#Apex Predator Series

[welldonebeca]

Apex Predator (I)

Summary: Ajak tells Ikaris it is in Arishem’s plans to make their team more than just a group or a family, but a pack. As their Alpha, it is their place to guide his Omegas. Aka: Alpha Ikaris fucks every woman in the group (except for Sprite). Warnings: Prey play. Semi-public sex. Smut. Dirty talking. Alpha/Omega. Rough sex. WC: 1.5k words Pairing: Ikaris x Sersi

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Masterlist

Ikaris measured his movements, floating above the ground to keep himself from making any noise.

Sersi was in a playful mood today. One minute, they were kissing on the side of the mountain and the next she used her powers to slide away and fuse Ikaris’ feet into the rock.

He easily freed himself, but now he had a giggly Omega to look for

It was a strangely entertaining foreplay, chasing his Omega when she wanted to play.

But it was adorable.

She was always adorable.

He stopped when he heard some pebbles, and backed away a little.

"Sersi!” he called around, trying to appease her. “If you come out now, I won't punish you too bad."

It was a lie, but she didn’t need to know.

His eyes caught a gush of black hair, and he raced towards it, running on his feet a nearly slamming against a rock when it formed right in front of him.

"Sersi!" he growled, easily going over it.

"It wouldn't be fun if I made it easy," she teased him in giggles, still a good distance away.

He tried to act mad, but hearing her laugh just made him smile.

Still, he made a flight dash towards her, but his lover was smart - and a little dumb too - jumping off the mountainside to escape his grasp

Ikaris gasped, and quickly manoeuvred his direction down to catch her before she met the ground, grabbing Sersi mid-air, and she giggled as she grabbed his shoulders.

“Are you insane, woman?” he squeezed her close to him. “You could have hurt yourself!”

He landed at a safer place, and she put her feet on the ground, smiling at him.

"I knew you would catch me, love,"

Ikaris sighed. That woman would be the death of him.

"Now that you’ve caught me, almighty eternal, what will you do with me?" she purred, moving her fingers over the details of his armour.

He was still in it, looking like what his Omega called ‘mighty eternal’, but Sersi had adhered to the fashions of these lands, looking beautiful in her flowy green dress, with nothing underneath.

Ikaris leant against the rock, looking at her from head to toe.

“First I have to punish you for running,” he remarked, licking his lips.

She slithered in his direction, slowly and teasingly.

“And how do you plan to do that?”

Ikaris grabbed her and turned her around, bending Sersi forward, flipping her dress up and exposing her round ass.

It was her favourite punishment, his hand smacking her pretty butt. It always made her wonderfully wet and needy.

When he descended his hand on her ass, slapping her meaty skin, she gasped loudly and moaned right after.

“Hold steady,” he instructed, adjusting her hips when she tried to run from his smacks. “We don’t want you to fall again.”

“You shouldn’t smack so hard, then,” she pouted, throwing him a cheeky look over her shoulder.

Ikaris rolled his eyes, sending two harsh smacks in succession against her ass, and she yelped.

“Stop running from it, naughty omega,” he growled, holding her hips in place with his free hand.

She pouted.

“Oh, I am?” she cooed. “What should you do about it, Alpha?”

Sersi was always so curious about humans and their cultures, including their gender-specific roles. Ikaris didn’t really care, it meant no difference to him, especially considering the Eternals were all cut from the same cloth anyway. Alphas, Omegas, Betas… it only made any difference for humans.

But Sersi was fascinated, and as they experimented more with their dynamic, it turned out Ikaris liked controlling and Sersi loved being controlled.

A prime Alpha and Omega pair, some may say.

He pulled her up against his chest, and wrapped his hand around her neck, keeping her in place as he put his lips against her ear.

“I’ll be forced to fuck that attitude out of you,” he promised.

Oh, how she would love that.

She moaned loudly at that promise and Ikaris changed her posture, turning her to the side, and ripped her dress, still holding her by the neck as he continued to spank her, lips glued to her ear as he finally managed to keep her in place.

“I know you’d love that, for me to fuck you until you can’t stand,” he slapped her more, the sound of his skin against hers echoing through the empty air. “Walking around dazed after my knot spread you out good, dripping with my cum.”

“Yes,” she moaned. “A god’s seed inside of me.”

Ikaris hummed along. Sersi was very aware of how human women looked at him, wanting such a strong Alpha to fill them and even wanting him to do it - to fuck them, fill them with his seed.

Too bad he already belonged to another.

“Do you deserve it, though, little omega?” he bit her earlobe. “My giant cock stuffed inside your little pussy?”

He slapped her one last time and took his hand to her cunt, touching her drenched folds.

“Please,” she whimpered. “Ikaris. Alpha, please-”

What if he…

“Please,” she whined again. “Al-”

Halfway through her word, he smacked her cunt with a big hand, and Sersi yelped.

“Ikaris!”

He stopped, frozen, fearing he might have hurt her, but Sersi just moaned and pressed her hips further out in display, trying to rub herself on his hand, and he smacked her again, feeling her wetness covering his hand a little.

“Like this?” he hissed into her ear.

“Yes,” she moaned. “Please, again. More.”

He slapped her cunt more and more, getting his fingers covered in her slick.

Ikaris wanted to keep smacking her cunt, maybe even see her cum, but his desires were too great, so he undid part of his suit, letting his hard cock and balls out.

