allmyn1ghts

[allmyn1ghts]

stay — clark kent x fem!reader You always knew there was something about Clark—and one night, the cape gives it away.

warnings: ok i wanted this to be fluffy but my angsty soul just couldn’t help itself. a/n: i mean this trope has been done so many times but i still love it so much

“Did you see the news?”

Clark’s ears perk up, raising his brows at you while he grabs a slice of pizza. “What news?”

“New supervillain in town, apparently—don’t you work for a news station? And specifically about Superman?” You ask him, biting the crust of your own slice.

He shrugs, flipping over a page of his work-in-progress article. “For all I know, you could be talking about the lost puppy news from this morning.”

“You guys cover puppy news??”

“When it’s the mayor’s dog, yeah.”

You frown slightly, the expression gone as quick as it came. “Fair enough.”

Unlike Clark, you don’t work at the Daily Planet—you’re not even a reporter, just a financial analyst at a nearby firm. You met Clark years ago coincidentally on a coffee run, and you’d almost spilled your coffee everywhere if it weren’t for his quick reflexes, catching the cup mid-air, no spillage.

It was damn near impossible, but Clark described it as pure luck.

You started seeing each other at the café more often after that—coffee breaks, early mornings, even after-work walks home. Sometimes he picks you up before work just so you don’t have to take walk alone.

You’ve developed feelings for him—someone you consider your best friend, because he’s seen you at your worst and never once judged you for it. And there’d been close calls—nights you were drunk and almost kissed him—but Clark always pulled away, saying he didn’t want to take advantage of you.

You took it as rejection. Gentle, considerate rejection—but rejection all the same.

Clark laughs at the movie playing, and you stare at him as his eyes crinkle with joy. A small smile forms on your lips before you look away. It stings a little, but you’d rather have him as a friend than not have him at all.

“So,” you say, keeping your voice light, “anything fun at work happen today?”

“Lois got a promotion,” Clark replies, “Well deserved.”

“Oh, that’s great.” You nod. “She’s a damn good journalist.”

He agrees easily. “Couldn’t agree more. And she’s taught me so much. Through her writing, or just her notes, she’s just so—”

Ah. Lois.

It all makes sense to you now. His soft eyes when he talks about her, the way her name always lands like punctuation. Your smile wavers, just for a second, before you swallow it down.

You pick at the crust of your pizza, watching the movie but not really seeing it. Clark doesn’t notice the shift—or maybe he does and pretends not to. He offers you the last slice with a grin, and you shake your head, forcing a smile.

You pick at the crust of your pizza, eyes drifting to the movie. Clark’s still laughing at something on screen, but the sound barely reaches you now. Your chest feels heavier than it should.

When the credits roll, you gather the plates and start stacking them, wiping your hands on a napkin.

Clark gathers the empty pizza boxes and takes them to the trash, moving around your apartment with the kind of ease that only comes from repetition. He wipes down the counter without asking, places the coasters back exactly where you like them, and slots his assigned mug—one you got him as a joke, printed with “Yoda-licious”—into his spot in your cabinet. You never told him where that spot was, but he figured it out a long time ago.

“Thanks for the movie.” He says. Usually he’d give you a hug before leaving, but he senses your hesitation tonight, “You okay?”

“Yeah,” you lie, and offer a small smile. “Just tired.”

He nods, but doesn’t quite look convinced. “Alright. I’ll text when I’m back.”

He lingers like he might say something else—but instead, he just gives you that warm half-smile and steps into the hallway.

“Goodnight,” you say, leaning against the doorframe.

“Night.”

You’d texted Clark the next morning that you’re leaving early, and that maybe you’ll just see him at the café. You show up at the café looking a little sullen—mostly because you hadn’t really slept. There’s a tired ache behind your eyes, and you frown as you scan your inbox, trying not to think about anything except work.

“Hey,” comes a familiar voice.

You look up. Clark’s standing there with two drinks and a paper bag.

“I got your usual. Thought I’d save you a trip.”

You blink at him, then at the coffee and the bag. “Clark, you didn’t have to—”

“I know,” he says, and smiles. “But I wanted to.”

You both sit at a table, deciding that you still have time before work starts. Clark eyes you carefully, noticing that you’re avoiding looking at him today and your heartbeat’s slightly elevated.

“Are you okay?”

Your browse raise. “Yeah. I’m okay. Why?”

“Just…” He pauses, “You’ve been a little quiet since last night.”

You chew on your bottom lip. “I need to tell you something.”

You look at him then—really look. You’ve spent months beside this man, coffee dates, late-night walks, stupid inside jokes. You’ve held your feelings in so tightly for so long that it almost hurts to speak.

“I like you,” you say, quiet but sure. “More than a friend.”

He freezes.

You keep going, even though your chest feels like it might cave in. “I don’t know if you feel the same. I just needed you to know.”

A pause. His gaze drops to the coffee in front of him. And for a second, something flickers across his face—something raw, almost pained.

But then he brushes it away.

Clark looks up and says, gently, “I don’t feel the same.”

The silence is sharp.

“I care about you,” he adds quickly, voice calm, almost too calm. “You’re one of my closest friends. But… that’s all it’s ever been for me.”

Your stomach sinks. Heat prickles behind your eyes.

“But last night, and all the times you—” You stop yourself, breath catching. “It felt like something.”

He shakes his head. “I’m sorry if I gave you the wrong impression. That was never my intention.”

No hesitation. No visible guilt.

Except he is lying. Every word tastes like glass on his tongue, but he says them anyway. Because the truth—that he’s Superman, and that loving you would put you in danger—is something he’s not willing to drag you into.

You nod, trying to process.

“Right,” you say. “Of course.”

Clark opens his mouth like he might say more, but then he just lets out a quiet breath and stands.

“I’ll see you around,” he says.

You don’t answer. You can’t.

You’re the last one in the office. You didn’t mean to stay this late, but between ignoring Clark’s messages and calls, and the piling files on your desk, time flew by fast. You shut your laptop, toss it in your bag, and sling your coat over your shoulders.

The streets are quiet this late, just the occasional cab slicing through the dark. You step out into the cold, hunching against the breeze, head down.

You don’t see the truck barreling toward the intersection.

But you hear the horn.

And everything happens too fast.

Headlights blind you, and you cover yourself, arms up to your head, bracing for impact.

You freeze—and in the same second, you’re not standing anymore.

A strong chest against your palm, arms wrapped tightly around you, your feet off the ground—you open your eyes to see the superhero in red and blue, carrying you after a speeding truck almost hit you.

Superman.

He holds you carefully, cradled like something precious, his expression knit with concern. Kind eyes. A warm smile. And something else in his face that reminds you of someone.

You don’t even register the throb in your ankle until he gently lowers you and you wince, nearly collapsing.

“You’re hurt,” he says quietly.

Before you can object, he lifts you up again, earning a startled yelp.

“I—I can walk,” you stammer. “I think.”

“You sprained your ankle,” he replies, calm but firm. “You shouldn’t walk on it.”

And just like that, he launches into the air.

Wind whips past your face as the city becomes a blur beneath you. Held securely in his arms, you try to focus on anything but the heat rising to your cheeks.

“…How do you know where I live?” you ask, watching as he flies in the right direction.

He doesn’t answer, just motions you to unlock your door when he lands in front of your apartment building, not letting you step on the floor for even a second. Your shaking hands finally manage to unlock the front door, and Superman opts to take the elevator.

He looks at you then, and you look away, feeling shy under his intense gaze. He lets out a small chuckle, his lips curling into a somewhat satisfied grin.

“Did Clark put you up to this?” You ask, trying not to sound flustered.

Superman seems surprised by your question. “I’m Superman, I help people.”

“And that includes becoming a personal chauffeur and nurse every single time someone gets hurt?”

He smiles. “You’re different.”

“What does that mean?”

Superman doesn’t answer again. The elevator dings, and when the doors slide open, he carries you straight to your apartment door like he’s done it a hundred times before. Your hand trembles slightly as you unlock it again.

He steps inside without needing directions. Doesn’t ask where to set you down. Just walks straight to the couch, the exact path someone would take if they already knew it.

You stare at him.

He disappears into your bathroom and returns moments later, already with your first aid kit already in hand. You don’t even remember telling him where you kept it.

He kneels again, carefully lifting your foot into his lap.

“How did you know where that was?” you ask, voice barely above a whisper.

He hesitates for half a second. Just half.

Then he murmurs, “Lucky guess.”

You narrow your eyes. He doesn’t meet them.

He wraps your ankle gently, hands practiced. Too practiced. Not just the first aid—you. He knows how to angle the couch cushion behind your back. Knows your sink handle sticks slightly and twists it without struggle. He hands you a glass of water without asking if you want one.

There are so many questions you want to ask.

How does he know where everything is in your apartment? What did he mean by his comment in the elevator? Why does it feel like you know him? Did Clark—

You see the mole on the tip of his ear as he’s gently rubbing your ankles in comfort, and there’s no mistaking it.

“Clark…?”

He stills.

Then slowly, like he’s bracing for impact, he lifts his head and looks at you.

“Clark,” you say again, this time not a question.

He doesn't speak.

But he doesn't deny it either.

And that, more than anything, is your answer.

“Holy shit.” You whisper.

Clark swallows, You watch something shift in him. The mask is slipping, even as the cape still rests on his shoulders.

He starts to rise, like he’s about to walk out the door.

“No—wait,” you say, moving instinctively—and cry out as pain shoots up your leg.

“Don’t stand—” he says quickly, reaching for you.

“So don’t go,” you breathe.

Your fingers grip his arms as you lean into him, your weight shaky and uncertain. “Please. Don’t leave.”

Clark looks away, his jaw tight, fists clenched.

And then, like a wave crashing into you, this morning’s conversation replays in your mind—his rejection, the way he avoided your eyes, the hollowness in his voice when he said he didn’t feel the same.

“…Sorry,” you whisper, your voice cracking. “I… I didn’t mean to make this harder for you.”

You let go.

Hands falling to your sides, chest heavy. You can’t look at him now—not without shattering.

“I won’t tell anyone,” you say, blinking fast to keep the tears at bay. “I promise.”

Clark exhales, low and pained, like your words knocked the air out of him.

“That’s not what this is about.”

You look up.

And he finally meets your eyes.

“I trust you,” he says, voice barely above a whisper. “More than anyone.”

You open your mouth to speak, but nothing comes out.

“I just…” Clark trails off, rubs a hand over his face. “I thought I could protect you. From this. From me. I thought if I could keep my distance, you’d be safe. That you’d be okay.”

You stare at him, heart pounding.

“But I don’t think I can stay away.” He admits, “I couldn’t focus today because you didn’t answer my texts, didn’t call me back, and I… I don’t think I can live without you.”

“…So you pushed me away because I could be in danger?”

Clark nods, his hands reaching for yours and fiddling with it.

“And yet tonight you’re the one who saved me. I could’ve died if you weren’t there.” You squeeze his hand, and he lets you.

Clark exhales, leaning in until his forehead gently rests against yours. His eyes close like it’s the only moment of peace he’s had in days.

A soft smile forms on your lips as you thread your fingers through his, and he doesn’t pull away.

“So…” you murmur, teasingly light but trembling around the edges. “I take it you do like me?”

Clark chuckles, opening his eyes and gazing at you lovingly with his blue eyes.

“Like you?” he repeats, tilting your chin up. “Sweetheart, you’re everything to me.”

You reach up slowly, fingers brushing his jaw, and he leans into the touch like he’s starving for it.

Then he kisses you gently, his hand on your lower back, pulling you close to him, kissing you like you’re his anchor, like he might fall apart without you. You feel him breathe into it, into you, and the low, quiet sound he makes against your mouth sends a spark straight down your spine.

When he pulls away, he keeps his eyes closed, resting his forehead on yours again.

“You know, this is a lot of information in one night.” You let out a small laugh.

“If you let me change, I’ll explain everything.” He says.

You hum, letting your fingers trail down his chest. “I might need help showering. Sprained ankle and all…”

Clark groans, burying his face in your neck. He kisses his way up to your lips again, leaving sweet pecks like he can’t stop.

