About All Of Them

Just read a daredevil fic tagged “Matt Murdock’s secret identity hangs on a thin thin thread called ableism” and if that is the cold hard truth

MINORS DNI

Quick smutty Abby Anderson x fem!reader thought under the cut

I think Abby wouldn’t be too insane with sex positions—like yeah she’s twisting you up every which way whatever—but I think she gets the idea one day to just put you up on her shoulders, pussy to her face and go to town. Obviously you’re not against it and she’s only human so she sort of has you up against the wall as she’s doing it, as a sort of support I guess, tongue deep inside you with her hands under your ass to keep you nice and close while she’s down there. Your head is knocking against the ceiling and you can’t look down cause the floor looks really far from up there so when she’s got you cumming on her tongue your squeezing your thighs as tight as you can around her head making sure you don’t fall—which of course she’d never let happen but she’s not complaining either way.

No thoughts, no brain just this

stop because idk where i want this piece of dialogue but imagine it with librarian!bucky because wow

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Hi so random but I just want to use this post to say I do NOT a consent to any of my work being used for AI bots! Didn’t think this would be an issue since I am a very small blog (and don’t write full length fics) but I did have someone ask and so I wanted to make it clear I am very against the usage of AI and therefore don’t want to be associated with it whatsoever!

People: “Clint had a FaMiLY, a wIfE anD cHilDrEN, he can’t die”

Natasha:

yes hes my comfort character, and yes he does beat the shit out of people. he multitasks idk

god, tfa steve was so submissive and breedable.

𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫 | 𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐦𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

summary You ask your best friend Eddie to give you your first kiss. Eddie's not really in the habit of saying no to you. [4k]

warnings fem!reader, fluff, first kiss, eddie being totally sweet on his best friend, wrist kisses, sharing a bed, eddie reads to you, you hurt your arm and eddie is overprotective/doting etc, unspoken mutual pining, requested here

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"This is way heavier than you implied," you say, words followed by a startled, pained gasp as you lose your grip on the amp and it almost pops your wrist from the socket trying to keep it up. 

"Shit," he says. 

Eddie quickly shoves the bigger amp he'd been carrying into the back of the van and makes to help you, his fingers pushing into your stomach as he lugs it up into his arms.

"I'm sorry," he says, and for once you think his apology might be genuine. "I forget how heavy they feel at the end of the night." 

Your arms ache. You definitely pulled something you didn't mean to, a sharp pinching pain climbing from your wrist to the crook of your elbow. "Eddie, I think I hurt myself." 

He shoves the last amp into the van and doesn't bother closing the door, turning back to you with a concerned grimace. "Yeah? Your wrist?" 

He holds his hand out and you extend your arm, wincing. He's tentative, taking your wrist in one hand while the other grasps your upper arm loosely. 

"What's it feel like?" 

"Like I twisted my ankle, but in my wrist." 

He laughs under his breath at your explanation, sweat-damp hair falling into his eyes as he looks you over. "The word you're looking for is 'sprained,'" he informs you jovially. 

There's no physical evidence of any injury, not that either of you had expected that, and he has no real reason to be touching you. His thumb smooths over the flat of your wrist.

"How bad is it? Amputation?" you ask, suddenly all drama. You put on a tearful frown and pinch your eyebrows together. 

Eddie – who's used to this, who encourages this – nods gravely. "You'll likely never use it again." 

"Good heavens, doc. Is there really nothing you can do?" you implore, leaning away from him with your uninjured hand thrown to your forehead. 

"Nothing… unless you're willing to undergo the most invasive, painful, gruesome operation any one girl has ever undergone." 

"Anything." 

"Close your eyes." 

You close them, always willing to play these fanciful make-believe's with him. He's charming, it's funny, but you can't say you expect the hot press of his lips against your pulse. If it had been a smacking, playful thing with too much spit you would have laughed about it, but it hadn't been. It's gentle. It's sweet. 

He pulls away. You open your eyes to find him lingering, staring at your wrist. A split-second. 

"Fixed, right?" he asks smugly. 

You take your arm back and curl it towards your chest, twinging with pain. "Definitely. Good as new." 

Eddie slams the back doors shut and stretches with a groan, cool night air kissing the shining sliver of abdomen that emerges. He's always sweaty after a gig. You know you should find it gross. 

You should. 

"Alright, get in the van, sweet thing. It's way past your bedtime." 