He could’ve easily removed his suit, but he liked to keep it partially on. It made him feel more like a powerful eternal, like… an Alpha, maybe.

He turned her around, and she raised her ass to rub against him, and Ikaris lifted her up, holding her body up with a hand around her waist while keeping a firm grasp around her neck.

“Feel how ready my cock is for you, omega?” he asked, rubbing himself against her slit.

He was so big compared to her.

Ikaris remembered being afraid on their first time together, thinking he was going to split her in her half, but it was like Arishem had made her just for him.

She tried to move, to catch his cock, but Ikaris squeezed her neck in a warning.

“You’ll get it once I decide,” he warned her. “Or maybe I’ll just cum on your body and leave you here. If you don’t behave, I might.”

She whined, but stopped.

Still, she spread her legs, and he rubbed his cock against her wet cunt, taking some of her slick before finally sliding inside her, and she gasped.

“Ikaris,” she whined.

She was so wet, so damn welcoming.

“So tight, Omega,” he hissed into her ear. “So open for my cock.”

Ikaris slowly sunk into her, and both sighed when he finally filled her up.

A perfect union, as always.

“Please,” she whined, cunt squeezing his cock tightly.

He quickly moved to thrust into her as she dug her nails into his arms, moaning and crying softly.

"I want your knot," she moaned.

Oh, and why would he deny her that?

"You do, uh?" he felt his knot starting to swell. "Want me to fill you up with my seed and make sure nothing gets out? So your body has no choice but to let me breed you."

Sersi cried out, cunt fluttering around his cock as she came, just from having him inside her.

He growled at the tight squeeze, and turned her face with the hand he had on her neck, kissing her deeply, and she moved her hand back to caress his hair, moaning into his lips.

He could feel himself getting close, with his knot already struggling to move out of her cunt.

"I love you, Sersi," he panted into her lips.

"I love you too, Ikaris," she moaned.

He moaned as he locked himself inside her, spilling his seed as he held her tight.

They held each other closely, and she took his hand to kiss, gentle and affectionate as he held her close.

"I wish it was possible," Sersi whispered.

Ikaris sighed and kissed her cheek, and felt her tears touching his skin right over his skin and he did.

"We only need each other," he reminded her. "We only need each other. It's Arishem's will."

She didn't say anything, but he could feel her sadness, and the two stood together until his knot deflated, and the two started to redress and head back home.

He was just helping her look presentable when he let his gaze fall around the place, and Ikaris froze when his eyes connected with Ajak's. She was standing on the bottom of the cliff, watching them.

How long had she been there? Had she seen everything?

"I don't think there is any chance of saving this dress, Ikaris," Sersi giggled, getting his eyes back on her. "I'll just put on my suit."

He tried to smile at her, and looked back at Ajak, but she was already gone.

"Something wrong, love?" Sersi asked.

Ikaris let his eyes linger for a moment, but cleared his throat and stood straighter.

"No," he lied, at last. "It's nothing."

. . .

“Apex Predator” was posted on my Patreon back in September! To read it now and have early access to my stories, consider subscribing! It’s just $2 a month, and it helps me a lot to go through these hard times.

…

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#Apex Predator Series #ikaris x sersi #ikaris fanfic #ikaris smut #ikaris fanfiction #ikaris #ikaris fic #ikaris x sersi smut #ikaris x sersi fic #ikaris x sersi fanfic #ikaris x sersi fanfiction #sersi fanfiction #sersi smut #sersi #sersi eternals #sersi x ikaris #sersi x ikaris fanfiction #sersi x ikaris fanfic #sersi x ikaris smut #sersi x ikaris fic #sersi x ikaris imagine

[ambreignsfan4life]

#wwe #jey uso #the usos #sethrollins #main event jey uso #codyrhodes #randy orton #legend killer #apex predator #survivor series wargames #sami zayn

[allthingsdarkanddirty]

#cara dee #xpresso book tours #apex predator #cover reveal #the game series

[lilacargent]

Soooo first post ever and it is because i have gone down the #humansarespaceorcs rabbit hole, and my train of thought was:

Yes humans are weird and do strange things to survive. But more specifically we do weird things to our surroundings to survive, many different things.

What if, it has been a decade or two since the humans joined what ever coalition or council of aliens that work together and as a species they are mostly well known for their ability to grow crops under the worst circumstances (soil, climate anything) ofcourse the other deathworld apex predator human traits make the rounds but over time they seem to assume we cannot surprise them anymore.

Everyone knows that if a planet is ‘owned’ by a certain species they have to pay tax to the coalition, so planets that aren’t particularly useful are undesirable.

