Hi, I'm Ry, And I'm In Marvel Hell™

To a man larger than life itself. The true Hero. It’s because of his ambitions, and his passions, that his stories made it to paper, and into our hands. He gave us hope, he gave us power, he helped us embrace our individuality, and live lives in new worlds by taking us away in his stories.

He’s touched millions of lives, millions of families, much like mine, and he’s saved them.

It is a time for mourning, but it is also a time for celebration. To celebrate a man who lived life to its fullest. To took opportunity by the horns, and always looked forward. Always moved up.

Stan Lee was every bit the Hero he made in his comics. And his legacy will go on.

A Peter Parker drabble that no one asked for, but I felt the need to write it. I was inspired. For my darling little sister, @eri-ayase -- I love you♡

Disclaimer: I don’t know which Peter this is and I’m so sorry so-- pick which Peter you like most and go with that

-- Ryan

You can hear the shutter of the 35mm behind you, and a smile graces your lips. Out of the corner of your peripheral, you can see the brunette take the camera from his face as he looks from you, to the painting beside you.

“You’re not gonna get very much out of the paintings if you’re looking at them through the lens, Peter.” Your soft one-inch heels click on the tile of the Met as you walk up to him. He grins sheepishly, scratching at the back of his neck. He lets go of his camera, allowing it to hang safely around his neck. 

“It’s more or less a memento, you know, of our d-- our date.” He swallows hard, practically choking on the word as it squeezes out of his throat. You giggle softly, linking your arm with his as he nods, taking you away from the exhibit you stood at to stand before another.

Again, you walk closer, inspecting it. You look as though you’re analyzing it; stuck in thought and searching for a deeper meaning. A gentle smile crosses his lips as his hands move on their own, reaching for his camera. He focuses on his target through the eyepiece, his fingers adjusting focus based on the light reflecting through the lens, and heart skips a beat.

You brush your hair behind your ear, and the locks carelessly flow over your shoulder as you do so, exposing a new angle to your neck and jaw. He’s stunned a minute, but resumes, waiting for the perfect moment to snap the photo. He’s lost in the way he watches you, studying the art before you, completely unaware of your surroundings.

Completely unaware of the fact you captivate him, more than any piece in this gallery.

The shutter snaps as he finds the exact right time to take the photo. Your eyes so clear, your hair so perfect, and your stature as if you were posing consciously for the photo-- though it was completely candid.

Your attention is torn from the painting at the sound of the shutter once more, and you laugh this time, your cheeks creasing as your smile reaches your eyes. 

“Are you getting good photos of the exhibit, Parker?” You tease, turning to face him. He smiles back at you, his heart full. He holds his arm out to you, and you take it enthusiastically, holding it close. Every painting in the whole Met put together couldn’t compare to the beauty and art that was you.

GOD DON’T GET ME STARTED WITH VISION😭I LOVE HIM AND HE DESERVES THE WORLD

Here are a couple of headcanons for Vision in relation to being in a relationship with him!! Please don’t be shy, and send in more requests!!

– Ryan

LET ME TELL YOU that Matt Murdock has literally kicked the door to my heart down, and he’s planted his firm ass firmly in a seat there and r e f u s e s to budge. So you, my dear anon, who has been waiting for this for so long, please take some Matt Murdock.

ps. please send me more Matt Murdock requests

Edit: this hasn’t been proofread yet, but it’s like 3 in the morning so I’ll do it after I sleep–

– Ryan

He gets banged up a lot. ‘It comes with the territory,’ he claims, implicating his disability, but you can recognize a bit of the deeper bruises and more severe cuts to be more than just a little ‘tumble’. You gripe about his carelessness and place your fingers over the minor injuries.

Having known Murdock for a while now, it was well known between everyone that you were a mutant. Less flashy than those that are sometimes mentioned in the news– you’re not made of iron, nor can you conjure a storm at will, but in cases like this, you were most useful.