“Might need to get my mind off the pain.” You murmur against his lips.

“Yeah?” He grins, scooping you into his arms as he makes his way to the bathroom.

“I can think of a few ways to do that.”

[allmyn1ghts]

✷ · THE INTERVIEW NO ONE CAN EVER KNOW ABOUT || CLARK KENT

(yes, that one. the countertop one.)

MINI NOTE: i haven’t been normal since i saw that damn kitchen scene in theaters. the way clark looked in that white shirt?? the sleeves rolled up??? the fact that he cooked like it was his apartment?? it rewired something in me permanently. i haven’t stopped thinking about this scenario since. anyway. here u go. i am unwell <3

CW: 18+, smut! minors DNI. p in v, unprotected sex secret relationship, fake interview gone very unprofessional, kissing during the questions, no y/n.

It was nearly ten-thirty when your key turned in the lock.

You didn’t expect anything except silence, maybe the hum of the fridge, maybe your own reflection in the darkened kitchen window. But instead, you were hit with something entirely different: warmth, music, and the scent of garlic and tomato wafting from your kitchen like a love letter you hadn’t realized you’d needed.

Your heels clicked softly as you stepped inside, kicking them off by the door.

Your bag hit the floor next. Your coat followed, draped lazily on the back of a chair. Every part of you ached, your feet, your head, your shoulders…but then you turned the corner into the kitchen and saw him.

Clark.

Barefoot. Sleeves rolled up. Glasses slipping a little on the bridge of his nose. He was stirring something on the stove, and humming, actually humming, like some sort of domestic dream. His hair was slightly mussed, his expression relaxed, like this was his place too.

Because secretly, it was.

You leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, and said nothing.

He felt you before he saw you, like he always did. He turned slightly and looked at you with the kind of expression that pulled something deep and warm straight through your chest.

“There you are,” he said softly, like he hadn’t been checking for your heartbeat in the hallway two minutes earlier. “Long day?”

You gave a tired laugh. “You have no idea.”

He set the spoon down, turned off the burner, and crossed the kitchen in three steps. His arms wrapped around you instantly, warm and sure, and your forehead fell against his chest like you were exhaling for the first time all day.

“You cooked,” you murmured, muffled against him.

“I missed you.”

You looked up at him, fingers curling in the fabric of his shirt.

“I saw you on TV, you know. Saving a monorail full of kids in Berlin.”

He smiled. “Still missed you.”

God, that smile.

He leaned down and kissed you, soft and slow at first, like his lips were tasting the stress on yours and trying to replace it with something better. But there was something deeper beneath it, something familiar and lingering and dangerous, and the longer it lasted, the more you forgot the world outside your apartment even existed.

When he pulled back, his voice had dropped a little. “Come sit. Food’s almost ready.”

But you didn’t let go.

You leaned in, grinning against his throat. “Or you could lift me onto the counter like you always do.”

He laughed under his breath, that low, easy sound that made your stomach twist in the best way, and in the next second, you were in the air.

Strong hands under your thighs, your back settling against cool stone. His body slid between your knees, warm and solid, and the kiss that followed was hungrier, deeper.

You groaned, resting your head against the cabinet behind you.

“I had to spend two hours sitting across from Stern today while he chewed with his mouth open. Two hours, Clark.”

He chuckled, brushing his lips over your jaw. “Tragic.”

“And then my editor cut three paragraphs from my piece without telling me. I swear I’m going to—”

His mouth landed on your throat.

You gasped, words dissolving.

“Clark.”

“Mhm?”

“That’s not helping.”

“Yes it is,” he said, kissing lower. “It’s helping me.”

You let him distract you for a few more seconds before pulling back, reluctantly.

“Okay, but seriously?” you said, dragging your fingers lightly up the back of his neck. “You’re going to get caught.”

He blinked. “Caught doing what?”

“You’re always the one interviewing Superman,” you pointed out. “And it’s not subtle anymore. People are starting to talk.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You’re people?”

“I’m just saying,” you teased. “If I were Lois, I’d be suspicious.”

“Well,” he said, smile twitching at the corner of his mouth, “maybe it’s time you interviewed him instead.”

You laughed. “What, now?”

“Why not?”

“You want me to interview Superman in my kitchen?”

He stepped back slightly, and you saw the shift happen right before your eyes, the slight straightening of his shoulders, the confidence that came into his stance, the subtle intensity in his eyes as he slowly took off his glasses.

And just like that — there he was.

Superman.

You sat straighter on the counter, eyebrows raised.

“Okay then,” you said, grabbing your phone and opening the voice recorder. “Superman, thank you for joining me on such short notice.”

He folded his arms across his chest. “Always happy to speak with the press.”

You tried to keep a straight face as you cleared your throat. “First question. How do you manage to maintain your secret identity when you’re photographed almost every day?”

He gave a small smile. “People don’t see what they’re not looking for.”

“Mhm. And how do you explain your ongoing exclusive relationship with reporter Clark Kent?”

He stepped closer. “Let’s just say… I trust him.”

You bit your lip. “Seems awfully convenient.”

He tilted his head. “Are you accusing me of favoritism?”

“I’m just saying,” you murmured, as he stepped even closer, “if I didn’t know better…”

You were going to say more. You had your next question ready, something about accountability and transparency.

But he leaned in, lips brushing your cheek, and said, “Ask me question four.”

You opened your mouth, then paused as his hands came to rest on your thighs again slow, warm, certain.

“Question four,” you managed, “what—”

His mouth touched your neck.

You blinked. “What are your—Clark—”

“Not Clark right now,” he murmured, breath hot against your skin.

“Superman,” you corrected, trying to stay in character even as he kissed that sensitive spot just beneath your jaw. “What are your core values when it comes to—oh my god—international diplomacy…”

He grinned against your throat.

“You’re not playing fair,” you whispered.

He kissed your collarbone. “Neither are you.”

And then suddenly, he dropped to his knees.

Your breath caught.

His hands slid up your thighs, slow and reverent, pushing your skirt up as his eyes flicked to yours.

“Still recording?” he asked.

You reached behind you blindly, slamming your phone onto the counter and shutting it off.

“Good,” he said, and pulled you forward.

You gasped as his mouth pressed between your thighs hot, steady, unrelenting.

Your hands scrambled for balance, grasping the edge of the counter, then his hair.

“Clark—”

When he stood suddenly, your breathing was ragged, your thighs still twitching.

He kissed you, softly now, like an apology and a promise at once and then rested his forehead against yours.

“Still think my exclusives are suspicious?”

You couldn’t even glare. You just laughed breathlessly, pulled him closer, and whispered, “Shut up.”

His mouth crashed into yours. You gasped, and he swallowed the sound, one hand gripping your jaw, the other sliding up under your shirt.

He didn’t speak. Didn’t ask. Didn’t need to.

You wanted this.

You always did.

You tugged at his shirt, yanked it over his head — palms running over the solid heat of his chest.

His eyes flicked toward the bedroom.

You shook your head.

“Right here,” you whispered.

He growled softly. Kissed you again, teeth grazing your lower lip, hands dragging your shirt off, fingers skimming over your skin like he needed to feel every inch of you just to stay sane.

“Been thinking about this all day,” he said, voice low, gravelly.

You moaned.

He pulled your underwear down slowly, eyes never leaving yours.

“I come home to this,” he murmured, dragging his knuckles up your inner thigh. “And you expect me to take it slow?”

“Clark—”

“No,” he whispered, gripping your hips. “No more waiting.”

He didn’t.

He pressed into you with one smooth, deep thrust and your head fell back, a gasp tearing from your throat.

He didn’t move. Not yet.

Just held you there — full, stretched, his.

Then his mouth found your neck, your shoulder, your collarbone.

“Tell me you missed me,” he murmured.

“I missed you.”

“Tell me you need me.”

“I—God, Clark, I need you.”

That broke him.

He began to move.

Hard, slow thrusts. Deep enough to knock the air out of your lungs. His grip tight, your back arching off the counter with every roll of his hips.

Every time he pulled out, it was only to push back in harder — deeper — his breath hot against your ear.

“You’re mine,” he whispered. “You know that, right?”

You could barely nod.

His hand slid to your throat, gentle but firm — just enough to hold you still, to make you feel claimed.

“Say it.”

“I’m yours.”

He kissed you again, messy and hot, tongue sliding against yours, his hips grinding into you with a rhythm that made your whole body shudder.

“God, you feel so good,” he groaned. “I could stay inside you all night.”

You clenched around him, and he growled — thrust harder.

“You like that?” he breathed. “You like when I say shit like that?”

“Yes,” you moaned. “Yes—Clark—”

His name became a chant. A prayer. A scream muffled by his mouth.

He came first — deep inside you, pulsing, gasping against your neck.

But he didn’t stop.

He kept moving — slower now, hips still rolling — his fingers slipping between your legs until you came with a cry, body shaking in his arms.

You collapsed against him.

Both of you breathless. Sweating. Bruised in the best ways.

He didn’t pull out right away.

He stayed inside, kissing your cheek, your neck, your shoulder.

Then, gently — so gently — he lifted you off the counter and carried you to the bathroom.

Ran warm water.

Held you in the tub, his hands massaging your thighs, his lips soft against your temple.

You curled into him.

And for the first time all day — for the first time all week — he let himself relax.

Not Superman.

Not Clark Kent, reporter.

Just your man.

[allmyn1ghts]

HELPLESS

request - none

pairing - clark kent x fem!reader

summary - clark is whipped for his super attractive, confident girlfriend that's all , short & sweet again!!

warnings - whipped Clark, femme!fatale!reader almost, weak Clark (for reader), pure fluff, Clark loves his hot girlfriend

word count - 400+

masterlist dc masterlist clark kent masterlist

You never settled for less in life, you were danger wrapped in silk and strong wicked perfume.

The kind of woman who kisses with her eyes before her lips ever touch yours. Hair black. Skin bronzed and glowy. Voice like daggers.

Clark was doomed the moment you said his name any time

“Clark,” you purred now, looping your arms around his neck, tugging him down into your gravity. “You’re staring.”

“I always stare,” he murmured against your neck. “You’re just distracting..”

You tilted his chin at that exact moment with your fresh manicured hand at that. “Distracting, baby? I just walked in the room.” You say with a shrug.

“Exactly.”

You laughed – like it was low, and honey dipped a sound that made him weak in the knees. You always looked like a woman who made men beg, get on their knees, serve you like a queen. But the truth was? You only ever used your power on Clark. And God, it always worked.

He was sitting in his apartment, fresh from patrol, suit hidden under civilian layers – his hair tousled, glasses askew. You were lounging in his shirt and nothing else legs over his like you owned the world

You did, at least his world.

“I killed a man once.” You say casually reaching for the bottle of wine.

But Clark didn’t flinch. He heard it before – the stories, the blood, the sharp edge past you carried like perfume. He never judged you. But tonight, you were testing him. You always liked to prod the softest part of him – not out of cruelty, but curiosity. Could Clark ‘The Golden Boy’ Kent really handle a woman like you?

You leaned in brushing your lips past his pulse point.

“And you still love me?”

“I’ve fought gods sweetheart.” he paused, whispering. “None of them made me feel weak like this.”

Your brow arched leaning in. “Weak..?”

“Utterly.” His thumb brushed your bottom lip leading up to you cheekbone.

“You kissed him then – slow, deep, sensual. With all the confidence of a woman who knew what she could do to him. And Clark? He let you take the lead. He always did, even if it wasn’t just you and him.

Later you two were tangled in each other, his head between your thighs drunk off of one another, not the wine you had finished in 5 minutes. “Strongest man in the world,” you said softly, “and I’ve got you on your knees practically.” Clark didn’t say anything, just smiled, voice hoarse, his hand resting on your thigh.

“You always have.” He smiles kissing your inner thigh.

[allmyn1ghts]

Judex, Judicum, Infantem - Chapter 12

(Eventual)Reader x Matt Murdock x Frank Castle

previous chapter | next chapter | series masterlist | my masterlist

summary: You and Frank have a heart to heart about his past.

warnings: AFAB Reader. Pregnancy. No use of Y/N.

notes: Two chapters for you all this weekend since this was supposed to all be one chapter. Whoops.

w/c: 2,490

*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*

“You want some coffee?” you asked, quietly padding through the kitchen as you walked through your getting ready for bed routine.

