplay (Bullseye’s part), eating out, sex pollen, ambiguous genitalia, gn!reader

masterlist ao3 requests

PREVIEW:

You really think that they should’ve learned by now. Thankfully, they still have a good way for you to solve it. DC/Reader, Marvel/Reader (18+)

Wally West/Reader

When you find Wally in the room, he’s already upon you with such speed—with such hunger—that you can scarcely comprehend it.

Clearly lost to the throes of whatever sensation that bids make him mouth his tongue at your pulse, his hands working in desperate fraction to undo the button at your jeans, at your collar. 

“Wally—”—You begin in pitched moan as you try to place your hands on the man desperate to get you naked, to have you feel the girth of his cock that is grinding against the meat of your thigh.

You knew that the pollen would be bad: but experiencing it, feeling his hands working below your waistband, feeling how hot his tongue is as it scorches at your collarbone—

“I’m sorry,” He moans, a semblance of shame making itself known. But it’s quickly overridden by the way that his mouth makes greedy suck at the slope of your chest: your gasp of surprise concludes into wanton intake of breath. 

“Wally—”—You echo in repetition, but this plaintive request of his name is more beholden to lust. Is more desperate to give in to what he wants. To what you want, as well.

“Let me have you,” He murmurs into your body, in between the bites that he takes down your chest to mark his territory. “Please—I’ve never needed you more.” 

When he makes such dedicated search of you, his hands already looking for the heat between your legs: how can you refuse? All you do is pull him upwards by the scruff of his collar, taking in those pupils that are dilated beyond comprehension, blown-out with desire that can only be slaked by you. And you draw his tongue into your mouth. 

He moves beyond your comprehension: he’s done it before when the two of you have tangled in the sheets, but this time is so much more sensation, so much more energy that needs to be staved off.

His hands seek out the slick rhythm that he can work in between your legs, the pads of his fingers rubbing out a tempo that has you clutching into him for support, your teeth sinking into the flesh of his shoulder. His mouth is relentless: making bruise after bruise that demarcates his lust into your nipple, your navel, the inside of your thighs. 

When he licks at the junction of your legs: you can only twitch and gasp around him, your thighs clenched around his ears, making sure that the only sound he may hear is the thrum of your body, your pleasure made by the ministration of his own. 

When he fucks you, it’s with such desperate crescendo, such necessary rhythm—his cock sinks into you with such ferocity that usually belies his tender, romantic approach. As he presses you face-down into the mattress so that you can clutch your fingers into it, mouth open and panting as you take his cock. 

“Wally—”—You beg for more, his thighs slapping against the swell of your ass with such perfect, lewd obscenity—“—Wally—”

“Yeah?” He asks, so clearly unmoored, so clearly lost to the throes of pleasure that have him chasing his orgasm. “What—what is it—” 

You angle your head at him, letting him see how fucked out you are, the glassy, delighted haze to your eyes—to see something in parallel on his own—and you make your plea. “More, Wally.” 

He grins: and then, as any good partner would do, he obliges. And all you can do is moan around the way that he makes perfect fit inside of you, fucking you closer to that orgasm you’re quickly approaching. 

Vic Stone/Reader

”How did this happen to you?” You ask you find him, clearly roiling over with a need that has yet to be satisfied. That he restrains solely for your presence as you approach the foot of the bed. 

“Got blasted,” he groans—and what is visible of his flesh-and-blood on his face makes clear it shines with exertion—“—Taking a hit for Wally.” 

“Serves you right,” you grin as you lope a knee onto the edge of the bed. His eyes are so hungry, so lustful—so worshipful as he watches your approach on the bed. “Wally okay?” 

“Think he got blasted, too,” Vic admits; you can’t help but chuckle. There’s a knowing, good-natured grimace as you reach his feet, his legs which spread wider for your access. 

“Poor him.” You say, running a hand over the nuance of his ankle, feeling the smooth articulation of technology made in interval with the flesh, marking your lover whole. “Good thing you got me, though.” 

“Yeah,” he says, voice taut as he watches you sink to your hands and knees, “Good thing.” 

There’s an aborted, stunted grunt he tries to smother as you start your ascent to him: marked in documentation by the kiss that you linger on his ankle. Then as you cross to other leg, pressing your mouth to the crook of his knee, running your tongue over slick metal and skin that scorches with desire. 

“God—”—He shudders—“—You’re perfect—”

All he receives is a chuckle you murmur into his skin, and a kiss to the inside of his thigh that is concluded with definitive sink of your teeth. When he groans—you think you’ll enjoy more of this needy chorus as you lick up the panel that conceals the promised land. 

He makes an oath as you stare up at him with playful grin, your tongue laving up the sleek underside—something winks as you realize he takes documentation of it for later safekeeping. 

“Pervert,” you tease as you find footing on the heels of your palms, working your way up to find yourself seated on his lap. As the guide of his hands eagerly help to make you find home on him. 

“Can’t help it,” he confesses as he searches out for the warmth of you, “Just wanna feel you.” 

“Go ahead,” you say—rewarded with the hiss of air as the panel slides open, and you feel the nosing of his cock press against you. 

“Ready?” He asks—you grin. 

“Always, baby,” you confirm—and when his hands sink into the give of your hips, help to raise you up as the length of his cock slides against you—

And when he bodily lowers you down onto him, stretching you open so that all you can do is clutch to him for support—all you can do is make whisper of his name on your tongue and yours on his—

“I love you,” you say as your walls stretch against him—and you hear him murmur the same as he draws you to him for a kiss. 

Eobard Thawne/Reader

“What a perfect sight for me,” Eobard chuckles as he takes sight of you naked, sweaty, panting with a desperation only he can sate, “Been waiting for me long, sweetheart?” 

“No,” Is all that you can manage, “Eobard, please—”

“Please what?” He asks, his hand seizing around your jaw. Making you see the way his eyes are so eagerly taking consumptive view of you—as his other hand is knuckling your legs open. Working to seize the heat that you eagerly grind upon, held in the heel of his palm. 

“Please fuck me,” you whimper. “I can’t—the pollen—it's too much—”

“Yeah,” he chuckles through gritted teeth, with shoulders that are spreading wide in possessive manner. “So say it.” 

“I need you to take care of me,” you pant open-mouthed. “Please.” 