You laugh and climb into the passenger side, skirt riding up and tights featuring a brand new ladder thanks to some idiot who'd almost broken your leg. You point it out to Eddie as he starts the engine, "Did you see this? S'my last good pair of tights."

He tugs at the ladder and you squeal, pulling your thigh up and over the other so he can't reach it.

"There, they're punk now. Do it on purpose and you're cool," he says sagely. 

"Are you staying?" he asks, the question so familiar it doesn't need a proper end. 

"Thanks for that." 

There's lost minutes of a comfortable silence. You watch the roads change as you draw nearer and nearer to home.

"If you shower first." 

He sighs like this is very tortuous of you to ask but agrees. "Yeah, whatever. Always get what you want," he mutters, taking a rough turn that has you gripping your seat. "My bad." 

"Learn to drive!" you demand, laughing. 

"You learn to drive! Then you wouldn't need a ride every night!" 

"Baby," you say earnestly. "Rides to your shows." 

He looks at you out of the corner of his eye. You turn to him, perplexed by his uncharacteristic silence. Usually he has something quick to say, an uppity comeback, too witty for his own good and twice as fast. 

"What? Wait, don't tell me, you're having a total epiphany right now on why I'm the best friend you've ever had." You nod to yourself, leaning back in your seat with your chin held high. "It's easy. I'm extremely dedicated, I'm sharp as a whip. I'm funny, I'm confident-" 

"Humble." 

"I'm humble. And obviously very pretty."

He hums to himself. "I kind of hate when you joke about stuff like that." 

You blink and drop your chin. "What?" you ask. Weaker than you mean to, your chest feels that heavy weight of an unexpected argument, but Eddie doesn't look angry. 

"Because- 'cos I know you don't mean it." He draws his eyes from the road, a familiar stretch of black top leading into Forest Hills, and gives you a well-meaning grimace. 

"Sorry, I-" 

He clears his throat. "No, don't be. I guess I wished you actually believed that shit. Do you know how many people would come to all of my shows? Listen to the same ten songs, drink the same shitty beer and then help me pack up at the end of the night?" He sounds back to normal. Punchy, a hair's width from incensed. "Nobody but you." 

"I'm your best friend," you say firmly. "Of course I'm gonna do all that." 

"Right." He laughs and scrapes a hand through his dishevelled hair. 

You pull into the parking spot and climb out of the van. You slip like you always do, giggling to yourself as Eddie comes around to roll his eyes at you and shut the door. 

"We'll leave it for tonight," he says after he's retrieved Sweetheart, his prized guitar, traipsing up the steps to the front door. "Don't want you straining your poor wrist any further." 

You kind of agree. "Or you could do it all by yourself and I'll watch." 

"Maybe tomorrow. Are you hungry?" 

You ignore his question and waltz straight into his bedroom, throwing yourself down on his rumpled sheets with a harrumph. He puts Sweetheart back into her rightful place and presses a kiss to his fingers. You can't help thinking of the kiss he'd given you, bringing your wrist to your chest where he can't see. It feels the same as it had before, but different. It still aches. 

Eddie throws himself down next to you and climbs up over your back, a hand on your shoulder. "Is it still hurting?" 

You squeeze it. "Not really." 

"Let me see? If it's swollen I could get you some ice. Or, like, a bag of frozen peas. Not that I think we'd have anything that green in the freezer," he corrects himself.

"I don't think they have to be peas to work." 

"What if that's where you're wrong? What if we totally need the power of the peas?" 

You turn on your back so he can see your wrist. Hovering above you, all his smells and sounds are amplified. The gentle hum as he looks over your arm. The smell of sweat under deodorant, cigarette smoke and something funkier. Then, mixed in with everything, cedar. 

When his kind attention on your wrist becomes too much you wrinkle your nose and make a big show of moving away from him. "God, you stink." 

"You're fucking horrible," he says, putting your arm down carefully. "I'm gonna shower. Find your pajamas." 

"Did you wash them?" you ask as he climbs off of the bed. 

"Nope." 

You grumble about dirty clothes and search for the pajamas you'd left here last time. Eddie disappears into the cramped bathroom and you can hear every sound he makes, the clipping of bottle caps, even his footsteps moving from the cabinet under the sink and into the shower. 

Water sloughs heavily against the glass partition and you try not to listen, try not to think about him and what he's doing and where his hands are. 