Since Matt had left for the evening, you’d found yourself very much not tired. You were putting off going to bed as long as possible, trying to stay awake until he returned, just to make sure he was okay before turning in for the night.

“Nearly midnight, sweetheart. Ain’t it a little late for coffee?”

“Is it ever too late for you to have coffee, Frank?”

He scoffed with a grin, shaking his head at your comment.

“’Spose not.”

Putting the kettle on the stove, you impatiently tapped your fingers on the counter while glancing out the window hoping to catch a glimpse of the Devil. Clouds were rolling in quickly through the dark sky and the notion of rain began to concern you. What did Matt do when it rained? Or snowed? Or any other manner of unpleasant weather? Was the suit waterproof? Did he tough it out even in the extremes? Or would the skies opening up be the thing that brought him home to you early?

Would you ever get used to this? The worrying?

“Red’ll be fine. He knows what he’s doing.” Frank commented, noticing the way you stared out at the city

“I know. Doesn’t make me worry less, though.”

Frank shrugged and returned to reading your copy of Death of the Nile.

“Where’d that nickname come from, anyway? Red?” you asked

“First time I met him. On some rooftop in those stupid pajamas. Guess it stuck.”

The kettle whistled from the stove and you grabbed it quickly, fixing your tea and pouring the rest in the coffee maker. Once Frank’s mug was ready, you made your way to sit beside him on the sofa, setting both beverages on the coffee table.

You were happy that Frank was going to stay and be a part of your daughter’s life, but you still weren’t sure where the two of you stood with each other. It felt a little awkward, sitting beside him and trying to fill the silences without hating what the two of you had become.

Frank seemed unfazed by your presence, setting the book down and taking the coffee in his large hands, thank you with a grunt before bringing the warm liquid to his lips.

“So how’d you figure out it was Matt? Since you met him as Daredevil. Or did he tell you?” you asked

“Asshole was my lawyer. Running his mouth in court after getting me arrested in the costume. Not hard to put it together after that.”

“No, it’s not. All it took was one night saving me from a mugger in an alleyway and I knew it was him the moment he opened his mouth. He’s not exactly subtle is he?”

“No, he ain’t.”

“What was he your lawyer for?”

“Murder trial. After I went after the gangs that, um…”

He didn’t need to finish his sentence. You knew the rest of the story. Maybe things hadn’t really changed between you and Frank. Before you’d slept with him, he’d get like this too. The two of you would be having a perfectly normal conversation and then something undetectable would totally shift his mood. His eyes would go blank, like whatever innocuous thing you said dragged him back into the shadows of that night and he just wouldn’t be able to shake it off. Maria and the kids were still here, haunting him when he least expected it. He’d shut down and lock you out and then the next time you saw him, he’d be back to his usual gruff and sarcastic self.

You dropped the subject, content to sit together with him in the slightly uncomfortable silence. Your gaze remained fixed on the windows, jumping at every sound in case it was Matt landing back on the roof.

“He’s good, you know.” Frank said softly

“Who, Matt? I wouldn’t call lying to me good, but generally speaking I agree with you.”

If Frank had opinions on your relationship with Matt or how he’d been treating you lately, he was keeping them to himself. Biting his tongue and taking another sip of his coffee, he shrugged.

“He’s gonna be a good dad.” you conceded “So are you, Frank.”

“Think so? Don’t know if I did such a good job the first time around.”

“I know you don’t really talk about them much, but the little I’ve heard you tell me about them, it’s very clear you loved them a lot.”

“Loving your kid and being a good parent ain’t exactly the same thing.”

If Matt’s complex history with both his parents was anything to go off of, you knew that statement was absolutely true.

“Fair. What makes you think you weren’t?”

Frank hung his head, eyes cast downward as if he was watching the memories play out right before him. Swallowing deeply, his chest expanded as he took a sharp breath in, as if he needed to brace himself for what he was about to say.

“I had two families, yeah? I had Maria, I had the kids and I had my unit. I was a father and a husband, but I was also a Marine. And I loved being a Marine. Look, there were times, whether I wanna admit it or not, but I would've rather been neck deep in blood and bullets and shit and be with my unit than with my kids. And now they’re gone. That's something I gotta make peace with.”

“So now… is that gonna be the case now? There are gonna be nights when you’re happier bashing some guy’s skull in than being home with her?” you asked, cupping your bump

“I don’t know.” he replied softly “Look, there’s still a couple loose ends that need tyin’ up and I want to make sure none of my bullshit comes ‘round for her or you.”

“Right.”

“I’m gonna stay here a couple more days. Get in better shape. Then take care of that so it’s something we don’t have to worry about.” he continued

You chewed at your cheek as your eyes stared at the mark on his neck, the stitches still fresh and the vision of him laying lifeless on the floor not leaving you anytime soon. Wherever he got it from was clearly still a looming issue.

“How long will you be gone?” you asked

“As long as it takes.”

Frank must’ve clocked your apprehensiveness, unable to hide the tears welling in your eyes from the fear that he was just finding another excuse to disappear again.

“You good with that?”

“Do I have a choice?”

“No.” Frank said sternly, finally making himself meet your gaze. His eyes swam with all the pain and regret he held as he stared you down. “But, I gotta keep you both safe. I can’t— sweetheart. I can’t loose another person that I….”

Again, the unspoken reality of Frank’s past weighed heavily in the space between the two of you. He had lost everything once. You had only heard of the carnage he left in his wake after loosing his family the first time around, you knew he would fight to the death to prevent that from ever happening again. But it didn’t make the possibilities less scary.

“Bein’ a dad, it was the best damn thing I ever did. I don’t wanna make the same mistakes again. I ain’t gonna miss anything sweetheart. That’s a promise. I told Maria I was done and I meant it and I mean it with you. But I gotta take care of some things first.”

“Done?”

“You know Karen asked me once what it would take to quit choosin’ another war and find an after.” He reached out to you, gently running his thumb over your bump. His eyes still remained on yours. “Think I finally got an answer for her.”

You wanted to believe him, really. But Matt had already torn apart your trust and you weren’t sure stopping being the Punisher was something Frank could just do. At the same time, Frank had never been this open with you.

“You said you were going to keep a few of your hiding spots. That doesn’t feel very done.”

“Yeah, I know. I just— I think some of the shit I’ve done, there’s no escaping it fully. I need you to know that’s always gonna be a risk with me. But I’m gonna try my best to keep you and her safe always. Keeping a couple spots to stash you two if something happens is just good planning, even Red would agree.”

Heavy was the nauseous feeling sinking in the pit of your stomach as your brain began to run with all the real possibilities of danger that came with raising a child with two vigilantes. It was foolish to ever think you could live a version of life with Frank in it where there wasn’t the possibility of men lurking in the shadows in the forms of the enemies he’s made.

So even though he said he was done, he wasn’t. And even though he said he wasn’t going to leave you again, he was going out to finish his work and couldn’t tell you when he’d be back or where he’d be.

“Sweetheart, talk to me. Tell me what’s running through that pretty head of yours?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

Frank could hear the lack of faith in your tone as you stood and made your way back into the kitchen, depositing your mug in the sink. He followed behind you, eyeing you as you fidgeted with the faucet.

“Bullshit. We’re not doing this, baby. The not communicating shit. So talk.”

“I’m not your baby anymore, Frank!” you exclaimed, whipping around to face him “And that’s really fucking rich coming from the man who disappeared for months instead of communicating about his feelings!”

“I left to keep you safe. To keep you away from my bullshit! I told you, I can’t loose you too.”

“Is that really the excuse you’re going with? See, I think you left left because you’re too damn scared to feel any other emotion that isn’t anger or grief and when I was around you felt too fucking human so you ran away from it and buried it under that stupid fucking vest!”

“You’re goddamn right, I’m scared!” he shouted back

“Of loosing me or the baby, yeah I know.”

“Ain’t just that…”

He leaned against the counter of the island, head hung as he clasped his hands.

“Since I got here and Red told me about the baby,” his eye twitched as his voice became strained, brown eyes cast downward as he tried not to let any tears spill past “All I can hear is Lisa. You know, she had this little, squeaky voice for the longest time. It was the cutest shit. And you know she’d run into a room and just shout ‘Daddy, look I colored you a picture’ or ‘Daddy, I wanna go play outside’ or some shit.”

Would Frank ever tell you something about his family that didn’t absolutely shatter your heart?

“It’s just been playing on repeat in my head that sweet little voice calling me daddy and— it’s like I’m losing her all over.” Frank continued “I’m just worried once our little girl starts talkin’ she’s gonna sound just like that and every damn day, every little thing she does; I’m just gonna think of Lisa and Frankie instead of bein’ there with her.”

“You might. But I don’t think it’s a bad thing to keep thinking about them.” you reassured

“I just keep thinkin’, what if I mess this up? You know am I gonna be able to love her like I loved them or am I just gonna look at her and miss them and is that gonna mess her up? I’m scared I’m not gonna be enough for her.”

“I don’t think you will. I think you will love her just as much and that will be enough for her.”

He exhaled deeply, tongue darting out to wet his lips as he shook his head.

“Like I said, did a hell of a job the first time. Shit, I wasn’t even there when either of ‘em were born.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Got deployed when Maria was 7 months with Lisa, but they let me go on leave to come meet her when she was a few weeks old. And Frankie, I left right before he was born and didn’t even get to meet him until he was over a year.”

“Jesus, Frank.”

“Told you, I don’t want to miss anything. I’m gonna be right there in room while you’re pushing. Wanna be the first to hold her after you and Red.”

“I’m not sure I want you to see all that Frank. Might never look at me the same way again.”

“Nah sweetheart, still gonna think you’re just as beautiful.”

Letting out a scoff, you rolled your eyes and folded your arms across your chest, trying not to notice the way his stare lingered on you.

“I’m scared too, you know.” you spoke in a hushed tone “I’m scared that I’m gonna mess her up too. Like I’ll be a terrible mom.”

“I know that ain’t gonna happen.”

“No you don’t!” you argued back

“You really think so? Cause you’re so damn smart sweetheart. And you got the biggest fuckin’ heart. And you’re almost as stubborn as me. If she’s even a little like you, she’s gonna be perfect.”

Another thing that Matt and Frank both shared was their ability to see right through you and know just what to say. It fell silent between the two of you as the weight of his words settled in your chest.

With a shaky hand, you reached out, lightly tracing over the jagged stitches on his neck. He had changed so much in the months since you’d last seen him. Like time had taken him by the throat and thrown him into the river styx.

“Where did you go Frank?” you asked quietly

Frank dipped his head, leaning forward to fully catch your gaze. His hands stayed swinging at his sides, but out of the corner of your eye you caught the way his index and middle finger twitched.

“You should get some sleep. I’ll have Red check on you when he gets back.” he said, turning away and walking back towards the living room

Whatever moment you’d had with him faded away with a whoosh, back to the awkward silence of the night. You made your way down the hall towards the bedroom, unsure of what else to do. As you were about to shut the door, you looked back to where Frank sat, catching the way he fiddled with the chain on his neck, twirling the gold band between his index finger and thumb.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

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[allmyn1ghts]

AND TO ALL THE DUMB BITCHES WHO SAID THAT NAOMI WOULD BE THE ONLY ONE TO FAIL A CASH IN...

HOW YOU FEELING?!