This particular planet p-jx-5£2 has been moved around endlessly, given with trade deals to get rid of it. P-jx-5£2 is 97% water, with a very high salt level so inhabitable for all developed aliens. Even though the atmosphere is a nice oxygen base and the gravitational pull allright most for the coalition members the fast spinning moon and the planets quick pace around its sun make the water move and tides switch every 2.5 hours keeping no land dry outside of low tide.

~~~~~~~~

The tall Avian alian il’trexz was elated this day was going to be great, a trade deal with the hardy humans and getting rid of a useless money drain, they didn’t have a clue what they were signing up for!

Turning towards the much smaller bipedal species standing in front of the window looking down on the blue planet that just came into their possession the strange creature mumbled something to them selves, frowning Il’trezx asks ‘im sorry what did you say, you spoke but the translator didn’t pick it up?’ The human (Steve) turned to him away from the window ‘my apologies, i was talking to myself, i said that we had to send the dutch.’ Il’trezx looked befuddled ‘the dutch? Is that some kind of animal?’

Steve threw his head back and made a series of sounds that ruffled the Avians feathers and had he not known it was a laugh it would have made him run for the hills ‘HA I’m going to tell Andreas you said that, no the Dutch is what call people from a country on earth that specialise in these kinds of climates, they’ve been begging for a challenge since they stopped the flooding on the umavi home world.’ With feathers puffed up Il’trezx wonders ‘and they are going to do what? This is an impossible planet’ immediately clasping his beak he looks a the human to see if he seemed angry at being swindled, but to his surprise Steve just looks at him ‘hm so you believe we can’t use this planet. Allright let’s make a bet.’ Interested Il’trezx leans in closer ‘what kind of bet?’ A predatory grin spreads on the bipedal aliens face ‘if we make less of this planet than the amount of tax we have to pay over it we will cover all trade costs for this quarter, insurance, travel all of it.’ Eagerly Il’trezx starts nodding ‘but’ Steve keeps going ‘if we do make more of this planet you will do the same.’

The bet is put onto paper and the higher ups of both parties also agree. In 5 years the Avians would be back and they would balance the costs to the benefits. When they departed Il’trezx says too Steve ‘you must have a lot of faith in these “dutch” ‘ the man grins teeth bared ‘ofcourse, after all they conquered water before’

The five years pass and stories have been going around of a new energy supplier from the humans, producing enough energy to run 78% of their ships and several facilities. Nobody seems to know where it is coming from but no new pollution is measured in any of these facilities. None of this bothers the Avians, after all humans come up with new things all the time.

The five years are up and Il’trezx is invited to the planet with a group of advisors and other officials, the planet which apparently they have renamed to ‘posy’ which is supposed to be short for some kind of sea god from their olden days.

On arrival the amount of coming and going baffles them massive groups of ships docking or docked and all somehow attached to wires that run into machines.

The planets change alone was awe inspiring, two cities on opposite sides of the planet and what seems like millions of weird blades attached to high poles every where. Strange wheels and long walls between towers rising from the rapidly moving waters.

This… this was their new energy source. They somehow made a battery of this uninhabitable planet and then built a home.

On the meeting place Steve is waiting with a man slightly taller than him. Spreading his arms the smaller human says ‘welcome to Poseidon, this is Andreas our main mechanic here. He has been here with planning since orbit 1.’

After the introductions were done Andreas led the group through what they called the Northern city and showed on his device the steps it took to get a foothold and how they proceeded from there, mentioning that many of these steps his home country had used thousands of year ago to gain land from sea, and energy from the movement of water and air. They specialised in this form of terra forming and it showed.

The Avians were astounded, not having realised that there was more than one kind of way the Humans had battled their environment even beating back the waters of their world.

Without a doubt the humans had won the bet and had another legend added to their name. More and more humans showed that with the right motivation they could settle right about anywhere.

********

So yea… my stupid little idea. Hopefully someone will enjoy it. I just liked the idea of specific cultures and stuff. specialising in certain things.

Edit: im amazed people seem to like it! If people have ideas or other cultures they think would baffle aliens, im certainly willing to try and write something

#humans are space orcs #humans in space #humans are space oddities

[farfromstrange]

Interview With The Vampire | Vampire!Matt Murdock x F!Reader

-> Main Masterlist

Pairing: Vampire!Matt Murdock x F!Reader (she/her)

Summary: You are the first journalist to interview Hell’s Kitchen’s resident vampire vigilante after he requested you personally to tell his story. He’s offering you a way out of your miserable job—to make your voice be heard. You’re desperate and curious, so you decide to take the risk. Most people only know him as Daredevil, but you are about to learn who’s really behind the mask. How hard can it possibly be? As it turns out, interviewing a vampire is a lot more complex than you expected it to be, and Matthew Michael Murdock has set his mind on ruining you for any other man to come.

Warnings: SMUT (18+ MINORS DNI), alternative universe, blood play, marking, scent kink, slight Dom!Matt, unprotected p in v, oral f!receiving, biting, vampirism, angst, religious imagery & symbolism, Catholic guilt, mentions of violence, allusions to suicidal thoughts, lots of plot, age gap

Word Count: 12.2k (this is a beast)

Other Characters: Vampire!Elektra (mentioned), Ben Urich (mentioned)

A/n: I finally got this one edited. This is a beast, y’all! I drew inspiration from Anne Rice’s Interview With The Vampire, but particularly the 2022 AMC series (I fell in love with it then and there), but it’s not based on it, so I just played around with the idea and this came out. It’s a lot, but it wasn’t enough for a full-blown series, so you’re getting a big ass One Shot instead. I used my usual Smut tag list, but since this is slightly Dead Dove Do Not Eat, heed the warnings and proceed with care! Don't read it if you don't want to. Anyway, I hope you like it!