“Since you begged so nicely,” he croons—before he seizes your bottom lip between his teeth hard enough to draw blood. 

The pollen is to render you insatiable until it has run full course through your body. But the way that Eobard handles you; the way that he holds you, slamming his hips into you as you’re pulled backwards flush against him—

He teeters the line of agony and euphoria, as his cock glides in and out of you with such ease, hitting that spot that makes you wail. Fucking you stupid into the mattress as you try to muffle your whimpers into the pillow—only for him to tear it away, toss it to the floor. 

“Dumb sluts that can’t dodge don’t deserve muzzles,” Eobard says, as he bucks his hips into you hard enough to feel like you’ve bruised. As he slaps his hand hard down the cleft of your ass to make you keen in protest, before he offers the balm of his cock sheathing you to the hilt. 

“Oh, yeah,” he mocks as you slump into the sheets, “Too much for you, honey?” 

“No, no—”—You try to reply, muddled through the haze of delightful torment—“—It’s perfect—”

He laughs, mean and mocking. “Have I fucked you that stupid already?” 

When his cock slams into you again, all you can do is moan as you let him take his fill. As he satisfies you the way that only he can do for you. Even if you won’t say it: your body has already confessed enough. 

Plastic Man/Reader

“It’s not funny, Plas,” you groan as you sit on his lap, grinding with desperate need to satisfy the friction between your legs. “I just—I—”

“Need someone to take care of you, huh?” He asks with such wicked, slick delivery that even though you want nothing more than to ride him into the sunset: you can only give him an exasperated moan. 

“Don’t make fun of me,” you whimper—although his arms are already making spirited twine around your arms, your torso, firmly keeping you locked in place. “It’s bad enough I got blasted with this stupid pollen—”

“And now you have to come asking me for help, huh?” His voice is a very sleek taunt in your ear as you work to try and relieve some of the pressure. 

“We’re dating,” you groan as you try to make spirited kiss as his jaw that makes him growl—“—You should be happy to help me.” 

“And I am, honey,” he replies with such ebullient joy that if his hands weren’t already working to peel you out of your pants—you’d kill him where he stood. Or, rather, sits below you. 

“I just can’t help,” he whispers in your ear, “But take a little bit of time to appreciate you.” 

“Less appreciating,” you groan as you feel the cool exposure of air on your legs, “And more fucking.”

“Aye aye,” he grins—and then decides to get straight to work. 

Adam Warlock/Reader

You wouldn’t know that he was affected by this, if it wasn’t for the fact that you had been told. He stands before the window, his back facing you in such implacable, muscular form that always steals your breath away. 

“Adam?” You ask quietly, watching as those shoulders pitch, stiffen as he makes physical register of your presence. 

“They said you got hit with—”—Is all that you’re able to articulate. That is, before you catch glimpse of the way his eyes are riveted upon you, the way his nostrils flare and his mouth sets with something deliberate—

And then he is before you in such ethereal glory, in such impressive anatomy and poise, his hands finding the curve of your jaw to guide your mouth to him.

And when his tongue presses at the seam of your lips, it’s all that you can do to allow him access—to feel him kiss you with a starved agony that he’s never expressed before. 

His hands are desperate with such locomotion, rushing to find the nuance of your body as you moan and whimper on his soft palate; it’s all you can do to keep up. 

He pulls away—something regretful on his face, something penitent. “I do not mean to—I should—”

He cannot even conclude this sentence before he is making way to taste the salt of your skin where it collects on the column of your neck, summoning another groan on your end. 

“I should be stronger,” he curses into your vulnerable skin, “I should be above such base desires—”

“It’s okay,” you reassure as he continues to eke out such pleasure, “You don't have to be.” 

His eyes seek yours, revealing such humanity. As you affirm once more. “It’s okay.”

He whiles in internal, chaotic deliberation. And then before you can comprehend it, you are pressed into the soft folds of the bed. As his arms yawn over you, his thigh nudging between your legs easily ticking open. His mouth taking care to swipe the scald of his tongue up your collarbone, summoning blissful shiver from you. 

When he fucks you, it’s with a prescience you’ve never felt before—rather than the tender love making it usually is, this is a greedy fuck.

Each stroke that he pumps into you leaves you filled up with the curve of his cock, keening into the unyielding meter of his body. Every rock of his hips leaving you helpless to do anything but take him, with that brutal drag that stretches you so perfectly. 

“Adam—”—You sob as you feel him rut into you, his lips desperate to leave a mark on the junction of your neck and shoulder—“—Don’t stop—”

“Never,” he swears, with such voracious claim into you, “Never.” 

Bullseye/Reader

He seems remarkably put-together as you walk into the room, close the door behind yourself. Take careful visual assessment of him as his eyes seem to nearly gleam in unnatural ken as he watches you. 

“Nice of you to drop by, sweetheart,” he says, and pushes himself up with a mild grunt of exertion to cross over to you.

There’s something off in the swagger of his walk, something that is so very cunning and lithe as per usual. But you can tell that he carries different bearings: there’s something that’s nearly delirious in the catch of his eyes as they take more endured evaluation of you.

He draws up sidelong to you, encroaching on your space enough that you have to take instinctive tick back. 

“How do you feel, Les?” you ask as you feel the door push against your back, knocking gentle air from you in quiet expulsion. He chuckles, still staying askance of your touch: but that doesn’t matter. You can feel the heat that is sloughing off of him, see the uninhibited way that his pupils are drawn wide, to indicate how untethered he is from the moment. 

“Feel great, honey,” He says, and his hands take careful stance on either side of you. His mouth wanders close, so that you can feel every particular of the sentences that he speaks against you. “Feel like I could just eat you up.” 

“You sure?” You ask, watching how he lists a little to the side—and there seems to be a touch of conscientiousness in his voice, something sentient return back to his eyes. Enough to know that you should regret it. 

But you have no time to backtrack it before he closes whatever distance remains, and latches his mouth onto your neck with cruel, merciless bite.

Your mouth catches around a desperate gasp of delight, your hands already seeking out the muscle that composes your man. The implacable, unyielding wall of his body that swallows up whatever distance remains. 