PROCEED WITH MOTHERFUCKING CAUTION ⚠️

[allmyn1ghts]

not too loud

john walker x f!reader

summary: john is masturbating next to you, who he thought were sleeping, in a room with other people. you offer him help, telling him to finish in you instead. cw: smut, masturbating, borderline voyeurism, p in v, back scratching, creampie, no use of y/n wc: 1.8k

you and your teammates didn’t want to bother discussing sleeping arrangements after completing a hectic mission. you all booked this room to rest before a long drive back home.

as soon as the door to your motel room with two double beds swung open, alexei and bob had already claimed the bed near the windows. meanwhile ava, yelena, and bucky are assigned to a different mission.

here you are, sleeping next to john walker on a lumpy and cheap double bed, a barrier of only one layer of pillows between the two of you. your back is turned to him; you’d imagine what it’d be like facing him without the wall of pillows, so you just avoided even facing his direction. a form of self-control.

the motel isn’t fancy enough to give you another blanket when you called for it, so you’re sharing one with walker. you’ve got goosebumps from the cranky air conditioner and the hypotheticals of sharing a bed with a super soldier you’ve been crushing on for months.

the continuous and consistent sounds from the air conditioner are disturbed by a rhythmic noise, like soft skin slapping, emerging from your right. you brush it off, not wanting to move since the mission already took most of your energy.

after a few more seconds of the noise, the tiny space of the blanket you had was being tugged, the wall of pillows was shaking, and you occasionally heard soft grunts.

is walker jerking off?

you slowly sat up and looked over the wall of pillows. walker is tightly shutting his eyes and biting his lip, the shape of a fist outlining the thin white blanket right above where his crotch would be.

“john?”

he widens his eyes. his whole body is freezing, not just from the cold temperature but from the embarrassment.

he takes a brief moment to check whether you catching him masturbating in a room full of other people is a dream or not. it is not.

“hey… how long have you been awake?”

he inquires with a slight shake in his lowered voice, trying his best not to wake the two sleeping men on the other bed and not to let the shame shine through.

“i haven’t slept since we laid down.” “god damn it.” “you couldn’t do it in the bathroom?” 

you whisper-shout. at the same time, you’re fighting the urge to break the walls down, figuratively and literally, and relieve him of embarrassment and a hard-on.

“fuck. sorry. i'm really sorry. i didn’t wanna get up, and… it looked like you were in a deep sleep.” “unbelievable.”

you lie back down and cup your hot face with your cold hands. walker sits up and places his arm on top of the wall of pillows in a pathetic attempt to appear casual. “look, i was just… hard, and i couldn’t go to sleep so i had to… you know. relieve myself.” “you gonna finish?” “ha-ha. very funny.” he rolls his eyes and faces away from you. after hearing your silence, he turns his head back to you with concern.

“do it in me,”

you whisper as you raise yourself by your elbows. you look up at him through your eyelashes. he parts his lips and smirks, and releases a short sigh that sounds like a forced laugh.

“don’t mess with me like that.” “i’m not gonna jerk you off. i’m tired. i’m offering you help, john.” “so… you would rather i put my… my thing inside you?” “alright, john wanker. you can just jerk off by yourself until the sun comes up and find that useless instead.”

his mouth is left partly open, eyes glancing off to the side to think of a response. “otherwise, get on top of me,” you offer, swallowing your shame. his blue orbs scan your face, looking for a confirmation that you wanted it as if you didn’t already ask him to get on top of you. his eyes then slowly travel to your neck and cleavage, revealed by the blanket that slid off when you got up. 

“are you sure?” “i’m sure. i’m your friend, and i want to help you.” “we must be a special case of friends, then.”

he breaks down the wall of pillows, a symbolic emotional and physical barrier the both of you have yet to discuss properly. you lie on your back and put your arms to your sides. your chest heaves, struggling to hold back your shivering fingers and arms from the cold temperature and adrenaline.

the careful but quick movements from the walker against the bedsheets emit rustling sounds, good enough not to wake your roommates. he hurriedly tosses the pillows to the edges of the bed, eager to hover above you under the shared blanket.

he brackets your flushed face in his elbows, face only an inch away from yours. he tugs on the hem of your shorts, like permission to take it off. you accept it by helping him slide it down your legs, the shorts sliding off along with your laced panties. you slowly lift your legs up and apart, allowing his already half-naked bottom half to go in between. 

“you ready?” he asks in a whisper. you nod, and he holds eye contact.

you both gasp as he slowly pushes his cock into you, your walls welcoming it by hugging it. the feeling of being full of him meets and somewhat surpasses your dirty expectations of his cock.

“fuck, you’re so warm.” he quietly moans in your ear, his shaky breath tickling you. your hands grip the ball of his shoulders, releasing your pent-up sexual frustration all these weeks from waiting for this very position.

he silently waits for you to adjust to his size and for him to adapt to the amount of pleasure he has been trying to reach by himself. you plant a peck on his ear, which tells him he can begin moving.

he gently rocks his hips into your pussy. you bite your lip to suppress moans. your swollen pink lips that look sugar-glazed tempt walker; he knows the moment he gives in to his temptations, nothing will be the same ever again.

a super soldier can lift a ten-ton truck, but even john walker struggles to fight the urge to kiss you like you and him belonged to only each other. you mentioned you’re his friend like setting the label in stone.

he was afraid to cross that line by kissing you. he places a hand under your knee to lift it.

“john…”

you cup his face with your hands as he gently grinded onto you. his big and hard cock contrasts his gentle movements. how can a man who could destroy you fuck you so lovingly?

“you like this?” he asks. “i do."

his lips now only a few centimeters away from yours.

“you want more?” “i want more,” you admit as you fling your arms around his neck. your walls squeeze tighter around his cock at the sound of his low voice.

he began to quicken his pace and amplify the strength of each thrust. before you could release a moan and wake up your roommates, he shuts your mouth with a hand.

“not too loud."

he slides the other hand under your back, encouraging a bigger arch by pulling you closer to his body as if it isn’t close enough. your hips bucked so eagerly against his cock, making him want to ruin you more. your saliva wets his hand, but he doesn’t care. he’d jerk off with that hand.

a knot ties in your stomach. your hands travel to his back. your nails dig deep into his skin right under his broad shoulders, like an act of revenge for shutting you up.

several long red marks are left on his skin, following your nails as you scratch his back until you reach the sides of his ribs. he groans in pain and pleasure while still attempting to make sounds in the lowest volume possible.

it feels impossible. the soft skin slapping emerging from between your legs, the heavy breathing, the frustration in each thrust, the wish to fuck loudly, and the two clueless sleeping men make the sex feel impossible. but it’s happening. you don’t know how, but you’re leaving it all to walker.

he buries his face into the crook of your neck, and your fingers into his dirty blonde hair. his other hand joins the one under your back, putting the two of you in a hugging position. the pillows start to slide off the bed one by one as walker’s pace quickens.

“m’so close, princess. taking it so good for me," he manages to say in between his frustrated thrusts.

“feels so good, john,” you whisper, bringing him closer to climax. you feel your pussy squeeze tighter around his cock, pulsating as deep and fast as your heartbeat.

“yeah?” he moans into your ear, waiting for another praise. you look to your right to see alexei and bob still sleeping amidst the debauchery on your bed. alexei’s snoring was a signal for you to keep riling up walker.

“you fuck so good," you moan. you lock your legs around his hips. he hugs your back tighter. you shut your eyes as they rolled back, preparing for the climax.

even though you can only see stars now, your visualization of the mess down there from your slick is accurate.

walker slams his hips onto you harder, fucking into you until he can feel your womb. with each thrust becoming increasingly inconsistent, you could tell he was near.

“fuck— right there.”

he presses his lips against yours, breaking the unspoken rule; you're not allowed to kiss because you’re just “friends.”

he thrusts into you deeply, filling you up with his cum. you arrive at the same time, knuckles turning white as you desperately cling onto the white sheets. all you can do now is cover your mouth with the other hand as walker buries his groans between your neck and your pillow.

he thrusts into you one last time, this being the deepest. you both lay there with inconsistent and heavy exhales, staring into nothing as you process what happened in 7 minutes.

the hug you were giving each other loosens. he props himself up on his elbow, the other hand on your waist. he looks into your eyes before turning his head slightly to the side and kissing you slowly. he briefly separates his lips from yours, leaving yours slightly parted. “show me your tongue,” he whispers.

as soon as he sees the pink flesh in between your teeth, he joins his tongue with yours and presses his lips against yours. his tongue softly caresses yours, both gentle and hungry for more while still inside of you.

“you wanna take this to the car?”

[allmyn1ghts]

Judex, Judicum, Infantem - Chapter 11

(Eventual)Reader x Matt Murdock x Frank Castle

previous chapter | next chapter | series masterlist | my masterlist

summary: The three of you finally start to discuss what life will look like going forward.

warnings: AFAB Reader. Pregnancy. No use of Y/N.

notes: This one is shorter than I wanted, but it's been ages since I've gotten anything up and I just wanted to give you guys something! I've just been stupid busy lately. There's a whole 'nother section that was supposed to be part of this chapter but will have to come in the next chapter because I just have not had the time to do anything but jot down quick thoughts but not really dig in a write and edit. So sorry! I promise I'll try and get more up soon!

w/c: 2,722

*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*

“Still think Francine is a cute name.”

“Oh my god, Frank. No.” Matt scoffed

“Is this really the priority right now?!” you questioned

Frank simply shrugged.

The three of you sat around the kitchen island still, sun now long disappeared over the horizon. Bouts of uncomfortable silence settled between the three of you since you’d arrived home and you’d done your best not to fill the voids of awkwardness with babbling useless jargon as you usually did. You were doing okay. You thought.

You’d spent the last hour or so recapping how you found out about your pregnancy and all the milestones and appointments Frank missed, wanting to make sure all three of you were up to speed and on the same page before digging into all the stuff you desperately wanted to avoid hashing out.

As you swiveled back on forth on the bar stool, leaning lazily on the island of the kitchen with one hand supporting your head, you could tell Matt was debating if he wanted to say something or not. He’d been oddly quiet all evening despite the way he fidgeted and chewed on his lip. He even did the dishes without a word while you gave Frank the recap.

Matt could taste the blood in his mouth, all coppery and tart as he bit into the side of his cheek. He’d hidden himself behind his glasses since you’d come home, using his armor of crimson used to shield himself anytime he couldn’t hide his soul behind the horned mask. As if you couldn’t already see right through him; feelings painted all over him in the way he teetered between each of his feet, rocking on the balls of them as he stood across from you behind the counter.

Frank was no better. Never one for many words or digging into the difficult feelings of being human, his eyes remained downward into his beer bottle, for fear of what your eyes might tell him if he dared look into them. To see the hurt and pain he caused by disappearing was more than his broken body could handle. So they both silenced their words and let you speak, behaving like two children being sent to the principles office and getting scolded.

“Matthew…” you goaded

He sighed deeply, taking a big gulp of his whiskey before speaking. The way the ice cubes clinked and clanked against the side of the glass felt like a thousand needles in your ear drums as Matt absentmindedly swished the glass around. Pregnancy had certainly heightened all your senses and made every bit of overstimulation that much more irritating. You might’ve felt bad that this was how Matt lived his life every day, constantly aware of every noise and smell, if you weren’t so damn pissed off at him still. The way Frank gulped after every swig he took of his beer certainly also wasn’t helping the situation.

The “shit they were doing to piss you off” list was getting longer; having to add them drinking right in your face when you couldn’t relatively low to the growing catalogue of things to be discussed. It wasn’t fair to you at all considering they were at fault for knocking you up in the first place.

“Frank and I were talking while you were out.” Matt almost stuttered

“Oh goody, can’t wait to hear what you two argued about.”

His nervousness etched on his face with a crumpled brow and a thick lick of his lips.

“We didn’t— we just…” another hearty sighed escaped from him. He shook his head to gather his thoughts “I was just— we were just thinking. If you want some space— from either of us. I mean, if you don’t want to be together—”

“I’m not breaking up with you Matthew.” you assured, annoyed that he would even suggest it

“Right.” he nodded, trying to hide the relief in his voice as it washed over him like an aloe salve

“But you lied to me. And you need to do some serious work to regain my trust.”

“How? I— I’ll do anything.”

“I don’t think that’s really fair for me to decide. You get to hurt me and put the onus on me to fix it?”

“Right.”

More silence filled the room. Despite how drafty and large the apartment was, it might as well have been a broiler with how stuffy it felt.

“I’m already really overwhelmed— you know thinking of all the shit that needs done before this baby comes. I really don’t have time to gentle parent you into being a decent partner.”

“What all is overwhelming you, baby?” Matt asked, voice staying soft despite how venomous your attitude remained, taking his verbal beating like the champ his daddy raised him to be.