Removing your hand from his forearm, the bruise having disappeared completely. The reason Matt hadn’t flinched nor questioned your actions was that he knew you were healing him. You stretch out your fingers, letting the knuckles crack – a sound to which Matt was acutely aware of – before placing your fingers just under his temple, where a cut sat.

“You gotta stop doing this to yourself. Maybe you really do need a dog.” The worry in your tone causes a certain vein in his head to throb. Its a sound akin to that of failure to him, and he wants to assure you that you don’t have to worry about him. He can take care of himself.

“I already have a dog.” He says, gesturing across his desk to Foggy with a mischevious smirk on his face. Foggy chokes over words to his own defense as laughter uproars from the group, you included. It’s a witty joke, but he’s evaded the suggestion of help once more.

“Just.. Please. Promise me you won’t get hurt.” Knowing he can’t keep that promise, you reword it for him. “Promise me you’ll come straight to me if you’re hurt too bad.” Your fingers slipped from his temple, revealing perfectly healed skin, not a scar to be seen. 

Though you’re no longer holding his head, he remains looking up, where he knows you’re looking down at him, and he offers a nod. His hand catches yours before it returns to your side, and your heart flutters. He rubs out the kinks in your hand, feeling the energy you’d used built up, and you wonder just how long a second is supposed to take to pass. Does it usually feel like it takes forever?

“I promise.”

~•~•~

You don’t remember the forecast saying anything about rain, but the thunder from the storm was rattling your windows and making it difficult to sleep. You sigh, standing at your stove as you place the kettle on. Maybe some tea would help to ease you to sleep.

As you set the stove heat up, it was then you noticed that the rattling at your window had turned into banging. Strange, since there wasn’t any known tree to be close enough to a fifth-story window. But turning around, you were met with a surprise that would catch you so off guard, you thought you were seeing a ghost.

“Matt?!” You rush to the window and lift it immediately, not caring about the rainwater that pours inside in consequence. He lets out a groan as he moves, slipping through the window and stepping into your living room.

A million questions swarm in your head to the point it almost felt like the room was spinning. “That promise..” His voice was hoarse, strained. “That promise you offered..” Your eyes search his body, taking in his hunched stature, and the way his arm cradled his chest. “You don’t happen to have working hours? Or can I cash in for a little help now…” It was meant to be a question, but his breath ran out.

To your horror, what was dripping down his body wasn’t just rainwater, but also blood. His blood. But you don’t know what was more of a shock to you. Seeing the size of the gash across his chest, or recognizing the mask in his hand to belong to that of Daredevil.

“Matt..?” All that can coherently pass your lips is his name, and you stand there, dumbfounded for a split second before you rush to his wobbling frame. You lead him to your couch, laying out a blanket for him to lay on. It doesn’t even cross your mind that it might stain. 

The kettle goes off, and the loud whistle overstimulates not just you, but him. “[y/n]..” He sounded pained, and tears pricked your eyes threateningly, and you took the kettle as a means to excuse yourself for a moment.

It’s all telltale, though– your frantic heartbeat, the choked breaths you take, and your subtle sniffle. He could feel guilt begin to sink its nasty claws in his heart, but he couldn’t keep this secret from you any longer. Not when you need to know what you’re getting yourself into– and to remind himself of what he should never have.

You’d taken the time to pour the water into a bowl, cooling it off with some ice. You place it beside the couch before rushing to your linen closet for a hand towel. Arriving at the couch once more, you immediately fall beside him. Matt shifts, trying to lean up, but you force him still. 

“Don’t move, you’ll aggravate your wound.” Your voice shakes, and you curse yourself for sounding so weak, “it’s a large cut, spanning the width of your chest. It’s a lot more than healing those scratches and bruises.” You explain, and even with eyes unfocused, you can tell Matt was listening intently to what you were saying. “It might take a bit longer for me to close the wound, but I can do it.”

“I trust you, [y/n]. Even before this promise, I.. There’s no one else I would have gone to.” His words strike you, but you just begin on your work. His suit’s top is soaked in blood and water, and you lift it to reveal the cut. Something that would normally need stitching, and constant attention, you can bring it down to nothing more than scar tissue. You’d used some of your own energy earlier for his lighter wounds, but this would take much more.