There’s a rip of noise, the nosing of a blade that works up the sinew of your skin—your eyes immediately dart down as you take in the sinister blade that he’s produced. And your clothes fall in open tatters, crumpled heaps of fabric to the ground. He chuckles in amusement at how his tool obeys him. 

“Les—”—You say in combination of exasperation and surprise—“—How’m I gonna get out of here if I’m naked?” 

His mouth is already traveling down your stomach, his tongue lapping into the divot of your navel. “Don’t worry about that right now, honey. For now—” 

Where his tongue licks up in slow, torturous drag, you can’t help but scrabble your fingers against the wall for purchase, let something shuck through your teeth as he makes ragged exploration. 

“Lemme take you for a ride,” He smirks up at you. 

You just don’t realize how you will until you’re made to ride him, to bounce on the length of his cock that fills you up so wholly, a rocketing wave of pleasure darting up your body with each roll of his hips he makes.

The blade that he freed you of your clothes from presses into the vulnerable exposure of your neck, darting closer to sanctity with each treacherous sink that you make down onto him—but you could care less. Not when he looks at you with such abject desire, his tongue lolling from open mouth as he takes in the sight of you. 

“Good work, honey,” He taunts you as you sheath yourself on him to the hilt, a whine of exhausted pleasure escaping you. “Just like that—” 

The blade whispers further against your skin, making the adrenaline run taut with the wave of sensation that pushes you closer to the edge. As his fingers grow more ravenous against your waist, guiding you along in careful meter to fuck you to orgasm. 

Matt Murdock/Reader

“Will it make it more intense?” You ask—he finds you across the meridian of the bed, his hands working to interlace with yours. He burns under your touch, finding some mild relief in the homeostatic temperature that you leach into him, that he greedily accepts. 

“Make what more intense?” He asks, as you watch a bead of sweat dart in pearled manner down the arc of his temple. Your eyes fixate on it, wondering what it would taste like if you licked him from chin to crown of head, baptizing him with your tongue. 

“Your senses,” You murmur, extending hand to search out the nuance of stubble that frames his jaw. That makes him shudder, lean instinctively into you: he has no sight.

All that he can rely upon now, with this overwhelming fractal of senses, are his smell, his touch—and what must he sense from you? What can he glean from his faculties, from the way that your hand makes imparted touch onto him?

“They’re already turned to 10 all the time,” Matt says, his voice breaking as your fingers work behind his ear, sinking into the scrape of his scalp, “I guess this is just eleven.” 

Every inch of him is so hot, scorching—how he seeks to abate it with you. How he’s already crawling on hands and knees to find you, to make establishment of territory into you with hands that are pressing you back. With his lips that are search up the crook of your arm, up the slope of your shoulder. With a tongue that inches its soft palate up your cheek, teeth scraping against you. 

He tortures you now: you had expected something fast, something fueled with adrenaline, something made to leave you bruised and satisfied.

But he wants to take it slow: making cruelly navigated pump of his cock into your legs that are pinioned around his waist, making you feel the full spread of him in advancing inch by inch.

His breath huffs into your ear, his hands planted firmly into the spread of your shoulders, desperate to commemorate all of your body kept under whatever acreage of him he can manage. 

When he finally admits himself fully into you, finally bottoms out, the head of his cock nosing at that terrible spot—you arch your back against him, your hands seized against the flat plane of his stomach. “Matt, please—” 

“God—”—There’s something so truly reverent in his voice as he savors the feeling of you swallowing him, the way that his body is fully pressed against you in such intimate manner. Made for perfect complement against each other. “—I need you like this, forever—” 

He slinks out of you with such unyielding poise, every muscle of him taut, before he takes advance into you again. The wave of pleasure that is slow and torturous to make nascent peak over you is heightened by the prayer he makes into your skin. By the oath he swears by his teeth that rasp down your earlobe, his tongue that makes worship in nonverbal form. 

“Love you,” He groans, overwhelmed by the touch of you that is all he has ever needed to sate himself with, “God—” 

He is broken and in necessity of what you can only give to fix him. When you find your tongue against him, careful to make sure that he memorizes the taste of you: he sinks into you again, and you find the sanctity in the touch of your lover once more. 

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[grimstone5252]

WE ARE FED AGAIN

[larvamars]

If anyone could've changed me, It would've been you

[kalamariboy]

[grimstone5252]

GAWD DAMN DOING THE LORDS WORK MY FRIEND

[mcrdvcks]

— sex concept

summary: You and Matt have wanted to take things to the next level, but every time you try to get intimate, something, or someone, interrupts.

word count: 4.1k+

pairing: Matt Murdock x fem!reader

notes: at this point, i think i need to make a series masterlist for these two, lol. here's the third installment - and here are the first two: goodnight n go and love language

also, sex concept is one of my favorite songs, and it's by sofia isella. i recommend you go check her out!

warnings/tags: after endgame but date is not specified, best friends to lovers, reader works at stark industries, making out, peter parker, mention of other marvel characters, matt's a little shit, smut, oral (f!receiving), brief handjob, unprotected piv, creampie

matt murdock masterlist

It wasn’t like you and Matt hadn’t been alone since you started dating. But somehow, every single attempt at finally taking things further kept getting inconveniently interrupted.

Like now, for instance.

Matt’s lips skimmed along your neck, his fingers tracing patterns along your waist. You sighed softly, tangling your fingers in his hair.

"Matty," you whispered.

He hummed against your skin, nudging your jaw with his nose. "Yeah?"

"Can we—"

Your sentence was abruptly cut short by the shrill ringing of your phone.

Matt paused, a quiet groan muffled against your collarbone. "Ignore it."

You hesitated. "But what if—"

"It’s probably nothing," he murmured, lips brushing your pulse. "Leave it."

It kept ringing. You sighed, gently pushing at his shoulders. "It’ll only take a second. Just let me silence it."

Matt exhaled sharply, moving back slightly as you reached over and grabbed your phone off the bedside table. Glancing at the screen, you rolled your eyes.

"Work," you muttered, annoyed. You answered quickly. "This better be an emergency."

"Y/N," Levi’s voice crackled through the line, anxious. "I’m so sorry—"

"What happened?"

"Uh... you know how we were testing the new phase-array sensors tonight?"

"Levi."

"Well, it shorted. Everything’s offline. And the readings are… weird."