“Well, we’ve got to figure this shit out.” you gestured between the three of you “We haven’t even looked at nursery furniture yet and Colleen is hounding me for a registry list. And then there’s parenting styles, sleep schedules, feeding habits— not to mention how Frank is going to fit into all of this now that he’s back and I assume still wanting to stay, despite the fucking circus we’ve got here.”

Frank nodded gently.

“Plus, the New York daycare scene is brutal. We should have been applying weeks ago. We haven’t talked about that either, what our childcare plan is once she’s here.”

“Okay. Okay.” Matt resigned, throwing a hand up “Let’s tackle one thing at a time.”

“Oh, and I still haven’t met your mom which feels like it would have been an easier thing to do before I was popped like a blimp and the other baby daddy showed up. How you gonna explain that to her, huh? ‘This is my girlfriend and yeah she’s got a kid in there; might be his, might be mine, who knows she just couldn’t keep her legs closed?”

“Really?!” Matt interjected with a raised voice just as Frank shouted out a “Woah!”

“She does that shit for you too, huh, Red?” Frank asked

“The little comments to get you to argue with her? Yeah, I fucking hate it when she does that.”

“Yeah, but you let her.”

“How am I supposed to stop her? What, you want me to duct tape her mouth shut?”

“Ain’t saying that, just saying—”

“Guys!” you interrupted just as Frank stood to try and get in Matt’s face “As kinky and fun as that sounds, not the fucking point right now!”

The way Frank looked you up and down nearly broke you. Every time you downplayed yourself, both of them were unhappy; but Frank— you might as well have kicked a puppy in front of him with how downtrodden his eyes looked. He dipped his head as he returned to his seat beside you, running a comforting hand against your arm as he did.

You couldn’t help but smirk at the way Matt’s knuckles turned white against his glass at the simple gesture. You weren’t sure when you’d be over this; when you’d be done punishing him for the lies. But not any time soon.

“Just to be clear — Matthew, you said you didn’t want a paternity test back when I first told you I was pregnant. Is that still the case?”

“Yes.”

“And Frank? You said you didn’t want one either. That still good with you?”

“Yeah.”

“Great, so we’re gonna Mamma Mia it.”

“Only if I get to be Pierce Brosnan.” Frank said, sarcastically

“You know that movie?” you asked

“I used to be fun.”

Picturing Frank doing something as normal as seeing a movie, much less a light-hearted movie musical, was difficult to do. You knew Matt wasn’t big on movies, audio descriptions for most lacking any reliability to actually help him picture whatever was going on. But Frank didn’t seem like the type either. You were more used to seeing him with a worn paper back in his hands, looking like an ancient Greek philosopher deep in study with his sturdy brow crumpled as his glossy eyes scanned each word with intent.

You had to imagine Maria had dragged him to see it when it was in theaters, knowing it wouldn’t have been his first pick to see voluntarily. You’d only ever seen this version of Frank, war-torn and grief driven, living in the shadows and only existing for whatever self-imposed mission was next. It felt incorrect to think of him doing something as normal as going on a date with his wife to the movies.

The thought filled you with indescribable joy though, hoping that maybe raising your daughter would keep dragging Frank back into the light and you’d get to see more of those glimmers of normalcy.

Shit, maybe if life got stable enough, you could even convince both of them to see a Broadway show some time. That’d be a sight; a lady with a baby and her blind lawyer boyfriend their retired Marine, all beefy and broad-shouldered squished in the old, tiny seats that filled the theatres just a few blocks east of here, all the while everyone around him singing and clapping.

The laughter that bubbled up at the thought of Frank in that scenario was warm, a much needed reprieve from the seriousness of the discussion you were currently having. Frank let out a dry chuckle himself, fondly thinking back to who he used to be. And Matt couldn’t help but join in the laughter as well, overall demeanor growing lighter each second. The three of you around the kitchen island, sharing giggles together, it was the first time you felt comfortable and safe since Frank had returned.

“It’s gonna make deciding who goes on the birth certificate harder, that’s for sure.” you replied still chuckling

“He is.” Frank spoke decidedly, nodding toward Matt

“No, Frank— we can talk about it more.” Matt interjected

The fact that Matt was even willing to discuss the subject more and not immediately take the opportunity to subtly mark his territory by being the one on the baby’s birth certificate shocked you. Maybe he was just trying to get back on your good side via playing nice with Frank.

“Nothin’ to talk about. My name poppin’ up on anything— ain’t exactly the kind of attention we want.” Frank explained, the crestfallen expression on his face apparent despite his attempt to hide it with a large drink of his beer

“Frank, I do recall as your legal counsel that you received a presidential pardon for uncovering a major conspiracy in Kandahar. If you’re worried about any legal entities finding you, they don’t really have grounds to now.”

“They do. Come on Red, you know I’ve done a lot of shit since then that could get me put away. Think I’m out of favors with my friends at the CIA too. Besides, I still got a lot of enemies out there, so it’s best if we keep my name as far away from our daughter’s as possible.”

“What about the fake passport you have?” you asked

“No.” Matt shook his head “Peter Castiglione isn’t real. That could cause issues down the line for all of us legally if that name goes on her birth certificate.”

“Frank—” you pushed back

“Look, I’m gonna be here in her life and that’s enough for me. Red can handle all the legal shit. So quit arguin’. Both of you.”

“Not like that’s what I do for a living or anything…” Matt mumbled under his breath

“Would you at least feel comfortable living with us once she’s born? Or would that also be a bad idea? I’d like as many hands on deck with a newborn, but I also don’t want to risk her safety.”

You ignored the way Matt grimaced at your request and instead focused on Frank. His eyes finally flickered up to meet yours, rich maple twinkling with how moved he was by the question.

“I think, keeping some of my safe houses ain’t a bad idea if I need to lay low every once in a while. But yeah, I want to live here. With her.”

The words “And with you” hung silently, implied in the space between his words and his exhale. The way his tongue slipped out, wetting his mouth quickly while he looked you up and down, you swore you heard him whisper it. But you know he didn’t based on the lack of reaction from Mr. Bat Ears across from you.

Safe houses. Laying low.

No matter how many things you got worked out about sharing your daughter’s life with each of these men, there would always be the one thing waiting to destroy any happiness you could build: Daredevil and The Punisher.

That answered the question you’d been avoiding— Frank wasn’t going to quit. Based on the argument you’d had last night with Matt, it didn’t seem like he was going to either.

You couldn’t ask either of them to; it was crucial to the core of who each of them were and you didn’t want to take that away from them.

Every time you thought about it though, the fear gripped you like vines overgrowing and choking a flower. Either of them getting caught would land them in prison and out of your daughters life. No matter what age she was that king of turmoil would irreparably wound both you and her. Heaven forbid if one of them died while out. You couldn’t bare to even think of it.

“Matthew, you clearly have something to say.”

“We’re gonna need a bigger apartment.” Matt responded, clipped and cold tone indicating he was not happy about the arrangement, but also avoiding speaking his true feelings to prevent another argument

“Ain’t gotta do that. I can make do on the couch.” Frank argued

“Francis, this is a non-negotiable.” you ordered “The couch is fine while you heal, but yeah. You’ll need a room and a decent bed for the long term. So, bigger apartment it is.”

“Okay.”

His acquiescence provided you with a small sense of relief, filling in the hollow spaces left from the stress of the past day. The limited sleep you got this morning was finally starting to catch up to you as the amber glow from the pendants in the kitchen lulled you further into exhaustion.

The thought of moving again so soon after packing up your life into boxes once was daunting. Not to mention navigating the awkwardness of the arrangement— Frank having to watch every day as you and Matt carried on like the happy couple you were (or were hopefully going to get back to.) Agreeing on how all three of you wanted to parent your daughter as she grew up and having to explain it all to her would be tricky to navigate too.

Trying not to give into the overwhelm of everything there still was to figure out, you laid your head on the counter. The stone slab was cool against your skin and almost energized you enough to keep talking until dawn.

“You should get to bed soon, sweetheart.” Matt commented softly

“We all should.” you hummed in agreement

“About that...” Matt sighed

You lifted your head in a rush, tiredness melting away as you watched the way Matt tilted his head downward and pursed his lips.

“What?”

“For the sake of honesty—”

“You’re going back out tonight.”

Matt nodded, flinching slightly as you leaned forward just in case you were ready to throw anything else his way.

“Why?

“Angela.”

“What happened last night?”

“She’s okay.” Matt reassured “But the thing Hector was investigating? There’s a serial killer out there. I mean you know, other than Frank.”

Dread washed over you at his words. Great, another person out there to be a danger to your child. Was the world always this scary or did it suddenly get worse now that this little life was going to enter it soon?

Frank cleared his throat, obviously annoyed by Matt’s little jab.

“When were you going to tell me this?” you asked

“Well, I really haven’t had the time between making sure Frank didn’t die on our couch and having a toaster thrown at my head.”

“I could’ve done worse, Murdock.”

“I know.”

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Tag list: @xxdrixx @a-leg-without-fear @echo-ethe @capswife @xoxabs88xox @allmyn1ghts @laaadygisbooornex3 @ninacotte @uncertified-doc @moth-murdock @danzer8705 @endofthelinegang @buckyssugarchick @hellskitchenswhore @pixviee @themikkapika @bisexualbith @labellapeaky @theoraekenslover @sexyvixen7 @tanyaherondale @marysucks-blog @0callme-mimi @aesthetic0cherryblossom @lokifae42 @plutosbearr @kneelforloki @uselessnewt @its-in-the-woods

[allmyn1ghts]

practice

john walker x ex widow!reader

"Was that your first kiss since your divorce?"

"That bad, huh?"

"I didn't say that."

word count: 4.2k

author's note: imagine the conversation between steve and nat in the winter soldier but make it reader and walker 🤭

warnings/tags: 18+ only, kissing and suggestiveness, sensuality, tension, bickering, canon level violence, undercover couple trope, no use of y/n

“I swear to God, Walker. You're making this so obvious. Stop staring.”

You kick his shin beneath the table where you sit across him. The two of you are nestled in the corner of the overcrowded room full of party-goers, trying your best to remain inconspicuous.

You're trying your hardest to remain inconspicuous. Your partner, on the other hand, has been ogling the target from across the room for the last half hour.

He shoots daggers at you with his eyes. “Oh, I'm sorry,” he spits under his breath. “Is that not what I’m supposed to be doing? Keeping an eye on the target?”

“There’s a difference between keeping an eye on someone and eye-fucking them,” you hiss.

Walker scoffs, rolling his eyes. “I’m not eye-fucking him. Jesus. We don’t all have backgrounds as highly trained spies, you know.”

Maybe you’re being a little too harsh on him. This is his first true undercover operation since the formation of The New Avengers. He’s a soldier, after all – not a spy. It's no secret that he hadn’t exactly been jumping at the bits to put on a fancy suit and pretend to be your date tonight, but at least he’s kept his bitching and moaning to a minimum.

Despite his little staring problem, he’s otherwise played his part well. Touchy enough for it to be believable that you’re here as each other’s dates, but not too touchy. An arm around your shoulder here, a light hand on your waist there. Hesitant, and a little awkward, but you’re the only one who notices – everyone else here is too busy stroking each other’s dicks to read into your forced public displays of affection.

You lean over the small table, taking his hand in yours in an effort to play your part. “Just glance in his direction regularly,” you advise lowly. “We aren't here to analyze his every movement. Until he goes to meet the seller, we can relax.”

Which is exactly what you’ve been doing since you first arrived at the estate this evening. Mingling, sipping on mocktails to keep up appearances, just trying to blend in while keeping watch on the man that you’d been tasked to spy on.

This entire party is supposedly a cover for the owner of the estate to meet up with a vibranium arms dealer – based off of the limited information Valentina had provided, the owner of the estate, Alexander Sokolov, had arranged for a meeting with a vibranium arms dealer to take place here tonight. Your and Walker’s objective – wait for Sokolov to excuse himself from the party, follow him, and eavesdrop. Valentina wants you to find out who this dealer is and when this deal will go down.