Read Me On AO3!

The sun has long set over the Big Apple. Artificial neon, cars, and ceiling lights burning in the highrises along the riverfront cancel out the darkness that has befallen the country’s east. Noise melts into a flood that rolls over people’s senses, but most in New York City have grown numb to the city that never sleeps. 

Sirens follow cacophonies of screams. Teenagers get into clubs with their fake IDs, adults get drunk in bars or go to work the night shift at their underpaid jobs, and the other half cry themselves to sleep, knowing they will have to get up in the morning and go through the same hell all over again. 

Life has become a miserable existence, and it leaves human beings wondering, ‘How much longer do we have to endure this before we all finally drop dead?’

The system fails them. The law fails to protect them. All they can do is lie down and wait to die. And they will die sooner or later. That’s inevitable. 

In Hell’s Kitchen, in a penthouse with a view of the Hudson through colored windows that gloss over during the day and show the city throughout the night, resides someone who most of the city only knows by an alias—Daredevil. 

If anyone crosses him, he will suck them dry. It’s not a metaphor, I’m afraid; his reputation precedes him. Criminals fear the red eyes that come with fists and a sharp set of teeth that will surely run them into the ground. The rest of the city feels a little safer with him, but so far, no one has dared to question his nature. 

Fear is known to work as a paralytic. And this man living in the penthouse by the Hudson is the personification of what one might consider fear-inducing. Without the fear of others, he would not be thriving. 

An apex predator like him lives for the thrill of the kill. When the adrenaline spikes, it makes the prey start running and the blood taste so much sweeter. It is to a creature of his kind what a good glass of century-old red wine would be to a human being; he savors every last drop of it.

Two years out of your Master’s degree at Columbia University, you have become one of those hard-working adults who fall into bed later than they should, and you lie awake at night, wondering how much longer you have to exist before you can live.

You interned at the Bulletin; you ran the true crime and mystery column for over a year before the newspaper shut down. A billionaire from downtown Manhattan bought it to start his own magazine, and you were the only employee he didn’t fire. Instead of relying on your top-tier education and experience though, he has banned you to the lifestyle and beauty column. He’s a beast if you have ever seen one. 

On a Monday in June then, after the sun has risen and is now falling again, you find an envelope on your desk. You glide your fingers over the fancy paper. The letters are written in handwriting that resembles the old letters from the 18th century you had the pleasure of using as research material for your Bachelor’s thesis.

Your heart skips a beat. Could it be…

It is no secret that vampires exist.

Over two decades ago, scientists published papers on the existence of blood-sucking creatures after years of valuable research, and now governments around the world have set out to burn the inhuman species out before they can cause any more damage. Vampirism though is older than humanity itself and unless law enforcement has evidence of homicide, vampires have the right to exist amongst humans. 

They are excellent at hiding their true nature, that much is true. The lore that has been passed down since the beginning of time is only partly true. They know how to adapt and rise from the ashes like elegant phoenixes. The misconceptions surrounding their existence stem from fiction, horror, and fear, but they persist. 

And a rule has been established in society ever since the truth was revealed: don’t talk about vampires! 

Don’t talk about them unless it’s in a fictional context. Don’t put your research out there. Don’t fraternize with them. Don’t risk becoming prey. Don’t be fascinated by them, and God forbid, don’t you dare write articles about them for the public records. If you want to know about vampires, you have to dig, and you have to do so quietly or society will deem you crazy and a freak. 

The worst thing to be is not a flying android or a super soldier with a shield; the worst thing you can be, in this day and age, is a vampire. 

You were a curious child who turned into an even more curious adult. At times even a bitter one because she couldn’t get the answers she yearned for and had to do it herself. So, of course, the We Don’t Talk About Vampires rule came across as rather absurd, learning about it back when you were merely a teen. 

You started researching, and you found out more than you thought you would—more than you thought you could. You wanted to cover the issue in the Bulletin back when you still worked there, but since humans were raised to fear the very mention of vampires in the real world, no longer romanticizing the concept but rather running from it, the truth shall remain hidden. Again, that seemed absurd, but you had to accept it to get ahead. 

You kept researching to the point you convinced yourself you could be one of them if you tried. You felt like you understood them, but nothing could ever fully answer all of your questions to the point it felt truthful. Honest. Real. 

Growing up, everyone told you dead things aren’t supposed to walk. They aren’t supposed to breathe and exist among the living. They are cruel, and vampires are killers that leave trails of bodies the government is hiding from us. Greediness exceeds common sense. The human mind tends to get sick and twisted, and those who don’t fit in hardly ever stand a chance.

Hell’s Kitchen is particularly quiet on the issue. Rumor has it that the vigilante chasing criminals at night and leaving the worst of them dry at the shore of the Hudson while, at the same time, surrendering those he deems worthy of rehabilitation to the authorities, is one of those vampires. 

They call him Daredevil; the savior of innocents and the downfall of the vile. Only a handful of people know who he is. The truth is caught in a spider web of lies, unable to come out unless someone were to tell his story for the world to hear. 