You groaned softly, pressing your fingers to your forehead. "I’ll be there in half an hour." You hung up, sighing again as you tossed your phone onto the bed.

Matt shifted beside you. "You’re leaving?"

"I’m sorry," you muttered. "It’s—"

"Work," Matt finished gently. He tilted his head, clearly amused. "You know, I think Stark Industries has a personal vendetta against us."

You huffed, tugging your shirt back into place. "I’ll make it up to you. I promise."

Matt leaned forward, brushing his lips against yours quickly. "You better."

You rolled your eyes, reluctantly climbing off the bed. "Don't move. I'll be back as soon as possible."

Matt fell back onto the pillows with a sigh, his smirk unmistakable. "I'll hold you to that, angel."

---

A few days later, Matt had just managed to maneuver you against the kitchen counter, lips claiming yours fiercely. Your arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him closer.

Then, abruptly, a loud knock at his apartment door broke the silence. Matt froze, his forehead dropping onto your shoulder with a frustrated exhale.

"You've got to be kidding me," you muttered.

"Ignore it," he whispered, kissing your neck gently.

The knocking grew louder.

"Murdock!" Foggy's muffled voice echoed through the wood. "Come on, man, open up! I know you're home!"

Matt sighed heavily, pulling away. "He'll keep going until I answer."

You slumped against the counter dramatically. "I swear he has a sixth sense."

Matt smiled apologetically. "This'll be quick."

You folded your arms, watching as Matt made his way to the door, cracking it open just enough to speak. "Foggy. Bad timing."

"Yeah, sorry, I lost the deposition file," Foggy admitted sheepishly. "I need your copy."

Matt sighed, turning his head toward you slightly. "Give me a minute."

You threw your hands up, shooting him a pointed glare. Matt smiled, mouthing sorry before slipping out the door.

---

It had almost become a joke at this point. Every single time the two of you finally got a moment alone, something managed to interrupt.

You and Karen were at Josie’s, waiting for Matt and Foggy to arrive.

“Wanna tell me why you seem so pent up?” Karen asked, taking a drink of her beer.

You sighed, swirling your drink in the glass. "Because apparently, the universe hates me."

Karen raised a brow, amused. "That's dramatic, even for you."

"No, I'm serious," you insisted, leaning closer. "Every single time Matt and I are about to—" You paused, realizing you'd almost said too much. "Spend any sort of actual alone time together, something always interrupts."

Karen smirked knowingly, taking another sip. "Oh. That kind of pent up."

You glared at her. "Shut up."

She laughed lightly, shaking her head. "Sorry, it's just funny. You two spend practically all your time together. I'm surprised you even have that problem."

"Yeah, well, apparently work, Foggy, and fate itself have formed an alliance against us," you muttered bitterly.

"Have you tried just… telling people not to bother you?" Karen teased.

You scoffed. "We tried that. Believe me, it doesn't work."

Karen hummed sympathetically. "Well, if it's any consolation, I promise to never intentionally interrupt your... alone time."

"Thanks," you replied dryly, "that’s very generous."

She grinned. "Hey, I do what I can."

Just then, the bar door swung open, and Foggy walked in, Matt close behind him. You caught Matt’s slight smile as he tilted his head toward you, making his way through the crowd.

Karen nudged you playfully. "Better luck tonight?"

You rolled your eyes but couldn't stop a small smile. "I doubt it, but thanks for the optimism."

Matt stepped up beside you, his hand automatically finding your waist. "Hey, sweetheart," he murmured, leaning down and pressing a quick kiss to your temple. "Sorry we're late."

You sighed dramatically. "Don't worry about it. At this point, I'm used to it."

Matt chuckled softly, squeezing your side. "Tonight'll be different. Promise."

Karen snorted into her drink. "Good luck with that."

You glared at her again, and she raised her hands innocently.

Matt's brow furrowed, sensing the tension. "Did I miss something?"

"Nothing at all," Karen said, grinning widely. "Y/N was just filling me in on your streak of bad luck."

Matt’s lips quirked upward. "Oh. That."

Foggy looked between the three of you, utterly lost. "Am I missing something here?"

You shook your head, patting Foggy on the shoulder. "Trust me, Fog. You're better off not knowing."

---

Matt’s apartment was quiet when you stepped inside, locking the door behind you. The blinds were drawn shut, the place cloaked in comfortable darkness. You dropped your keys onto the entry table, taking off your jacket and hanging it beside Matt’s familiar black coat.

"Matty?" you called softly, stepping further into the apartment.

"Bedroom," came his muffled reply.

You kicked off your shoes, padding down the hall until you reached his room. Matt was sitting on the edge of the bed, pulling on a clean shirt. He looked relaxed, freshly showered, hair still damp and slightly messy. He tilted his head in your direction, lips curving into a gentle smile.

"Hey," he said softly.

You smiled, stepping toward him. "Hi."

Matt reached for you, fingers easily catching your wrist and tugging you closer, his hands settling comfortably at your hips. "How was work?"

You sighed, brushing your fingers through his damp hair. "The usual Stark chaos. Nothing new."

His lips twitched. "So no interruptions planned tonight?"

You laughed quietly, your fingers trailing down the side of his face. "Not that I know of. Unless Foggy’s about to burst through the door."

Matt smiled, tilting his head slightly into your palm. "Not tonight. He and Karen have dinner plans."

"Thank God," you muttered.

Matt chuckled softly, pulling you gently closer so you were standing between his legs. His thumbs brushed lightly against your sides. "You hungry?"

You shook your head slightly, leaning down until your forehead rested against his. "Not really."

"Good," Matt whispered, voice low and warm. "Me either."

You smiled softly, tracing your fingertips over the curve of his jaw. His hands slid beneath your shirt, settling warmly against your lower back. You inhaled slowly, eyes fluttering shut as he guided your lips down to his own.

The kiss was gentle at first, soft and unhurried. Matt’s lips brushed yours slowly, carefully, as if savoring every moment. Your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, pressing closer.

Matt sighed against your lips, deepening the kiss. His hands tightened slightly on your waist, guiding you down until you settled comfortably across his lap. Your arms looped around his shoulders, your bodies pressed close enough that you could feel the steady beat of his heart.

"Matt," you whispered breathlessly against his lips, smiling faintly. "If my phone rings, I swear—"

Matt’s quiet laughter cut you off, his mouth skimming along your jaw. "I’ll throw it out the window myself."