To sum it up, you’re only here for intel. As long as things go according to plan, there should be no reason for either of you to get your hands dirty tonight.

“I’m just a little on edge. I’m not used to missions looking like… this.” He nods down at where your hand holds his, and then vaguely gestures with his free hand to your surroundings – the grand piano in the corner of the room, the full service bar, the extravagant décor and all of the ridiculously rich assholes in attendance.

His lack of experience in this area is exactly where you come in, you suppose. Undercover ops, taking on someone else’s identity – you’ve been there, done that more times than you can count. It’s second nature to you.

Normally, you’d be right in your element. But this – holding hands, soft touches, close whispers, exaggerated longing looks with a teammate, a partner, someone that you actually care about – is brand new territory.

You’re just a little better at hiding it than he is, is all.

“Just look at me more than you look at him,” you suggest lightly. “Like it or not, I am your date.”

He snorts a laugh, then lifts his drink to his face in an effort to conceal the light blush on his cheeks. “I’m a bit out of practice, I guess. I haven’t been on a date since—”

“He’s leaving,” you interrupt him, your eyes trailing after Sokolov as he struts to the opposite side of the room. You stand up, not dropping Walker’s hand. He follows your lead, rising from his seat.

He's been a little unsure of himself so far this evening, so it surprises you when he puts his hand on the small of your back and begins to guide you across the floor. No one seems to notice that Sokolov exits the room, except for a security guard that follows him when he exits.

“Remember,” you murmur as you make you way through the throng of people, “If anyone asks where we are going, we are just looking for the bathrooms.”

“The bathrooms are in the opposite direction. There’s only about a dozen signs for them,” he hisses under his breath.

“Well, we better not get caught, then,” you retort through gritted teeth as you poke him in the side with a saccharine smile, just in case anyone is looking your way.

He responds with an exaggerated laugh that earns glances from a group of older women congregated by the door that Sokolov had just walked through moments before.

“Smooth,” you grunt as soon as the two of you are out of ear shot of the other guests. Sokolov and the guard turn left as they reach the end of the long corridor, leaving it vacant except for you and Walker.

As silently as possible, you both follow them, unsure of exactly where they are headed within the mansion. You assume a private room; an office or a study – but then they exit the house completely through a door on the opposite side of the house from the party.

You peak out of a window as Walker stands obnoxiously close to your backside. You’re unsure if it’s due to nerves or general lack of spatial awareness, but you bite your tongue and focus on the scene at hand.

It's dark outside, but there’s enough flood and path lights to see that Sokolov and his guard are standing in the middle of an extravagant courtyard garden. A moment later, a third man appears from an entryway on the west side of the courtyard. You don’t recognize him as a guest of the party, but Sokolov obviously knows him well by the way he greets him with a chummy grin and enthusiastic handshake.

“Any idea who he is?” You whisper to Walker.

“Not a clue,” he grunts lowly, close enough that you feel the vibration of his chest against your back. “How should we proceed?”

It takes you by surprise that he asks for your direction. It goes against Walker’s nature to take orders from anyone, and being the shoot first, ask questions later kind of guy that he usually is, you halfway expected him to forget that you're only here for intel and charge at the guy on sight.

“Can you hear anything that they're saying? Read their lips?” You ask hopefully, glancing around dark room - an open floor kitchen and dining room – to brainstorm. Your regular human hearing and eyesight can’t make out the first word from inside the house, but you hold out hope knowing that the super soldier serum that courses through Walker’s veins heightens his senses.

“No,” he sighs. “They’re too far away, their voices are mumbled.”

If the two of you were to attempt to exit out of the same door they did, you’d be spotted right away. But to your right, on the other side of the dining room, there’s a sliding glass door. If you can ease it open, you'll be able to sneak outside and listen from behind the exterior wall of the house.

Walker follows your gaze, noticing the door and realizing what you’re thinking without you needing to say a word. You walk as quietly and quickly as you can manage in your heels, flipping the lock to the door and slowly easing it open until the there's a big enough opening for Walker’s large frame to squeeze through. It creaks a bit, but Sokolov and the seller keep talking, oblivious to your presence.

Right at the edge of the house, there’s a large potted plant that helps to conceal you both. You stand the closest to the plant, with Walker right behind you, still close enough for his chest to brush against your back. You listen in silence, waiting for Sokolov or the seller to mention anything of value. They talk lowly – still too quiet for you to make much out other than a random word here and there.

“Next weekend,” Walker whispers next to your ear. “Deal’s going down next Saturday night. Over two million in vibranium weapons.”

“Have they said where?” you whisper back. “What about a name? We need to get an ID on this guy.”

He shakes his head, exhaling in frustration.

Goddammit. They aren’t making your jobs easy.

You open your clutch, reaching inside to retrieve your cell phone. If you could just part the branches and leaves on this plant enough, you could zoom in to at least get a photograph of the seller’s face to run through facial recognition programs…

“Shit, shit, fuck—”

As you’re trying to zip the clutch closed so that nothing falls out of it, you lose your grip on your cell phone and it falls out of your hand, onto the cement pavement at your feet. It makes a loud enough noise to cause both you and Walker to freeze.

Sokolov and the seller both go silent. There’s no way they didn’t hear that.

“Let’s go—”

“No time to run,” Walker cuts you off.

“Who is there?” Sokolov’s voice booms from a few yards away. “Show yourselves!”

Their footsteps grow louder as they walk towards your and Walker’s hiding spot. You have maybe five seconds to think of a game plan that doesn’t involve shooting your way out of this –

“Don’t kick me in the dick for what I’m about to do,” Walker mumbles, shaking his head.

You open your mouth to ask him what he’s talking about when he maneuvers you up against the side of the house. Your back collides against the wall, and his large hands caress the sides of your stomach. You gasp in surprise, but the noise is muffled by his lips capturing yours.

Oh. So this is the game plan, then.

You run with it, knowing there’s no time to flee or think of any plausible explanation as to why the two of you are so far away from the party, in an off-limits part of the estate.

Your hands instinctively fly to his head, your fingers weaving through the short tufts of his blond hair. It’s rushed and messy, his tongue dancing with yours for dominance. For a split-second, you forget where you are and why this is happening. There’s no fear or worry at the fact that you’re seconds away from being caught – there’s only the scruff of his beard tickling your jaw, the musky scent of his cologne that infiltrates your senses, and an undeniable heat between your legs.

His movements are uncertain yet enthusiastic – you’re sure it’s due to the rather unusual predicament that you’ve found yourselves in, but there’s a part of you that wonders if the kiss would be the same under different circumstances.

You can hear voices yelling at you, masculine and angry, but you can’t make out what they are saying over the deafening rush of blood in your ears. Walker pulls away with a low groan that snaps you back to reality.

There’s a small voice in the back of your mind scolding you for actually enjoying that, but you’ll have to process that later. When you're far the fuck away from here and Walker isn’t still gripping your hips like a lifeline. Your eyes meet for the briefest of moments, just long enough for you to see his dilated pupils and then kiss swollen lips before the gravity of the situation sets in.

“Can you two not fucking hear?” Sokolov yells. “I said who the fuck are you and what are you doing here? This area is off-limits to guests!”

Sokolov and the seller both stand several feet behind Sokolov’s security guard, who has a Glock 17 pointed right at the two of you. You recognize the pistol right away – its little sister, Glock 19, is concealed in your clutch.

“Oh!” You exclaim, feigning shock and embarrassment. You smooth down your dress where Walker’s hold had bunched up the fabric, and then wrap your arms around his bicep as the two of you turn to face the three men. “We’re so sorry. We were on our way back to our car when we saw the garden and just couldn’t help ourselves—”

“Right,” Walker agrees, nodding a bit too enthusiastically. “We apologize. We just lost track of time. We’ll be going—”

“You’re not going anywhere,” Sokolov barks. “I asked you a question. Who the fuck are you?”

You feel him tense beneath your hold on his arm. You give him a reassuring squeeze as if to say don’t escalate. Before you can attempt to bullshit Sokolov further with your undercover names, the seller steps forward with a look of apprehension.

“I recognize you,” the older, paunchy looking man grunts at Walker. “I’ve seen you somewhere. What's your name?”

You glance up at your partner to see that he looks like a deer in the headlights. It takes you back to the time you had first met him – when you’d been tasked with killing him, only to join forces with him, Yelena, Ava, and Bob in an effort to escape the warehouse facility Valentina had sent you all to burn alive in. During the attempt to steal a Humvee while in disguise, you had been asked to identify yourselves.

Walker’s response to that demand had been “no”.

Perhaps lying under pressure isn’t his strong suit.

“My name is Isobel Callaway, and this is my date, Mason Aldridge,” you answer when Walker hesitates for an awkward amount of time. “I have our invitations right here, if you’d like to see—”

“He wasn't talking to you,” Sokolov snaps. It takes everything in you to not pull your pistol from your clutch and end this all right here and now, but if Walker can manage to keep a level head, then so can you.

“No, he’s right,” Sokolov muses, stepping forward to take a closer look at Walker. His lips contort into a sinister smile. “I know you. You’re that knock-off Captain America. Well, you were. What the fuck are you doing creeping around my property?”

Another brief moment of awkward silence, and then Walker lunges forward, wrapping his hand around the barrel of the security guard’s pistol. The guard fires a shot, but Walker easily overpowers him in strength and the bullet goes flying towards the night sky. Within seconds, Walker takes the gun and sends the guard flying backwards from a mere punch to the sternum.

Walker grabs you by the arm as Sokolov and the seller both start scrambling to retrieve their own firearms from the their coat pockets. You run as fast as you can to keep up with Walker as he all but hauls you across the courtyard, all while internally cursing the fact that you’d chosen to wear the pointiest stiletto heels that you own.

Both men fire a series of bullets in your general direction, but they only succeed in hitting Sokolov’s garden statues. Right as the parking lot comes into view, you see several more guards running towards you and Walker from the opposite direction. You scramble to retrieve the car keys from your clutch, tossing them to Walker as you dive into the passenger seat. He wastes no time throwing the car into reverse, speeding away from the estate as dozens of bullets bounce off the vehicle’s bulletproof windows.

“Damn it,” you breathe. Adrenaline courses through you as you try to catch your breath. The security guards and the estate grow smaller and smaller in the rearview mirror. “That was a bust. Val is gonna be so pissed at me. And I left my phone. That phone was brand new, too…”

“Who gives a shit about Val,” Walker grunts in what sounds like discomfort. “We’ll tell her that the seller never showed and Sokolov spent the evening getting shit-faced off of his expensive bourbon collection.”

His response takes you by surprise – you had been bracing yourself for him to bitch you out for dropping your cell phone and biffing the entire operation. You side-eye him, noticing that his face is contorted into a grimace.

“You good?” you ask, angling your body to get a better look at him. It’s too dark to see him very well, but judging by his facial expression, he’s in some sort of pain.

“Yeah,” he hisses, removing one hand from the steering wheel to turn the car’s interior light on. “I’ll be fine, just got graz—”

“Holy shit, John!”

He pulls back the right side of his coat, revealing his white button-up shirt to be dyed bright crimson across his abdomen. He yanks the fabric upwards, revealing a bloody gash where a bullet had skimmed his right side.

“We need to get somewhere safe,” you tell him, trying not to panic. It doesn’t appear to be too deep, but he’s already bled quite a bit. It needs to at least be cleaned and dressed, if nothing else. “You need to apply pressure to that. There’s a first aid kit in the trunk—”

“I’m fine,” he interrupts you. “The bleeding will slack off soon enough. Let’s just get back to the Watchtow—”

“No,” you shake your head with finality. “We’re three hours from Manhattan. We're stopping for the night. There’s a safe house twenty minutes from here.”

You put the address to the safe house in the GPS, and to your surprise, Walker doesn’t object any further. You consider offering to drive, but you know he'll insist that he’s fine – and he will be fine, thanks to the super soldier serum that causes him to heal quicker than most would. But he’s still human, so it's still important that he bandages a fucking gunshot wound.

That’s your rationale for insisting on stopping at the safe house for the night, anyway. It doesn’t have anything to do with the fact that him pushing you up against the wall and kissing you like your lives depended on it is clouding your judgment.