That Monday in June when you open the mysterious envelope on your desk, everything changes. 

He addressed you personally. Your name resembles a masterpiece, the letters swirling at the edges. 

You don’t know me, but I know you.

It’s strange to read your name out of the mouth of a stranger.

I must admit, Miss, I’m a big fan of your writing. And I’m not talking about the lifestyle and beauty column Mr. Doherty of the ‘Silver Lining’ has confined you to.

No, I am a big fan of the work you used to do for the New York Bulletin. I remember your name headlining many articles on crime here in Hell’s Kitchen—a column my late friend Ben Urich used to call his home.  

It’s a shame that the paper was shut down. I tried to prevent it, but the disappearance of half of humanity and Wilson Fisk’s irreparable damage to the city’s foundation tied my hands. 

The token female journalist reporting on unsolicited beauty advice and lifestyle choices no one is going to follow in the days of social media and fake marketing. It must be frustrating, right? Not having a story to tell. Not getting recognized for your impeccable talent. The Bulletin gave you a platform, but Mr. Doherty and his goons took that away from you.

What I’m asking myself is, are you satisfied? You were probably imagining a different future for yourself. A woman of your caliber must want to be more than a mere object used to make a bottomless magazine look better on the market. 

Excuse my overstepping. I read one of your essays on the magical and the mythic—lore versus reality—the other day, and it inspired me. My life has been taking quite a few turns lately, so I required some new… let’s call it insight. 

You don’t know me, but I am one of those creatures you are fascinated by. I’m the kind of creature people have been telling you not to write about because the weak minds of the public would not receive it well. The Catholics, the church, the fragile and fearful human beings that can’t imagine anything in fiction being real and want to remain the superior species—trust me, I know what it feels like to be backed into a corner. To be abandoned. To be underestimated. Not quite like you, I admit, but I have a few years of experience in and with this world to show for myself. 

I imagine you’re tired of your position. I imagine you’re dissatisfied with human idiocy. You crave answers to your questions. Questions you have been asking yourself ever since college failed to answer them. My kind is being censored—partly for good reason—but that doesn’t sit right with you, does it? To live life in a monotone line with no clear way out of this boring rhythm you have had to fall into? 

I can offer you a different path. A story. Answers to your questions. And the unfiltered truth of a 242-year-old man. 

You are going to find a card with my address attached to this letter. I can assure you, sweetheart, we both want the same thing. I will wash your hands if you wash mine. Think about it, and come find me when you have made your decision. Preferably after the sun has set. 

Yours sincerely,

M.

The paper crumbles in your hands, but only at the corners. Your eyes are glued to the lost drops of ink, the blue blood of an old fountain pen caving under too much pressure. 

He chose his words carefully. Every paragraph circles around your head. You breathe in, and it suddenly feels as though the whiff of the unknown is an inhalable drug, twisting your brain inside out. 

The pull threatens to submerge you in a stormy ocean. You’re flailing your arms around helplessly, but there is nothing for you to hold onto. All buoys have drifted into oblivion, leaving a sea of utter emptiness behind, and in the midst of it, there you are, drowning.

In a moment of clarity, you fold the letter back down on the desk. It lands with a thud, and you look around frantically, checking if anyone is watching you. They aren’t. 

M. That’s all he’s giving you. And the fact he is over two hundred years old proves the rumors to be true. He’s standing by it, but only to you. He wants to reveal himself to you, show you his true face for a story, but he’s a vampire. 

You’re alone. You can wash his hands, but is just showing up enough for him? You don’t even know him. 

You’re in trouble. This time though, you didn’t even do anything. You did your job, and he caught an interest in you. How does that work? 

Your heart skips another beat. It should not, but it does. The danger is exciting. It shouldn't be exciting. You hate what your body is doing, but how can you make it stop? You can’t. You can’t do anything but take it.

This stranger has got you in a chokehold, but in his hands, you might as well surrender to your certain demise. You don’t consider vampires inherently evil, but there is a reason people warn you not to walk alone at night in Hell’s Kitchen. He’s dangerous, no matter his nature, and he is not supposed to lure you in the way he does.

But you’re a curious kitten, and he is offering you the holy grail of answers to questions you have been grappling with for years. He hit the nail right on the head. And it doesn’t even scare you how well he knows you. 

This is a gold mine. Realistically speaking, telling a vampire’s story could make or break your career as a journalist. If you do it for the magazine, you’re done before you can even bring your words to print, but if you do it individually and you do it well, people will certainly eat it up. The question is just, are you going to play your entire life safe, conforming to your boss’s view of you until you get the freedom you crave, or are you going to take the risk and fly? 

The answer is as clear as day, but it takes you a moment to process. It’s as though someone is in your head, steering you in the direction of whoever this M is. Daredevil. This vampire who wants you to interview him, and for what? That’s still an open question you don’t have the answer to. But you do know what to do.

You scramble for your laptop, your notepad, and the letter in the envelope. The clock strikes four. You have another two hours on the clock, but you can’t be bothered to stay. 

Upon hearing the sound of your shoes hurriedly scraping against the linoleum floors, one of your colleagues turns in her chair. “Where are you going?” she asks.

“I, uh, have somewhere to be,” you tell her as you brush past her.

“What, now?”

“Yeah. I forgot I had an appointment.”

“What about Mr. Doherty?”

You stop on your way out, looking back over your shoulder. “If everything works out,” you say, glancing through the window to his office at the other end of the hall, “He’ll have my letter of resignation by the end of the week.”