You huffed softly, tilting your head back to give him better access. "Promises, promises, Murdock."

Matt smirked against your skin, his voice low and teasing. "Careful, sweetheart. I might hold you to that."

You laughed quietly, tangling your fingers in his hair again and pulling him back to your lips. For the first time in weeks, there were no interruptions—just you, Matt, and the steady, comforting quiet of his apartment.

But, of course, it could never be that easy.

A knock rattled on a window in the living room.

Matt froze, forehead dropping heavily against your shoulder. "You've got to be kidding me."

You groaned, your fingers tangling into his hair. "I swear, this is a cosmic joke at this point."

The knocking grew louder, quicker, more urgent. Matt sighed, lifting his head reluctantly. "Who even—"

A muffled voice called from outside, high-pitched and apologetic. "Uh... Mister Murdock? It’s—it's me, Peter. Spider-Man? Sorry, I just—I kinda need help."

You raised a brow. "Spider-Man knocks now?"

Matt sighed deeply. "Apparently."

You stood up from Matt’s lap, fixing your shirt as Matt slowly stood beside you, annoyance radiating off him.

Peter tapped again, more sheepishly this time. "Hello? Uh—Matt?"

"Coming," Matt called, moving toward the window with a heavy sigh.

You followed behind, crossing your arms as Matt slid the window open. Peter awkwardly crawled inside, tugging off his mask with a nervous grimace.

"Hey, Mr. Murdock," he mumbled, turning to you. "Hey, Y/N. Sorry if this is a bad time, but—"

"Is the city actively on fire?" Matt cut in, voice flat.

Peter hesitated. "Well, no, but—"

"Is anyone dying?" Matt continued.

Peter shifted nervously. "No, but I—"

Matt folded his arms, visibly unimpressed. "Is Stark Tower currently collapsing into a giant sinkhole?"

Peter blinked. "What? No."

Matt nodded slowly. "Then this probably could’ve waited."

Peter flushed, rubbing his neck sheepishly. "Oh. Yeah, I guess it could’ve. But I, uh... I kinda panicked.”

You sighed, stepping toward Peter. "What happened, Pete?"

Peter winced, holding up his web-shooter. "It, um... jammed. And I can’t get it off."

Matt tilted his head, incredulous. "You came to me—at my apartment—at night—because your web-shooter jammed?"

Peter swallowed nervously. "I tried everyone else, Mr. Murdock. Literally everyone else."

You raised an eyebrow, skeptical. "Everyone?"

"Doctor Strange yelled at me for disturbing his 'cosmic meditation,' Happy sent me straight to voicemail, Mr. Wilson laughed for a full two minutes before hanging up, and Pepper’s voicemail said she’s out of town." Peter said quickly. "You two were my last option."

You glanced at Matt, suppressing a smile at his annoyed expression. "Alright, fine," you sighed. "Let me see it."

Peter held his arm out gratefully, relaxing as you started examining the device. Matt leaned against the wall, crossing his arms. "You realize I’m blind, right?"

Peter flushed deeper. "Well, yeah, but you're like... you're Daredevil."

Matt’s jaw ticked slightly. "And?"

"And," Peter swallowed, voice small, "and I’m really, really sorry for interrupting your night. Again."

Matt sighed heavily, shaking his head as you fiddled with the shooter.

"Got it," you finally announced, popping the jammed cartridge free and handing it back to him. "All fixed."

Peter sighed dramatically. "Thank you so much. Really, I—"

"Pete," Matt interrupted gently. "Go home."

Peter nodded quickly, already halfway back out the window. "Yeah. Right. Okay. Goodnight Mr. Murdock, Y/N."

He vanished just as fast as he’d appeared, leaving silence behind him.

Matt tilted his head back toward you, annoyance fading into amusement. "How much do you think it'd cost to soundproof these windows?"

You smirked, stepping closer to him again. "Worth every penny, honestly."

Matt smiled, tugging you back toward him, fingertips brushing your waist. "Where were we?"

You grimaced. “Actually… Peter’s webshooter’s reminded me of—”

“—Ramen.” Matt cut in.

Your eyebrows raised, “how’d you know?”

Matt chuckled softly, his fingertips brushing your hip gently. "Because anytime Peter shows up, it means your brain starts spinning with work and you always end up craving ramen afterward."

You huffed, poking his chest lightly. "You make me sound predictable."

He tilted his head, amused. "Am I wrong?"

"No," you muttered begrudgingly. "But you don't have to sound so smug about it."

Matt's lips twitched into a smirk. "Can't help it."

You sighed, stepping back slightly. "Come on, let's go get ramen before they close."

"Alright," Matt conceded, grabbing his coat. "But you're buying, since it's your fault."

"My fault?" you repeated incredulously as you slipped on your shoes.

"Your spider-friend, your problem," Matt teased lightly, holding the door open for you.

You rolled your eyes fondly. "He's everyone's spider-friend, Matty."

"Well, everyone doesn't get their evening interrupted like we do."

You linked your arm through his as you stepped outside. "Sounds like someone's still bitter."

Matt hummed softly. "Just hungry."

"Whatever you say, devil boy," you said with a smirk.

He laughed quietly, squeezing your arm lightly. "Lead the way, sweetheart."

---

It had taken another two weeks, three false alarms, and one very apologetic Spider-Man before you and Matt finally managed to find yourselves completely alone, no distractions in sight.

"Door?" Matt asked, murmuring against your lips, his voice husky and quiet.

"Locked," you whispered back.

"Phone?"

"On silent."

Matt smiled against your mouth. "Windows?"

You sighed, pulling back slightly. "Closed. Matt, relax. Everything’s handled."

He chuckled softly, his hands finding your waist as he pulled you back in. "Just making sure."

You smiled, sliding your arms around his neck and playing with the soft hair at his nape. "At this point, I think we've earned tonight."

Matt hummed quietly, brushing his lips gently along your jaw. "I’m not letting anyone interrupt us tonight, sweetheart."

Your breath hitched slightly, your fingers tightening gently in his hair. "Good. Because I might actually murder whoever tries."

He laughed softly, nudging your nose lightly with his own. "Noted."