It was for the mission. He never would have kissed you otherwise. You know this, and yet you can't stop replaying it in your head. The scruff of his beard, his hold on your waist, the slightly awkward yet eager way his lips moved against yours…

You clench your thighs together where you sit in the passenger seat, internally cursing yourself for even thinking about Walker in the way that you are. He’s bleeding out beside you, and you're getting worked up over a fake kiss.

After what feels like an exceptionally long car ride, you arrive at the safe house – though it can hardly be called a house – it's barely bigger than a shed. You’ll be lucky if there's one bed, let alone two.

Walker goes inside while you retrieve the first aid kit from the trunk of the car. When you enter a few moments later, he's already shed both his jacket and button-up. He sits on the couch, blood caked across his abdomen.

No one should look that good covered in blood. It isn't right.

“See?” He sighs as you lock the door behind you. “It has already stopped bleeding.”

“Good,” you hum, breaking your stare on him. You glance around the small kitchen for some additional supplies to distract yourself from how warm your face feels. You manage to find a singular hand towel, which you run under warm water to use to clean the blood off of him.

When you walk over to him with the first aid kit and towel, he reaches out to take the supplies from you. You sit down beside him on the small couch’s limited amount of space, shaking your head.

“Let me,” you insist. “It’s my fault this happened, anyway.”

He stares at you for a moment, his expression indecipherable, and then nods. He raises his right arm to give you access to his side, resting it on the back of the couch.

You delicately swipe the damp cloth across his stomach, starting with the dried blood matted in the hair around his belly button. The intimacy of the situation isn’t loss on you, but you don’t let yourself dwell on it. He’s perfectly capable of cleaning himself up, but there’s something compelling you to be close to him.

You clear your throat after a minute of thick silence. “I have a question for you. Which you do not have to answer – I feel like if you don’t answer it though, you’re kind of answering it, you know?”

He exhales in annoyance, though his stare is curious. “What?”

“Was that your first kiss since your divorce?”

He chuckles, throwing his head back against the couch to stare up at the ceiling. “That bad, huh?”

You shake your head. “I didn’t say that.”

“Well, it kind of sounds like that’s what you’re saying.”

With his skin now clean, you move onto dressing the wound. Any normal person would have definitely needed stitches, but the gash already looks smaller than it did when he had first showed you in the car. Still, you proceed with applying an antibiotic ointment before bandaging it.

“It was,” he sighs. “My first kiss since the divorce. First kiss in almost two years. Guess I’m kind of out of practice.”

You pause, looking up at him. He meets your gaze again, his cheeks slightly pink in embarrassment.

“It wasn’t bad,” you assure him sincerely. A heavy ball of nerves settle in the pit of your stomach. “Really, I mean… despite the circumstances, I enjoyed it. I don’t exactly get a lot of time for practice myself,” you laugh awkwardly.

It's true. Maybe it hasn’t been almost two years like it has for him, but this line of work doesn’t exactly leave you much time for dating or even casual intimacy.

“That makes two of us, then,” he chuckles softly, and then leans in closer to you. The already too small safe house suddenly feels even smaller, and you have to remind yourself to breathe.

“I’m sorry, though,” you murmur with a small smile. You avoid his gaze, staring down at the bloodied towel in your hand. “I hate that your first kiss in years had to be wasted on a fake mission kiss.”

He snorts. “Sorry? Don’t be sorry. I’m the one who kissed you, and I’m definitely not sorry. Unless, of course, you didn’t enjoy it or it made you uncomfortable or my breath was bad or—”

“Jesus, Walker,” you groan, shutting up his rambling by leaning forward and pulling his face to yours for the second time tonight.

For a second, he’s still. Just when you fear that you’ve imagined the tension between you and wonder if you should pull away, his lips begin to move with yours. The same enthusiasm from earlier is still present, though there’s now less uncertainty in his movements. His hands once again settle on your sides, pulling you closer to him.

Now that the two of you are alone, and there’s no threat of dangerous men shooting you at any given moment, you quickly see that he had been holding back earlier. In the privacy of the secluded safe house, he doesn’t hesitate to pull you onto his lap. You straddle him, being careful not to brush against the wound on his side.

Your hands trail down the expanse of his bare chest and his do the same to your back. He groans into your mouth, deep and guttural, and the heat between your legs flares once more. Your dress is hiked around upper thighs, allowing you grind down against the growing bulge beneath the smooth material of his pants.

You break the kiss, feeling light-headed and hazy, and look down at him. “So…” you hesitate, sweeping the pad of your thumb over his kiss-swollen bottom lip. His eyes flicker between your eyes and lips, his hands planted firmly on your hips, keeping you rooted against him.

“Is there anything else you’d like to practice, while we’re at it?”

☆☆☆☆☆☆

thank you for reading!! as always, comments and reblogs are very appreciated 🥰💕

[allmyn1ghts]

thinking abt the morning after u spend your first night with reed and sue.

reed leaves one of his button down shirts on the edge of the bed for you, and sue leaves you a glass of water on the nightstand with a note telling you to meet them in the kitchen.

when you get to the kitchen, they’re making breakfast side by side and you find out that they had sent johnny and ben out for the morning so you’d have the place to yourselves.

anyways i need to be in a relationship with them! bye!

[allmyn1ghts]

fucking john walker dumb because he’s SUCH a himbo 🤭🤭

john walker is the textbook definition of himbo dick. big, broad, way too cocky for his own good, and just smart enough to follow orders but so fucking stupid when you’ve got him between your legs. the kind of dumb where he thinks he’s in charge — all puffed up and grinning, slapping your ass, saying shit like “bet you missed this, huh, baby?” — untill you so much as tightnen around him and he’s a mess.

he’s so easy to ruin it’s embarrassing. thinks he’s gonna be the one in control, has you pinned under him and everything, arms caging you in, all sweat-slick skin and that stupid smug grin — but give it five minutes. scratch your nails down his back, call him good boy once, and he’s stuttering. pulling out halfway because he can’t stop himself from whining into your neck, hips rutting like he’s chasing something he doesn’t even know how to ask for.

and the dirty talk is so dumb it’s criminal. nothing coherent, just slurred, broken shit like “fuck — feels good, yeah? ‘m so deep in you, baby, you take me so good, fuck, you’re squeezin’ me so tight, holy shit —” like he’s narrating in real time because his brain’s too fried to keep it inside.

he’s the type to bust mid-sentence too. says some shit like “gonna make you come on this cock, promise, ‘m gonna — fuck, fuck, fuck —” and just starts shaking, forehead dropping to your shoulder while he fills you up, still trying to move like he can power through it, like he’s not already finished.

and afterwards? oh, he’s so proud of himself. all flushed and grinning, acting like he just gave you the best dick of your life (he probably did, but that’s not the point), flexing his biceps when he stretches and asking if you 'came too, baby? bet you did, yeah, made you come so good, huh?'

dumb as a brick. big, dumb, eager, insatiable.

[allmyn1ghts]

Hey guys! Im so sorry I haven't been interacting with people as much :c

A lot of things have been going on and I am not in the best state of mind rn but I will be back to CONSISTENCY soon.

[allmyn1ghts]

──── everybody knows that i'm a good boy, officer...

❤︎──── pairing: dick grayson x officer!reader.

❤︎──── summary: ❛❛as the newest cop on blüdhaven’s force, you hated masked freaks. nightwing, the masked freak himself, wants nothing more than your delicious, sweet approval. and maybe your naked body.❞

WARNINGS. dick wants your pussy so much he looks fucking stupid. 18+, jerking off. authority kink on his part. he loves a hot woman in uniform. hints of sub nightwing. female reader. officer reader. ©velvet-milk.

❤︎──── The first time he saw you, he had just taken down two armed robbers outside a liquor store — easy work, nothing fancy. A normal friday night for him. Dick was still catching his breath, escrima sticks holstered, the night wind tugging at his suit as he turned toward the flashing lights of the approaching squad car.

He muttered something to Oracle about the cops in the area and cut his comms. The flashing lights bathed the street in red and blue, casting just enough glow to catch the look you gave him — bored, patronizing, and vaguely amused. But the moment the window rolled down, he got hit with your full pretty face. And rude tone.

"Sweetheart, I know times are hard and stuff, but soliciting’s still a crime in this part of town."

Nice.

Your partner let out a strangled noise beside you. She leaned toward you like she could physically stop the words from coming out of your mouth, but it was far, far too late. You didn’t flinch. Just blew a bubble with your gum and popped it. Dick glanced down at himself — the skintight suit, the very iconic symbol across his chest — then looked back up at you.

"I literally just stopped a robbery."

You shrugged, unimpressed. "Cool. And I just filed a report. We all have hobbies."

To his credit, Dick didn’t get mad. Just gave you this slow, stunned little laugh, like he wasn’t sure if he was offended or intrigued.

"Wow. And here I thought I had a decent relationship with the BHPD after all these years."

You smiled sweetly, razor-sharp. "Oh, don’t get me wrong. I have nothing against sex workers."

Your partner in the passenger seat looked like she wanted to crawl into the glove compartment. She pressed a hand to her face and whispered, horrified, "Oh my God… that’s Nightwing."

You didn’t even flinch.

"Night-who?" you said, glancing at her like she’d just made up a word. "Why would I know his stage name?"

She turned to you, pale. "He’s, like… famous. National superhero famous."

Yeah, he fucking was. Thank you very much.

He took one last look at you — still lounging behind the wheel, smirking like you hadn’t just verbally curb-stomped a national hero. The other cop couldn’t even meet his eyes. Poor woman looked like she wanted to dissolve into her seat from secondhand embarrassment.

"Have a good night, officer," he said, voice clipped but smooth.

Then he turned on his heel, tapped his comms. "Oracle, remind me to review Blüdhaven precinct relations tomorrow," he muttered, raising his escrima stick and firing the grapple line. "Preferably before I set myself on fire again."

The line snapped taut, and he vanished into the night sky.

❤︎──── Of course he kept tabs on you after that night. You called him a hooker, straight to his face, and somehow looked obscenely hot while doing it. What was he supposed to do after that? Move on?

He was a simple man. A simple man with a morally flexible sense of privacy and way too much access to high-end surveillance tech. At the moment, he had four tabs open on the BHPD’s internal database. When Babs and Tim asked, he muttered something about "tracking a person of interest in the department."

Which, technically, wasn’t a lie. You were very interesting. You had a sharp mouth, a mean stare, perfect lips, and the kind of tits that made even the Nightwing suit feel a little tight.

"Yeah," he mumbled to himself, eyes fixed on your ID photo. "That’s the suspect. Definitely her."

He kept digging. It wasn’t enough to memorize your patrol schedule and ID badge, no, he had to go deeper. He found your Police Academy files. Graduated top of your class. Commendations in firearms, tactical response, and, of course, disciplinary reports for "insubordination" and "excessive sarcasm."

Then came your field test footage. Blurry body cam recordings. One of you talking down a suspect at gunpoint with zero backup. Another of you pinning a guy twice your size to the hood of a cruiser.

Very sexy of you, officer.

So he kept in close contact with the BHPD — closer than he needed to, if anyone was being honest about it. It had been years since Dick hung up the badge. But as Nightwing, he still had full access to department files, incident reports, internal memos, almost everything. All the tools of his former life, right at his fingertips.

And he’d been using them for one very specific reason. You. Every report you wrote, every arrest logged under your badge number, every disciplinary note with your name at the top, he read them all. More than once. It wasn’t intel gathering anymore. It was something else.

Something worse.

And you looked at him like he was a freak, every single time he showed up at a crime scene near your precinct. Last time, there was a body on the floor, half a dozen uniforms already securing the perimeter, and you crouched low, gloves on, examining blood spatter like it was just another tuesday. He tried to offer something helpful, something sharp, something detective-y.

You didn’t even look up.

"Sure thing, doll," you said, tone dry as bone. "Let me know if you wanna borrow a flashlight."

Then you stood, brushed past him, and kept working. He was still standing there ten seconds after you walked away, jaw tight, pride stinging, wondering what the hell was wrong with him that that turned him on. The dismissal. The uniform. The way your hips moved when you walked.