She gasps softly. “You’re quitting?” her voice is barely above a whisper.

Almost sinisterly, you chuckle. “That’s the plan, yeah.”

“But—”

“Tell your daughter Happy Birthday from me. I gotta go.”

Your steps echo for minutes still, but you are long gone with the wind.

Silver linings are considered an advantage that comes from an unpleasant situation. The name has proven to be entirely unfit for the magazine that replaced a big piece of Hell’s Kitchen’s history. The Bulletin had cultural value as much as it was laden with decades of the city’s stories told to the average person. 

Wilson Fisk was the dynamite that sent New York alight. The Bulletin’s destruction was mere collateral damage in the fight to get the city back on track. You have had so many reasons to leave presented to you, yet you never took them. If you had, maybe you wouldn’t be here, making bad decisions on what started as just another Monday in June. 

The fact is though, you didn’t leave, and you are here now. Facts are what matter. They count. Your hypothetical past, present, and future have no place in this reality because you can’t travel back or forward in time. Vampires may exist, and the Avengers time-traveled to save the world, but things aren’t quite as easy once you look at the bigger picture. You are not a superhero, you’re just a journalist chasing the kind of story that will finally make her voice be heard. 

You know that Ben Urich, at least, would be proud of you.

His address weighs heavy on the small card you pulled out of the envelope earlier that evening. You passed it on to the cab driver, and he began to navigate the dark streets of Hell’s Kitchen. The luxury condominiums in this part of the city can be counted on one hand. You know exactly when you’re there. 

The sun has once again set over New York City. You’re wide awake, not quite sure though if you’re ready to face what you are walking blindly into. Even your driver refuses to take you past a certain point, and that is how you know that you’re not dreaming. This is real, and it’s supposed to be terrifying. 

How come you’re not scared then?

You slip twenty dollars to the cab driver, then climb out of the backseat. The salty air from the Hudson River a few blocks down wafts around your sensitive nose. In the distance, you can hear waves crashing into the docks as the wind picks up in speed. The boats must be moving wildly by now, swaying from side to side and possibly even making the fish in the depths of the water seasick. You would be if you were them. 

With every step, you grow closer to your target. On second thought, maybe you should have brought more than just a pathetic bottle of pepper spray and your precious laptop. You could have brought your grandfather’s cassette recorder, at least that would leave a mark if you hit someone over the head with it. 

Do vampires get concussions? That is another question you can add to the seemingly endless list in your mind. It’s a confusing place as of late, and the weird sense that someone is playing with the controls won’t leave you alone. Either you are overthinking, or you are worse off than you originally thought. 

The apartment complex the card directs you to stretches high above you. You look up, seeing not a single light on. That’s odd, you think, but then again, you are meeting with the city’s most notorious man. If he is who everyone says he is, and if the rumors are even true, that is. 

As you are about to approach the entrance, your fingertips start to burn. A gasp escapes past your lips. Staring down, the cubical piece of paper goes up in flames. You are mere feet from the door, nowhere near close to an open source of fire, and the card starts to burn like a wildfire. 

You pull back, your heart hammering against your ribcage. The ashes fall to the ground, but before they can hit the asphalt, they vanish.

“What the–” before you can finish, the doors before you swing open toward the inside. The lights turn on. Someone even has called the elevator for you. 

Another step forward, and a voice stops you. “Fourth floor, down the hallway, first door to your right,” the voice says through the speaker. Only then do you notice the lack of a doorbell. 

Everything in you is screaming for you to run, but you are rooted in the spot. He dragged you here with a mere letter, and you were more than ready to jump. Desperation was the only thing that drove you here. Your brain seems incapable of rational thought.

What if that is what he wanted all along? To get you complicit by playing on what you so desperately need, which is a story and a way out of this boring everyday life that is threatening to slowly kill you.

He’s like a siren, luring you into his deadly trap, but even knowing all of this, you still can’t find it in yourself to run. 

The second you enter the building, the door shuts behind you, and your only way out is officially locked. You made the decision; you have dug your own grave, possibly quite literally, and now you have to lie in it. It’s better to die chasing a good story than dying at a desk in an office that doesn’t respect you.

You are a disgrace, you can hear your father’s voice in the back of your mind. He always warned you not to be too reckless or your bad decisions will eventually catch up with you. He always taught you not to trust strangers, and to stay the hell away from those who disgrace God, but you have never cared much about being a good girl. 

Your thoughts are as morbid as your obsession with the walking undead. It is time you embrace what people are already saying about you.

The elevator ride feels like an eternity. It goes up and up and up until it finally stops on the fourth floor. The walls smell like nothing but a faint hint of bleach. It’s clean, parquette not carpet, and the walls are kept in a shade resembling a mixture between crimson and maroon, and it is blending into a sort of marble.

The metal doors slide open. Again, you hesitate. A sweet whisper echoes in your ear, dragging you toward the edge. You breach the border between the elevator and the hallway that waits behind it. The voice is distant, and it doesn’t sound human—it reminds you of a siren’s song, calling for you. He is calling for you, and a fog settles over your mind. You’re not in control anymore, he is. 

You imagine him to be an old man, possibly middle-aged. Vampires stop aging when they’re turned. Their mind doesn’t. You’ve read the research plenty. They are wise beings, more intelligent than human beings could ever fathom. That makes them dangerous. 