You tugged gently at his shirt, pulling him backwards until the backs of your knees hit the bed. You sat down slowly, smiling as Matt followed you without hesitation, settling himself carefully above you.

"You’re sure no spider-kid’s gonna come tapping at the window tonight?" you teased softly, brushing your fingers along his jaw.

He tilted his head slightly, smiling down at you. "I might actually lose my patience with him if he does."

You laughed quietly, hooking your legs around his hips and tugging him closer. "So fierce, devil boy."

Matt leaned down, lips brushing your ear. "Only for you."

Warmth pooled in your stomach at the softness in his voice, your heart thudding in your chest as you pulled him into a slow, deep kiss.

His lips moved carefully, tenderly, hands slipping beneath your shirt to rest against your bare skin, tracing gentle circles along your waist. You sighed softly against his lips, your fingertips trailing down his chest to find the hem of his shirt.

Matt pulled back slightly, just enough to let you pull his shirt off over his head, tossing it aside. His lips found yours again immediately, kissing you with renewed urgency, his skin warm under your hands.

"Still good?" he murmured against your mouth.

You nodded, breath catching. "Better than."

His hands slid slowly up your sides, under your shirt, fingertips grazing bare skin until he reached the hem and pulled it up and off you. The second it hit the floor, he was kissing you again, deeper this time. Tongue slow and sure, like he had all the time in the world.

Your fingers threaded into his hair, tugging gently. He groaned into your mouth, then pulled back just enough to speak.

"Lie back for me, angel."

You obeyed without hesitation, stretching across the bed, propped up slightly on your elbows as Matt’s hands found your thighs. He knelt between them, head tilted, his expression unreadable but focused. You could feel the weight of his attention even without his eyes.

"You're beautiful," he murmured. "I can feel every little shift in your breathing, hear your heartbeat changing every time I touch you. You're driving me insane."

Your breath caught as his palms slid up your thighs, thumbs pressing gently into the muscle. He leaned in slowly, trailing soft kisses along the inside of your knee, up the sensitive skin of your inner thigh.

You gasped quietly when he nuzzled higher, the stubble on his jaw catching against your skin. One of his hands gripped your thigh, the other pressing a warm palm flat against your stomach, grounding.

"You want this?" he asked softly, mouth brushing right against the waistband of your underwear.

"Yes," you breathed, eyes fluttering. "Matty, please."

That was all it took. He hooked his fingers in the waistband, dragging the fabric down your legs with excruciating slowness, kissing each new inch of skin he exposed. Once they were gone, he settled between your legs like he belonged there.

You squirmed, breathless already. Matt’s hands eased your thighs wider, lips brushing the softest kisses down the crease of your hip. Then lower.

His tongue flicked out, teasing, and you gasped, head dropping back against the pillow.

"Fuck," you whispered.

Matt exhaled a soft laugh, the sound warm against your skin. "That good already, sweetheart?"

Then he buried his mouth between your thighs. No warning, no hesitation. Just heat and tongue and pressure that had your back arching off the bed.

"Ah—Matty," you choked out, hands scrambling for his hair, needing something to hold onto as his tongue licked a slow, devastating stripe up your center.

He groaned like he tasted the sound you made, hands anchoring you, thumbs rubbing slow circles into your thighs as he worked.

You were already dripping for him, and he didn’t let up, tongue pressing and curling in ways that made your entire body tremble. He knew exactly how to read you—the way your hips twitched, the way your moans caught, the way your breath stuttered when he sucked just right.

Your thighs started to shake.

"Matty—oh god—please don’t stop," you gasped, one hand flying to muffle your mouth, the other tangled in his messy hair.

He didn't stop.

He doubled down.

His mouth moved faster, tongue fucking into you before flattening and dragging slow, greedy circles over your clit, sucking just hard enough to make you cry out.

"F-fuck, I'm gonna—" Your whole body tensed, thighs clamping, and Matt growled against you, holding you open, not letting you go anywhere.

"Let go," he murmured against your soaked skin. "Come on, angel. Come for me."

You shattered.

It hit hard, sharp and overwhelming, your hips jerking as the orgasm ripped through you. You cried out, hands fisting in the sheets, breath breaking as your body shook.

Matt held you through every second of it, mouth softening but never leaving you, licking you through the aftershocks with slow, lazy strokes until you finally whimpered, pushing weakly at his head.

He kissed your inner thigh one last time before crawling back up, settling his weight gently over you, mouth slick and smile smug.

"Hi," he murmured.

You huffed a laugh, dazed and breathless. "You’re such a menace."

"You love it," he said, kissing your cheek, your jaw, the tip of your nose.

"Maybe," you whispered, reaching up to cup his face. "Come here."

He kissed you slowly, deeply, letting you taste yourself on his lips. His body pressed heavy and warm against yours, one hand slipping down to cradle your thigh, the other bracing next to your head.

You wrapped your legs around him, tugging him closer.

"Your turn, devil boy."

Matt's breath caught. His body stilled above yours, tension rolling through his shoulders like a current. He tilted his head slightly, and you could feel him—feel the way he honed in on every shift of your breath, the thump of your pulse, the way your thighs clenched around his hips.

"Say it again," he murmured.

You smirked, dragging your nails lightly down his spine. "Your turn."

Matt groaned softly, low and wrecked, like the words hit somewhere primal. One of his hands cupped your cheek, thumb brushing your lower lip as he leaned in, voice rough. "Tell me if anything's too much."

"Matty," you whispered, hips rolling up against the bulge still trapped in his pants, "I want all of it."

His mouth crashed back onto yours—hot, open, desperate. You tasted yourself on his lips, still slick and wet from where he’d had his mouth on you, and it made something in your gut twist up tight.

His hands were everywhere—your ribs, your thighs, your throat. Always so fucking careful, even when he was losing control. Even now, his fingers trembled where they gripped your hip.

"Take 'em off," you whispered against his mouth, tugging at the waistband of his pants.

He didn’t need to be told twice. He sat back on his knees, hands fumbling at his belt. You watched him—bare chest rising with each shaky breath, flushed, lips red from kissing you senseless, hair sticking up like you’d dragged your fingers through it one too many times. The second he shoved his pants low, you saw the outline of him, thick and hard, the head already leaking.

You bit your lip. "God, Matty."