Jesus, he hadn’t been that hard in months.

Later that night he found himself alone in his apartment, right after patrol, hand wrapped tight around his cock, jerking off with embarrassing urgency to the mental image of your thighs straining against those uniform pants. He moaned softly, his thumb touching his leaking tip.

Dick could almost see it when he closed his eyes with a tiny whimper.

You, officer, climbing into his lap in the backseat of your cruiser, straddling him like you owned him. Belt undone, holster still strapped to your thigh. His hands cuffed behind him, helpless to do anything but take it.

You’d ride him so fucking hard, your pretty little pussy gripping him tight, warm and soaked around his cock. One hand tangled in his black hair, yanking when he got too mouthy, the other braced against the fogged-up glass of the car window as your hips slammed down, again and again, using him like a fucking toy.

He’d choke on a groan, eyes rolling back, biting the inside of his cheek until he tasted blood, because you wouldn’t let him finish until you were done. Until you were shaking on top of him, breathless and spent, nails dragging down his chest.

He came faster than he wanted to. Pathetic, really. He groaned your name like a fucking prayer, teeth sunk into his own wrist to keep quiet, while hot, messy cum spilled over his fist, his stomach, his shirt — hips jerking up off the mattress, desperate for more.

Desperate for you.

He looked up at the ceiling with a sigh, hands still sticky with his own cum like some desperate, horny teenager who’d never even touched a woman.

What the hell had you done to him, officer?

[allmyn1ghts]

Marvel's First Family

THE FANTASTIC FOUR: FIRST STEPS

[allmyn1ghts]

I MEAN-

[allmyn1ghts]

SHE JUST WANTS TO F**K ME ALL THE TIME ▬▬ ( Dick grayson )

tw:sex, nothing too explicit cause I'm afraid of success

summary:Dick loved sex, and thought no one could surpass how high his sex drive is, until he started a relationship with you and you are all the time trying to get him to fuck you.

pairing:dick grayson x fem reader

open request ‐ dick grayson masterlist

"I tried to leave the house but she won't let me out."

"Again? "

The morning had been a bit rough for Dick, he'd woken up to your ass moving painfully on his cock, leaving him ready for their usual morning fuck.

Dick is shirtless, sweaty, his hair a mess, and the sheets still stuck to his back. He shakes his head, chuckling as you try to drag him back toward you by the waistband of his boxers.

Your fingers play with the elastic, and your eyes are begging for one more round. “It’s your fault,” you murmur, leaving wet kisses on his abdomen. “You shouldn’t look like this right after we finish. You tempt me all the time.”

He lets out a hoarse laugh and drops back onto the bed, propped up on his elbows. "You're literally draining me."

"You're more than fit, Nightwing. You can handle another one."

"You think so?" In a second, his expression changes. Dick grabs you by the wrists, twists your body with ridiculous ease, and leaves you beneath him, one knee between your legs and your arms pinned above your head.

"You know normal people only get one round?" he mutters playfully.

He slides his mouth down your neck, to your collarbone. He sucks right where you know he'll leave a mark. His hands release your wrists, but only to run his rough hands all over your naked body, stroking that impatient, dripping pussy of yours.

"That's it," he whispers against your ear. "You're going to make me late again, you know?"

You don't answer. You just moan under his touch, and that brings out a cocky smile from him. He knew the answer. He always does.

His fingers sink into you without warning, moving with a delicious rhythm that forces your back to arch. But he gives you no respite.

"Did you want another round, gorgeous?" he asks, his lips brushing against yours, barely touching you. "Then you're going to earn it."

Before you can say anything, he's already sliding down. He spreads your legs with ease and begins to eat you out with a mixture of hunger and devotion that leaves you breathless. His tongue works as if it has a damn mission. And in part, it does: to leave you so trembling that you can't drag him back down for hours.

Your hands tangle in his hair, tugging unintentionally as your body writhes beneath his mouth.

"Dick... please..."

"Please, what?" he asks in a husky voice, his lips wet, his eyes shining with perversion. "Did you want another one? I'll give it to you. But I'll ruin you first."

▬★

"She wants me at the party, she wants me at the mall"

Dick Grayson always looks impeccable, but there was no better version than Dick Grayson in a tailored black suit, his blue tie, charming smile, and his usual confident posture. He's an expert at moving through high society without losing that mischievous air that distinguishes him. And, as always, he has the attention of every woman in the room.

You just watch him from a distance, drink in hand, dressed in that dress he'd picked out for you once. The one that left him spellbound, so he couldn't take his eyes off your chest. And every movement you made made Dick want to forget about the gala, about Bruce, about all of Gotham.

Since he looked so good in that white shirt that perfectly covered his hard-working body, the one you slept in every night, you should definitely make him wear more suits.

You approached him through the crowd, Dick interrupts his conversation kindly once he sees you closer.

“Can we talk for a second?” you asked, in the sweetest tone you could muster, not letting on any malice you had in mind.

Dick nods immediately, and reflexively follows you without asking any questions.

You lead him down one of the hall's side corridors, to a quiet area, away from the hustle and bustle and prying eyes. The light is soft, golden. The sound of the music barely reaches you. Dick crosses his arms, curious.

“What's up?” he asks with a smile. “Are you bored without me?”

You chuckled softly and shook your head, taking a step closer. Your eyes were brighter than ever, with that mischievous reflex you usually had when you wanted to tell him something in secret. You fiddled with the fabric of your own dress, lowering your gaze slightly, as if you were embarrassed by what you were about to say.

“It’s just… I don’t know if I should say this now,” you whisper, biting your lip.

Dick leans in slightly, intrigued. “Tell me what, swet heart?” He runs his hand gently through your hair, gently tucking a strand behind your ear.

You looked up, looked at him with those good-girl eyes he knew so well. And you let go, softly, sweetly, as if you were saying "I love you" for the first time.

“I want to suck your cock.”

The silence is immediate.

Dick blinks. Once. Twice. The air suddenly feels thick. He stands there, staring at her, processing the sentence. Because it wasn't just what you said. It was how she said it. So cute, so damn sweet.

“You…” he begins, a nervous laugh escaping him. “You can’t say that like that, not here. Not with that voice.”

You tilted your head, pretending not to understand. “What did I do wrong?”

“What did you do wrong?” he repeats, his eyes darting around, as if he were already deciding which wall to use. “Do you know what you do to me when you talk like that?”

You shake your head with completely feigned innocence. “What if I just… walk you to your car? Just a second. Just to… distract you, you look a little overwhelmed,” you say, running a finger along his tie.

Dick closes his eyes for a moment, as if it takes all his willpower not to drag her down that hallway right now. “You’re going to be the death of me. You know that, right?”

Dick didn't respond immediately. Instead, he took your hand firmly, and without looking back, led you through one of the side doors that led to the building's private parking lot. No one saw them. No one dared to stop him.

The car was just steps away. One of Bruce's. Tinted windows, total luxury… and, above all, privacy.

He opened the back door without a word, and before you could even mock his urgency, he'd helped you in carefully, without wrinkling your dress too much. He closed it behind him and stared at you, still kneeling in the seat, breathing heavily.

“I don’t know what I’m going to do with you,” he murmured, unable to stop staring at your mouth.

You, with the same innocent sweetness as before, leaned towards him, brought your hands to the knot of his blue tie and slowly loosened it.

“I have a couple of ideas, but we need more space.”

Your fingers moved down his white shirt, unbuttoning the first button, then the second… but Dick was barely breathing. His gaze burned, fixed on you, somewhere between exhaustion and on the verge of collapse.

Slowly, you knelt between the seats, your smile as soft as it was dangerous.

“Is this okay?” you asked in a low voice, unbuckling his belt with a skill only someone who knew him so well could possess.

Dick let out a stifled laugh, closing his eyes as he leaned his head back against the seat. "Now you're worried about that?"

You looked at him once more, as if seeking confirmation that he really wanted this. He looked back at you, completely lost in you.

And then you did it .

Slowly, as if you were tasting a sweet treat for the first time. Caressing him with your lips, with your tongue, with that tenderness and adoration that only you knew how to turn into torture.

Dick placed one hand against the fogged-up glass of the car, the other on the back of your neck, not pressing you, just holding you, as if he needed to hold on to something real to keep from losing control.

Your every move was measured, precise, delicate, and devastating at the same time. You knew him so well that you knew exactly when to speed up, when to play, when to stop for a second and look down on him, with that angelic face that had already earned its place in heaven...

▬▬★

"She just wants to fuck me all the time"

The sound of gloves hitting, the creaking of mats, and the rhythmic panting of labored breaths filled the space. you were in the middle of a sparring session. you and Dick, face to face on the mat, exchanging measured but intense blows.

He was focused, sweaty, his black T-shirt clinging to his body, his arm muscles flexing with every movement. Every kick, every spin, made him look even more irresistible. There was no way to hide it: you were distracted. Very distracted.

The roll of his hips as he kicked. The way he panted. The deep sound of his voice as he gave orders. Your mind wasn't on the practice. It was on his body above yours.

At one point, he takes a few steps back to give you space. He cranes his neck, wipes the sweat with the back of his forearm, and looks at you.

"Your turn. come on"

His voice snaps you out of your trance, but it's too late. You're horny. Too horny to be honest.

You stand, hiding it as best you can, but as soon as you get close, he notices. Dick always notices. Your dilated pupils. Your breathing. The way you lower your gaze directly to his neck.

He raises an eyebrow, amused. “Are you okay?”

"Perfect" you lie.

"Then fight," he smiles, giving you the first soft blow with his glove, as a provocation.

But as soon as you're in front of him, you give in to temptation. Your hand doesn't go to the glove. It goes to the collar of his shirt. You get closer than necessary. Your lips brush his ear. "You're all sweaty... it smells so good..."

Dick lets out a grunt and in a second he has you cornered against the mat wall, his forearm blocking your way. "Are you horny? Here, while we're training? such a needy whore" he whispers, his voice tense and dark.

"It's not my fault you're so fucking sexy when you give orders."

He looks you for a few seconds, assessing. Then he shakes his head, a crooked smile crossing his face."You're impossible."

He quickly spins you around, pressing your body against the wall, his hard crotch already resting against your ass. His hand moves straight down to your crotch inside your leggings, and when he feels how wet you are, he lets out an exasperated sigh. "Jesus Christ… You’re soaked."

Dick already had his hand inside your leggings when you reacted with a sly smile.

"I'm not going to let you win that easily," you whisper to him, just before turning around abruptly.

He didn't expect it.

You hook him with a swift kick to the thigh and take advantage of his slightest distraction to pull on his arm, knocking him off balance. You both fall to the mat with a thud, but you remain on top, with your knees on either side of his hips.

Dick snorts, clearly surprised, and looks at you with a mixture of pride and annoyance. "Are you playing, or do you want to fight for real?"

"this is my foreplay " you say, with a mischievous smile. You lean over him, placing one hand firmly on his chest while the other goes straight to his waist. He doesn't even move. He just watches you, his eyes narrowed.

"Don't even think about it… "

But you don't let him finish. With a swift movement, you push your hips down, positioning yourself right over his erection through his clothes. The moan he lets out isn't from pain. It's pure instinct.

"What are you doing?" he growls, grabbing your hips. "This is a workout, not an invitation to fuck me with my clothes on."

“Then take me down,” you challenge, starting to move slowly, pressing your core against his member with a friction that draws a low sigh from you.

He grits his teeth. His hands tighten around your waist, as if he's struggling between pushing you off him and pushing you closer. "You're a fucking temptation," he says, his voice deep and husky. "A fucking distraction with legs."

"You're too weak," you tease. "Look at you, you can't even concentrate."

He flips you over with a ferocious snarl, trapping you underneath him in the blink of an eye, his body pressing yours into the mats.

But just as he's about to rip your leggings off...

"Richard." Bruce's dry voice comes back through the cave's speaker.

The silence falls. Dick rests his forehead against your collarbone. He says nothing.

"Five minutes until you are dressed and out."

[allmyn1ghts]

[allmyn1ghts]

he’s so cute omg i love him