When he comes in he's in a towel and nothing else. You squeak and pull his covers up past your eyes. "Christ, Eds." 

"What? It's my room. I forgot to take clothes in with me." 

"You're sullying my eyes." 

"Like you've never seen it before." 

You scowl. "I've never seen you naked." 

"Can you come out? You're being ridiculous." 

You hear him go into the bathroom and let the sheets fall from your face, blinking at the sudden brightness. Yellow lamp light bounces of the poster-covered walls, shiny as egg yolk. 

He's left the bathroom door open. You peer out into the hallway and then stop yourself, feeling guilty. You don't actually want to see him naked. You're curious. 

"Fine," he says as he trudges back in, plaid pants low on his hips. He shrugs into a t-shirt and it sticks to his damp torso, leaving his dark happy trail on show for the second time tonight. "You've never seen me naked. It's not like you've never seen any guy naked." 

You feel a tepid mixture of embarrassment and defensiveness. "Who says I've seen a guy naked?" 

His eyes are owlishly large, dark lashes not far from kissing his eyebrows as they pinch together. "What?" 

You don't repeat yourself. 

"You fucked Jerry Mandoza." 

"Did not," you say, startled. 

"I gave you condoms." 

You resist the urge to glare at him. "And you can have them back, if you like. They've been in my nightstand for a year." 

"I thought you liked him." 

"I did. I just wasn't… ready." 

He holds his hands up in surrender. "That's fine, babe. Swear. But, you never told me. Why didn't you tell me?" 

He sits heavily at the end of the bed and takes the towel from around his neck, scrubbing ruthlessly at his wet curls. 

"That's exactly why your hair gets so frizzy," you chide lightly, climbing on knees to his side. You ease the towel from his hands and are much kinder than he'd been, drying the skin before his hairline and behind his ears and then moving onto his pretty curls. 

"He didn't do anything creepy, did he?" Eddie asks. He smells like toothpaste. 

You laugh as you wring excess water from his hair as carefully as you can. "No. He was actually really sweet. Said all the right things. He was a gentleman," you drawl  dropping the towel back to his shoulders. 

"But?" 

You sit back and smile at him. "I don't know. He leaned in for a kiss and I just… I got so nervous about it. He closed his eyes and I didn't think, I turned my cheek. He didn't call me for another date. Can't say I blame him." 

You're not sure why you never told Eddie that story before. He tilts his head to one side and squints. "Why were you nervous? He was in marching band." 

You snort. "It wasn't about him. I guess I was worried my first kiss would be awful." 

He rubs the back of his neck with his towel. "First kiss, huh?" he asks. 

"Right." 

He pulls the towel away, holds it in his lap. You notice his rings are missing, likely still in the bathroom. "I mean, I think you did the right thing. If you weren't ready it can't hurt to wait. And first kisses, they can really suck. Mine, with fucking- fucking Darren Harmon, that sucked. He spit in my mouth so much I think I tasted his dinner from the night before." 

You laugh in shock and disgust. "That's gross." 

"Tell me about it." 

"Why did he spit?" 

Eddie brings his legs up onto the bed and his tone is gentle. "Well, when you kiss someone, there's like-" He raises his hands and drops them, lost for the right words. "You know, tongue." 

"Is it weird?" 

"Sure. Of course it is. But it's really fucking fun, too. Or it can be, if the spit is kept to a minimum." He purses his lips, eyebrows raised. "Actually, spit can be kinda nice if you like the person you're kissing. It's hard to explain." 

You spread your legs to fall into a W-shape, hands braced on your knees. "Sorry, I'm not trying to harass you for details." 

"You're my best friend. I'll tell you anything you want." 

You smile at your legs. 

Eddie reaches over to put his hand atop yours. He's leaning toward you, hair falling in his face as he catches your eye. "It's fine. Keep your first kiss for someone you actually like, babe. You'll like it better." 

He squeezes your fingers and leaves the room. You can hear him filling a glass of water and turning off all the lights he's left on. 

"Did you want anything else?" he asks, offering the glass. 

"No, I'm just gonna brush my teeth really quick."

"Take your time." 

You take a little bit more than you need to, staring at yourself in the bathroom mirror until your heart is pounding, thoughts coming a thousand a second. Lately, Eddie's touches – his hand around your wrist, his thigh over your thigh, even the thud of his rubber toed converse tapping yours – have become individual events in time. Even when you can't remember the conversation, you can remember his skin on yours. You look at photos from gigs and instead of thinking, Oh, that's the night we made fun of Gareth's new haircut, a truly momentous occasion, you think, That's the night Eddie tugged me by the belt loop. That's when he brushed an eyelash off of my cheek. That's when he leaned in so close I thought he was gonna kiss me. 