Their venom rivals the intoxicating feeling of heroin, you’ve heard, and it heightens your senses to the point all you can feel is the one who bit you. Research suggests it’s a million times stronger than an orgasm, for both the vampire and the human being. 

Part of you has always wanted to try it. Part of you wants to know what it feels like to be sucked dry. You want to know what it feels like to be carried into a new dimension by someone who knows how to play the human body like a fucking piano, eliciting the sweetest melody through your very essence and the symphony of your moans.  

This M—Daredevil—is inherently dangerous. He’s as mysterious as they come; a man in a mask lurking in the dark corners of Hell’s Kitchen every night, turning the fight for justice into his hunting ground. 

It’s as though he curled his fingers, and you followed. 

You walk the dark hallway down to the door on the right. Paintings litter the walls. Masterpieces, blotches of white, red, and color. You recognize the red marble as a decorative theme on the wallpaper. Tracing your fingers over it, the rough drywall scratches at your skin. 

You reach out a shaky hand toward the golden knob. Before you can turn it though, the door already flings open. It must be witchcraft. 

Red appears to be his favorite color. At least judging from the hallway, that is true. When you step into the room with a pounding heart and blood pooling in your cheeks though, the inside of the room is a lot more… human. You wouldn’t have guessed it from the gloominess surrounding you on your way there.

A leather couch and armchairs stand in the middle, facing toward the window front. Colored windows, as you have gathered from the rumors. They are see-through now though, showing the city skyline and the moon up high. The chandelier on the ceiling is the only piece of furniture you would consider old. Browns meet hues of blue and dark green, a forest at midnight, and you suck in a sharp breath. The apartment is beautiful. 

You look to your left and see a bookshelf stretching the length of the wall. You can’t help but run your hand over the backs. You would have expected original editions from the 18th or 19th century, but when your fingers trace over the bindings, you are met with the bulging of Braille underneath the elegant golden writing of the titles. None of them seem to have collected dust. It surprises you to only find a mere handful of classics that haven’t been transcribed in Braille and a realization you did not expect starts to crawl its way forward.

“I stole that one from a library in Paris.”

Your racing heart stops beating. The book you’ve been holding falls to the ground, its worn-out leather cracking further around the spine. The thud is deafening. You gasp, turning around. Your shoulders fly up as the tension ripples through every last muscle in your bone. Your bones ache just from how stiff you’re standing, but you can’t move.

The man before you moves as quietly as a mouse. You didn’t hear him coming. The moonlight reflects off his dark brown hair, making it appear almost ginger. He’s wearing a simple suit without a tie, and the white of his shirt is as pristine and clean as the cut of his beard. You can see chest hair poking out from underneath the two open buttons, as dark as the locks on his head. His jawline is irresistibly sharp, leading up to a pair of plump lips he is wrapping around the brim of a crystal glass filled with rum.

Your heart remains frozen. Not a single drop of blood pumps through your veins, yet your cheeks burn brighter than a bonfire on a pitch-black night. 

But his flawless appearance is not what catches your attention the most. Looking up into his eyes, wanting to know whether they are as red as those set into the devil’s mask, you find nothing but your terrified reflection staring back at you. It’s as blurry as the picture of your face in a still ocean’s water, your wide eyes staring back at yourself. 

The red glasses are all you can see. Round with a black rim. Silver would have looked better on him, or maybe even gold. The black reminds you of an endless pit, a sinister embrace of vampire stereotypes, but you can’t look away from the maroon that won’t allow you even a glimpse into his eyes. They are shielding him from the world, and his eyes from curious, stupid humans like you.

He nods toward the ground. “You gonna pick that up?” he asks. His voice reminds you of rumbling gravel. 

He looks like a man. He talks like a man. If you didn’t know better, you would say he is human. There seems to be blood in his cheeks and air in his lungs. 

You have to pull yourself together. Clearing your throat, you bend down and pick the book back up.

“Thank you,” he utters your name. “It’s been a while since I’ve received visitors that don’t work for me.”

You put the book back on the shelf. Your lips are sewn shut; you can’t find the words. Every time you open your mouth like a fish on dry land, you close it again, and it is embarrassing to be standing in front of him with your guard down. 

“Welcome to my home,” he says. You wish you could see his eyes to know if he’s mocking you. “Do you want a drink, or do you need another minute to process?”

He is mocking you. His tone is gentle, as is his voice, but he smirks like a smug motherfucker, and your anger boils to a tipping point. The candle is about to burn out. 

“I–” you stammer. Internally, you curse yourself for being such a fool. 

“Another minute it is then.”

You don’t need a minute though. “You’re blind,” you blurt out. 

The beautiful—deadly—stranger nods. “Yeah.“

“How?”

“Accident when I was a kid.”

“But you’re…” you leave the missing part of that sentence hanging in the air like a noose. 

“Say it,” he murmurs. You want to say it sounds like a growl, but you’re not sure. He isn’t asserting dominance or trying to force you into submission by scaring you away, but he is toying with you regardless. 

You take a deep breath. The word, the truth, numbers your tongue and your lips with its weight. “A vampire,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper, matching his. 

His smirk broadens. He pushes his tongue against the inside of his cheek for a moment, then releases it as it darts out to wet his bottom lip. “I’m a blind vampire, yes,” he answers. “We’re rare, but we do exist.”

Blind vampires. In all of your years of fascination, that has never crossed your mind. You used to believe that they had healing abilities that far exceeded your own. You were wrong. He lost his eyesight before he got turned into a vampire. He lived as a blind human being and didn’t regain his most crucial sense when he died. 