Your hands come into contact with his warm, slick skin, and it takes all your willpower not to break down at the thought of his pain, and that if that knife went in just an inch deeper, you would have lost him.

In a rush of emotion, you thrust all your energy into your palms, and you can feel the shift of it, from your body into his, as his cells work at a rapid pace to seal his wound. A sharp cry falls from your lips as it takes its toll on you, but a groan from Matt reveals it’s just as agonizing for him.

“It will.. pass. The discomfort will pass.” You promise him, looking over his face, and into his eyes, which you know can’t see you in return. Instead, his hand comes up to your wrist, holding it tight, securely. It’s a firm and steady grip, and the complete opposite of what you’d expect in this situation. It was comforting, to say the least, and it inspires you to give your all.

It takes a half an hour to heal him completely, and even then, there’s a scar that’s left behind. You’re lightheaded, and it’s hard to keep your sight straight. “Matt?” You call out to him, but he doesn’t respond. His eyes are closed, and his breathing is even. “Matt?” You project your voice a bit more, and it must have come across as urgent, because his eyes are now open, and his head is tilted in your direction.

“[y/n], I…” He seemed to be at a loss for words. You’d spent a half hour healing his chest wound, but that didn’t account for the swelling on his face or the scrapes across his shoulder, and who-knows-what-else he wasn’t telling you. And it seemed this was your breaking point. Your tears spill over, and you grip his soaked suit, tugging at where the hole is.

“Do you know how this looks to me??” Your voice carried more concern than anger, but Matt could still detect it there. “What are you thinking?! How do you think you’re..” Footage of Daredevil had shown he was exceptional at martial arts. It was irrefutable and undeniable. But to link the two of them? Matt Murdock, and.. Daredevil?

“The danger you put yourself into, every night?? What if one day you take a beating like this, and you don’t wake up? If I’m not there to save you? If I’m unable to save you?” Your voice breaks, and you hiccup through a sob. “What this would do to Foggy?” Your heart broke for him, for the day he hears, God forbid, that Matt passes.

“What this would do to me?” You sound defeated, and you take one more look over his body. All those scars, all those cuts, those bruises. Everything you’d ever healed for him, had been from this? 

“Matt, I..” 

Another sob. 

“I love.. you.”

And that seemed to be his breaking point. He’d silently sat there, taking in all you had to say, as he was expecting it.

“This city is unsafe. As long as men like– like this exist, the city cannot be safe.” He starts. “I couldn’t just sit by any longer as I heard all of this happening around me– I had to do something.” He says, bringing his hand to yours. He’s gentle with them, caressing them, treating them like glass. They’ve been creaking since twenty minutes ago. It must have been a limitation of your abilities since it sounds painful.

“And it’s because I love you, [y/n] I need to make sure this city is safe– for you to live. For us.” There’s nothing but numb pressure on his chest now, and he’s regained his strength to lift himself up. His opposite hand easily finds your neck, and he guides you in slowly. “Trust in me, [y/n], I want nothing more than your safety, and your happiness. I love you, too.”

He closes the distance with a kiss; soft, sweet, and tender. You’re already shaking due to the loss of energy from the transfer. But Matthew Murdock was on your couch, kissing you.

Sure, he was bloody, and you just found out that he’s the notorious Daredevil, but looking past that, he’s a man you can be proud of and a man you’d give anything to protect.

Yes, I do. Although I try to keep my fluffier works gender neutral and non-specific, I will write PoC imagines/headcanons if I get the request! 

On the note of NSFW, I’m comfortable with near around anything, except for non-con. So feel free to stop in and drop a request!

I hope I can fulfill your requests to your expectations!

Hi there! I’m Ryan, the Admin for this blog. Since I’ve just thrown myself back into Marvel Hell™, I thought I’d celebrate by making a blog to dump all my headcanons, preferences, scenarios, and reader-inserts in.

I write for every universe, movie and comics, and every character. Just hit me with a request, and I’ll get started on it right away~