Even now, the conversation about kisses is fading though you desperately want to remember what he'd said. The sound of his voice slips away. The heat of his fingers curled around yours remains. 

You wash your hands twice and don't feel any better. 

As if destiny or some higher power feels the need to taunt you, you slide into bed with an amicable handful of inches between your thigh and Eddie's and he totally ignores the gap, sidling up to you with a smile. 

"You'll like this," he says, spreading the paperback in his hands open on your thigh. "'A pockmark of matter that can dissolve any light that threatens to eradicate, to nullify, to quantify. An indelible darkness, spreading from one universe to the other, the pristine pages of a tome sullied by a piercing fountain of ink,'" he reads to you, his voice smooth and unhurried. "Guess what she's talking about?" 

"Dark matter?" 

"What? Keep your astronomy to yourself, dork. She's talking about the Puppet's heart. How sick is that?" 

You grin. It is pretty sick. 

Eddie's smile grows with yours, though his lips part when he notices something on your face. "You have-" He brings his thumb to your mouth and brushes it roughly, tugging the soft pillow of your upper lip up. 

You turn your face. "Jeez. Keep your hands to yourself, Munson." 

"Sorry," he says, not sounding very sorry. 

"You wanna read some more of your book to me?" you ask. "My eyes are tired." 

You lay down flat with one of his pillows smushed under your head and Eddie reads, sitting with his back to the headboard. "'You turn the page and find the ink has eaten into the next page, and the next. The damage is expansive, Dolly says, lifting her chin. But not limitless. Eventually, a page will turn. Eventually, the page beneath remains plain.'" 

"I thought Dolly and the Puppet loved each other," you murmur, watching his finger slide up the back of the book. 

He gives you a knowing smile. "They did." 

"Not anymore?" 

"I don't know. He's not the same anymore. He really is evil," Eddie says. "'The Puppet becomes a man of flesh and bone before her, nothing like she had remembered and yet the same. His voice, slick as oil, becomes a malfeasance of sound where before it had been her most treasured melody. And if the tome were sullied to begin with? The Puppet asks. If the darkness subsisted where I only lay my hand?" 

"They speak in riddles," you complain. 

Eddie shushes you. "'Don't act as though you didn't bring about this war, Dolly says, her voice harsh as tree bark. The Puppet draws ever closer, his wicked grin softened. A puppet once more. I did it for you, he says.'" 

You gasp so loudly it makes your throat burn. "He did not!" you whisper-shout.

Eddie chuckles, hand dropping to your shoulder. "He didn't." 

"Keep reading!" 

"'Dolly refuses to acknowledge his pleading tenor. You did not, she shouts. You created this conflict to become what you wanted to become.

"'Someone you could love. The Puppet places a frozen hand over her cheek. She hits at his chest with the brunt of her palms, hands growing limp as he murmurs. Someone you could kiss.'" 

You miss the rest of his reading, eyes slamming shut as if you'd been stuck. You catch small parts. An attempted reunion, a sword tipped in biting silver from the coldest recess of the moon. A short fight, a retreat. 

"Are you sleeping?" Eddie whispers. 

You swallow. "Almost," you whisper back. 

Eddie tosses the paperback onto his desk and pulls the covers over your shoulders and curls toward you. "You should get some rest, sweetheart. It's been a long day."

You nod and turn to him, refusing to open your eyes. "Goodnight," you say, rubbing your cheek against the brushed cotton of his pillowcase. 

"Goodnight."

Long minutes of silence. You can feel his warmth beside you like a heating pad under the sheets. You know his hand lies an inch away, if that, his fingers lax. You could stroke the length of his pinky with yours. 

As if he knows, as if he can read your mind, a fingertip reaches out to tap yours. "Are you okay?" he asks. 

You open one tired eye and lift your face enough to open the other. He looks beautiful. Hair half-dried and flat to his cheek. You reach out to push it from his face slowly. If you were any braver you'd tuck it behind his ear, scratch his scalp lightly with your nails. 

"Is it your arm?" he asks. 

You drop your hand. "'M just thinking." 