He huffed a breathless laugh, cocky but a little shaky. "You looking at me like that isn’t helping."

"I like what I see."

Matt didn’t answer—just leaned in again, reaching down to wrap a hand around himself. He stroked slow, base to tip, teasing himself while he hovered over you, breath hot against your cheek.

You reached down, fingertips grazing his wrist. "Let me."

He let you take over, groaning softly when your hand wrapped around him. You stroked him slowly, dragging your thumb over the head, spreading the precum, watching the way his jaw flexed.

"You feel so fucking good," you whispered.

Matt's voice was strangled. "You keep doing that and this is gonna be over before it starts."

You laughed softly, but let go, guiding him instead—his hips nudging between your legs, cock heavy and hot, head sliding wet over your slit. He sucked in a sharp breath.

"You sure?"

"Yes," you whispered, fingers curling in his hair. "Matty, please."

He pushed in slow. The stretch was deep, thick, dragging your walls open inch by inch until he bottomed out with a shaky groan.

"F-fuck," he whispered against your throat. "You feel... Jesus."

You were gasping, clinging to his shoulders, your body trying to adjust around him. It wasn’t your first time. Wasn’t his either. But it was your first time together. And it was already better than anything you'd felt before.

Matt didn’t move right away. He just held there, forehead pressed to your shoulder, one hand braced by your head and the other gripping your thigh like it grounded him.

"Matty," you whispered. "Move. Please."

He did.

A slow pull, then a push, dragging back in with a rhythm that felt like it was made just for you. He moaned into your neck, his voice thick with want. "So fucking tight—"

Your nails bit into his skin as he picked up pace, shallow thrusts turning deeper, faster. The sound of skin on skin filled the room, slick and wet and obscene. You couldn't stop the noises leaving your mouth, couldn't quiet the little cries every time he hit that spot inside you that made your legs tremble.

"You’re perfect," he panted. "Every sound you make—fuck, I can feel them. Hear 'em in your throat, in your chest—"

"Matt—"

"I’ve wanted this," he groaned, fucking into you harder now, the bed creaking beneath both of you. "You. For years. Always thought about you. Touching you. Making you come on my cock."

Your breath stuttered. "Holy fuck, Matty—"

"Come for me," he growled, his thumb finding your clit and circling, firm and fast. "Right now. Wanna feel you squeeze me. Wanna hear how you sound when you fall apart."

You didn’t stand a chance. Your orgasm hit hard, sudden, crashing through you with a strangled cry, your legs tightening around his waist.

Matt cursed, fucking you through it, hips stuttering as he groaned, low and wrecked. "Shit—gonna come—fuck—"

He slammed in deep and came with a gasp, cock pulsing inside you, heat spilling as his whole body trembled above you. He collapsed onto his forearms, forehead resting against yours, both of you breathing like you’d run a marathon.

"Jesus," you whispered, still shaking.

Matt laughed, soft and breathless. "Yeah. That about covers it."

You grinned, brushing sweaty hair from his forehead. "Worth the wait."

His lips found yours again, soft now, lingering.

"Every second."

And for once, nothing interrupted.

if you have any requests with these two, don't be afraid to send in an ask!!

[helenvaughans]

[itsmistybitch-deactivated202605]

These posts are sisters

[lierdumoa]

[boopidyboopidyboop]

The difference between treating characters like characters instead of treating characters like real people is the difference between accusing someone of being an abuser because they find a well written antagonist facinating instead of thinking of said character as "a terrible person"

They are creative mediums and you need to be able to learn to analyze them as such or else youll end up attatched to a character you feel the need to defend rather than explain.

[galacticsabc]

Go! Rocky, Go!

[disgruntled-neighborhood-wife]

People who think sheep are killed for their wool are so hilarious to me. Does your barber slit your throat whenever you get a haircut?? Are you a returning customer to Sweeney Todd? Lmao it grows back, fools.

[squareallworthy]

This is completely ignoring the fact that the sheep's soul is stored in its wool. So sure, the body remains, but the spirit, the essence of the sheep, that's gone forever, and then as the wool regrows a new soul moves in.

[storm-of-feathers]

What

[shadow-banned-the-hedgehog]

Same for me, I get a new soul with every haircut. That's why my personality changes so much.

[ovenroastedtwerkey]

Tumblr citizenship means being completely unsure if the person posting about sheep souls is being 100% serious or is just taking the piss.

[yoinky-sploinky]

THEY TAKE THEIR PISS TOO?!?!?

[ovenroastedtwerkey]

Yup, stockpiling it in giant buckets to pour on the poor

[unyieldingsilence]

‎

[grimstone5252]

Above me is a soulless sheep, look at the poor thing :(

[partialnoodle]

started outer wilds again and i am at my fucking limit

[nyxoneiroswrites]

Weird Answer - Matt Murdock x Reader

Summary: You ask Matt Murdock a nice, sweet, innocent, normal question. He doesn’t have anything remotely close to a normal answer.

(Contains: hand kisses, cuddling, heartbeats, reader doesn’t know that Matt is Daredevil, Matt is a bit of a freak but we love him)

Word Count: 1k

Read here on Ao3 here

A/N: Despite him being my pfp for damn near a year now, it’s taken me this long to write something for him

     Matt decides, right then and there, in your living room, that he hates those stupid couple trends online. If you were anyone else, maybe he would have considered it to be just a sweet question you were asking him. But he knows you. He knows that, while you do ask those sweet, silly couples’ questions, you never ask the normal ones unless you saw something about it online. If it wasn’t something weird like “what kind of snowman do you think I would be”, then it had to be something you saw on your phone.

     Matt doesn’t hate the normal questions. He just hates this one, because he has a weird answer to it.

     You’re curled up with him on the couch when you pop the question. You’re tucked against his side, your legs thrown over his, with one of his arms thrown over the back of your shoulders. It’s a soft, comfortable moment, and Matt couldn’t be happier. He rarely gets to sit down with you like this, and like a sunflower with the sun, he wants to soak up as much time with you like this as he could.

     “Babe?” You ask, drawing his attention. “What’s your favorite part of me?”

     “My… favorite part of you?” He asks back for clarification after a moment.

     “Yeah. Like… your favorite part of me.” You elaborate, leaning your head against his shoulder. “Some people think their partner has cute ears, or they like how their freckles look, or they think they have good legs or something. I just… wanted to know what you thought.”