"I can't help with that," he jokes, turning his gaze to the ceiling. 

You laugh under your breath but even to yourself it sounds odd. 

"Do you think you'd ever kiss me?" you utter eventually. 

He doesn't answer for a while. Your heart races fast enough that it's all you can hear, like the wind rushing in your ears. 

"Is that what you want?" 

"I want my first kiss to be a good one." 

"And you think it would be, with me?" 

"You said to keep it for someone I actually like." 

He takes your wrist into a kind hand. Calluses slide over your skin. "I meant someone you have the hots for, babe."

Dangerous territory. Wary to admit anything else, you try to take his rejection with grace. "It's okay if you don't want to. Was just… wondering," you murmur. 

He strokes your wrist. "I'll kiss you if you want me to." 

"No, I-" You laugh, all nerves and too much blood. "I don't want a pity kiss, Eddie." 

"Who said anything about pity?" he says, voice quiet as yours had been and harbouring much less panic. 

He pulls your arm like he's encouraging you toward him and you hiss. His grip slackens. "Sorry, I should've-" 

"It aches, that's all," you say.

Understanding lightens his eyes. Honey melting into a woody brown. "Shit," he mutters, lowering his head. "I'm sorry." He presses his lips to your wrist in a small kiss. "If it's hurting you should've said."

The words come out hot. 

"It…" you drift off as he gives you another kiss. Another. 

Close-lipped, Eddie dots pecks down your arm until he reaches the crook of your elbow. He slows and stays. You take the initiative and drop your hand into his hair, stroking behind his ear like you wanted to, like you've wanted to for a while, and shiver as the tip of his nose ghosts against sensitive skin. 

He draws away, pulls up, his face much closer than you can remember it ever having been before. You try to breathe normally but the look on his face prompts breathlessness, his eyes steady, bordering impassive. His lips hint a soft bemusement. 

He raises his chin. "This okay?" 

"This," you repeat, fingers curling into his hair. 

Eddie moves in, bringing a hand to your face to guide you to one side. His lips bump into yours and you let your eyes close, overwhelmed by this new feeling. There's a tenderness to how he holds you still, worse when he pulls you in, his kiss hot and soft as water. 

He slides his fingertips under your sleeve, palm hot to the breadth of your upper arm. His grip tightens incrementally and you try not to pull his hair in response, your knee hitting his thighs as your body seeks him out. 

His lips part against yours and you both suck in a breath before he's kissing again. You try your best to follow his lead, though quickly find yourself a laughing mess as he wraps his arm around your shoulder to pull you close. 

"What's funny?" he asks. 

You honestly don't know. It's a giddy feeling to be this close, more so when he smiles back and tries to start up another round of sweet kisses, his lips pressing to yours insistently. He caresses the length of your back until you sigh, your open mouth an invitation that he sinks into. 

You scrunch the hem of his shirt in your hand when he sucks on your top lip, nonplussed.

Eddie pulls away. Your eyes open in tandem. 

You're noticeably out of breath and he isn't unaffected, his chest rising and falling almost as quickly as yours. "So," he says, inhale a struggle though he tries to hide it, "how was that? A good one?" 

"I don't know. I don't have anything to compare it to." 

"No?" he asks, already leaning in for another. 

You weave your hand into his hair and he rubs his hand down your arm until your aching wrist throbs under his fingertips, callused by metal strings and somehow impossibly soft.

"I'm sorry about your arm," he murmurs. 

You hope your hum against his lips conveys your forgiveness. 

When you've been kissed to the point of dizziness you break it to hide in the space under his chin, breathing in his new smells, his skin, his hair. The remnants of soap; a sharp citrus, mandora awash in something heady.

He pushes his arm under your chest and wraps you up. You hug him back, languid in his hold as he starts to rub your back. Broad, sweeping lines. Your shirt pulls up and he smooths it back down. 

"Don't get ahead of yourself," you joke lightly, quickly chased by a big yawn. 

"If you're tired, you can sleep," he assures you. 

"It was a good kiss." 

"Tell me all about it in the morning, okay? Sleep, pretty girl." 

You're feeling more and more tired with each passing second. Fatigue hangs heavy and his wandering hands make it worse. 

"'Nother kiss in the morning?" you ask, burrowing your face into his shoulder. 

He takes a little while to answer, turning his lips down into your temple. "Y'always get what you want, don't you?" 

With Eddie? Just about. 

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