     Matt is quiet for a long, long moment, his eyebrows furrowed in thought. He wasn’t thinking about what the answer to your question was. He knew what he would pick the moment you asked. He was trying to figure out how to answer your question in a way that would make sense to you.

     “Your heart.” He settles on. “You’re kind, and sweet, and far more forgiving than I deserve at times. You’re passionate about the things and people you love, and I like that too, especially since I am one of those people.”

     “That’s cheating!” You protested, but he could feel the way you were smiling against his shoulder, your face turned inwards towards it just slightly.

     “That’s cheating?”

     “Yeah! It’s gotta be a physical thing, not a personality thing!”

     And what he can’t tell you—what makes him feel like a weirdo for admitting with no context—is that it was the physical organ he was referring to.

     He loves your heart. He really, really loves it. He loves the way it sounds when you sleep next to him, because it reminds him that you’re there and you’re fine. He loves the way your heartbeat picks up whenever he says something romantic, like the other reasons he gave for why he loves your heart. He loves the way the distinct thump-thump-thump in your chest lets him find you in even the most crowded places.

     But he can’t tell you any of that. You think he’s just a normal blind man. He hasn’t told you about the whole superpowers thing, and you haven’t put the pieces of it together yet. If you knew, then him telling you he liked your heart wouldn’t be as weird. But if he told you that he liked your heart, the organ, without any context, then he would sound like a creepy serial killer.

     “You never specified.” He tells you instead with a grin. “That means my answer is still perfectly fair and valid.”

     “No, it doesn’t! You know that’s not what I meant now, so now you have to give me a proper answer!”

     “No can do, Angel.” He replies, chuckling. “Asked and answered. I can’t answer a question twice, just because you want another answer. You should have specified the first time.”

     “…fine.” You concede with a sigh. “This is what I get for dating a lawyer.”

     “Yes, it is.” He ducks his head down, kissing the top of your head. “Now you have to answer the question: what’s your favorite part of me? Your favorite physical part.”

     He can tell you’re resisting the urge to give his shoulder a little shove at that comment. Instead of doing that, you think about your answer. It doesn’t take you too long to find it either.

     “…your hands.” You finally land on.

     Matt is a little surprised by your answer. Hands aren’t the most unconventional thing to find attractive, but it wasn’t quite what he expected you to say. If he was going to guess, he would have aimed a bit higher. You did always say how much you like his arms, mainly his biceps.

     “I like watching them when you’re focused on reading.” You continue, taking one of his hands in one of yours. “And I like holding them. They fit in mine nicely, and I don’t know if you know this, but you do this really cute thing where you squeeze my hand slightly before you let go. Also, I like that I can do this to them.”

     You lift his hand up to your mouth and press a small kiss to the back of his knuckles. Now it’s his turn to be flustered and his turn to have his heart rate spike just a little.

     You’re adorable, and you’re sweet, and you’re all around lovely. It’s not that Matt forgets this, it’s just that sometimes it fades a little into the background of his mind. But then you do something like bring him lunch at the office or fix his tie for him or do something nice like this, and it becomes all he can think about.

     He decides right then and there in your living room that he was going to tell you that he was Daredevil. He could trust you enough and knew that this was long-term enough that he could and should let you know about his nightly activities.

     Someday.

     Eventually.

     …Foggy was going to kill him for putting this off more than he already has.

[dykeladymaria]

Hi friends. Right now me and my partner are homeless and have no food money. Were both disabled trans queers and I'm currently out of a job and we have no income right now I hate to even ask but anything would do right now.

Cash app: riftbarnes

Venmo: rift-barnes

[bunnivievve]

Who doesn’t want uppies from daddy Leon right…

right?

[aesungaia]

Everyone's Friend

[creatingblackcharacters]

interesting how I only see the mature content warning on your posts. Almost like this site hates a specific group of people for no reason 🤔

The more Black and/or trans peers you follow, the more often you see it. It literally means nothing to me at this point, because every time I see it, it's followed up by something that's fine. 9/10 it's regular stuff! So it begs the question, indeed, what the label is for.

[addigni]

Reblog if you genuinely support asexuals

It terrifies me that there’s so much raging passion in the lgbt+ community that insist on marginalizing asexuals and implying that asexuals don’t deserve to have safe spaces. There’s still so much acephobia so I just wanna know which blogs are genuinely supportive and a safe space for asexuals

[cabinthreeproblems]

*SLAMS REBLOG BUTTON* ASEXUALS HAVE MY VOTE //ref

[grimstone5252]

SHOUT OUT TO ASEXUALS ‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️

[zouisbreakup]

reblog to give a plushie to the person you reblogged this from

[roguedeer]

Being asexual and racist is embarassing as fuck. Being racist at all is obviously embarassing as fuck but the amount of racism and especially antiblackness i have been seeing from asexuals recently is obscene.

One of the only asexual activists is Yasmin Benoit, a Black woman. She has raised so much awareness for the community. She was the first asexual person to lead Pride in London, she started the #thisiswhatasexuallookslike movement and is THE leading voice for the community.

And you all will celebrate international asexuality day on April 6th but we wouldn't even have that if she hadn't cofounded it.

Edit: why are you all too scared to repost this. Cmon. Be vocal about being against racism

[sanyu-thewitch05]

No hate to OP, there are other Black asexual activists besides Yasmin Benoit.

Marshall Blount: https://www.instagram.com/marshall_blount?

Ace in Grace/Ashabi: https://www.instagram.com/_aceingrace_?

Yagirllici: https://www.instagram.com/yagirllici?

This one is more of a group but there’s Black Ace Culture: https://www.instagram.com/blackaceculture?

Asexual/AroaceBarbie: https://www.tiktok.com/@asexualbarbie?_r=1&_t=ZT-97gFM9iWa3a

Kim Riottt: https://www.instagram.com/kimriottt?

Jacques Jacky: https://www.instagram.com/jacguesjacky?

[swagophile]

important reminder that most people you follow online are significantly lamer than you think they are including me. and if you feel insecure comparing yourself to someone online: DON'T. theyre probably also lame and weird. most people on the internet are

[most-sane-classicist]

reblog if you're also lame and weird.