He came back to life, but he died. It is surreal to stand across from him. He’s not just letters on a piece of paper, he is very much real. And he’s blind. 

“Oh, my God,” you curse.

That elicits a soft chuckle from him. “I was starting to think you wouldn’t come,” he says. 

“I was considering not to.” 

He sees right through you with those empty glasses. “That’s a lie.”

“How would you know?” you counter. 

“I can hear your heartbeat. The blood pumping in your veins…” His head tilts ever so slightly in your direction. You take a step back. It’s an instinct. “Your pulse picks up when you lie, or when you’re nervous, or both,” he states. “When you first saw me, your heart skipped a beat. It did again when you lied to me.”

Your eyes trail down to his thick thighs perfectly fitted in his tailored trousers. His thick digits pat the rhythm with his fingers on the fabric. Thud-thudthudthud-thud. You place a hand on your chest. He wasn’t wrong; your heart is racing. 

His smirk turns into a smile, but only briefly again. It’s a glimpse of humanity he doesn’t want you to see. “I like that sound,” he says. “Has anyone ever told you that you smell good? Sweet, sour, and a little salty. Natural. You don’t use a lot of artificial perfume, but you like cherry chapstick.”

You swallow, taking a whiff of your arm. Besides your deodorant masking the scent of your nervous sweat, you smell nothing. How good must his nose be? His hearing? His sense of taste? 

“Right now, sweat is dripping down your back, and your muscles are tense enough to strain against your bones every time you breathe. Your heart just skipped a beat again. You find it weird,” he muses. “I can’t turn it off, but I get it must be strange for you.” 

“You–” The blood has collected in your head, pushing the temperature in the room to an all-time high. “Get out of my body!” you snap. 

He laughs. “That’s a sentence I never thought I’d hear.”

“And I never thought you would ask for an audience with me, but here we are.”

“Here you are.” 

You want nothing more than to wipe that smirk off his face. He looks so smug, standing there with his drink, wearing a suit too fancy for his own home. He’s fully in his element. It’s scary how alluring he is, too. You don’t want to think that way, but as soon as your eyes gaze upon him again, your chest contracts, and you forget how to breathe. 

He’s a wolf, and you’re a lonely little sheep that doesn’t know any better. That lonely little sheep just wants to be a part of something bigger, even if that means surrendering herself to the big bad wolf. He wants a taste of her, and the sheep would give him that in a heartbeat if he just asked. 

You blink. There is a voice in your head, and it isn’t your own. Far from it. You don’t want to be associated with this stranger. She thinks she knows you. She thinks she knows what you want—the sheep in the eyes of her natural enemy. This voice is the most irrational you could be, and you need to stop letting her win.

And yet you—not just the voice of the lonely sheep you appear to be—would follow this man anywhere, even to hell if he asked you to. 

Your eyes drill knives into his skull, but they are also full of curiosity. Can he hear your thoughts? Your heart beats in your throat. You can taste it on your tongue. If you bit your lip, you would bleed, and he would probably fall into a frenzy. Still, your teeth dig into your bottom lip. What if he can hear your thoughts—hear how fucking needy you are? You’re pathetic. What he must think of you, standing across from him, smaller than human life itself. 

You want to read him, but he is far from an open book. He’s not Braille you can run your fingers over, and even if he was, you don’t know how to read it. He’s an enigma. His face is set in stone; an iron mask you can’t penetrate. 

His chest heaves with another chuckle. He sets the crystal glass down on the coffee table, taking a step forward. “No, I can’t read your mind,” he says. 

You flinch. “What?”

“Your breathing pattern. The way you look at me. I can sense that you’re thinking about something.” He adjusts his glasses. “It’s just… Most humans ask me if I can read their minds, you know. I can’t. Some vampires can, but my senses are the only heightened ability I have.” This time, when he chuckles, a hint of bitterness dances in his voice. 

“At least you’re not in my head then,” you say. 

“No.”

“Good.”

A pregnant pause follows. You clutch your bag to your chest, your fingers digging into the frame of your hidden laptop. 

“Can I offer you a drink?” he asks, pointing to his empty glass.

You wave him off. That’s the last thing on your mind. “No, thank you.”

Sometimes at night, you fantasize about diving into the abyss of darkness. It looks and sounds a terrifying lot like him. You want to know him. You need to know him. When it comes to him and this—whatever this is—the lines between want and need are blurring into an unidentifiable mess. It’s an ocean of emotions with no land in sight. A total eclipse of the heart, if you will. You’re losing your mind.

“What you can do–” You straighten your shoulder, hoping it will add height to your beaten confidence. “You can tell me your name. Sir,” you say. 

He nods. “I suppose it would only be fair, wouldn’t it?”

“Yes, it would.”

“Matthew. My name’s Matthew.” The softness of his features as his lips move to the rhythm of his words takes you back anew. His eyebrows raise slightly, and you catch a glimpse of a pair of beautiful, unfocused hazel eyes that steal your breath away. 

Matthew. It is a name that easily rolls off the tongue. It suits him.

You repeat his name aloud. “That’s an odd name for a 200-something-year-old man,” you point out. 

Matthew scoffs. “My parents were both Catholic.”

“I suppose you’re not?”

You hit a sore spot. His head dips, fingers running over his nails and tongue tracing his teeth. “Not anymore,” he says.

God died for him a long time ago, and all churches burned down.

Your grip on your bag loosens. “Then why Daredevil?” you ask. 

His lips part. “I, uh, have the Bulletin to thank for that one. After centuries of existing in this world, and being despised for no matter what I do, I’ve decided to embrace it. I am Daredevil, not even God can stop that now.”

Matt grabs his glass, turning away from you. He doesn’t use a cane to navigate from the couch to the mini bar on the other end of the room. You carefully follow his movements. One of his hands remains at his side, snapping his fingers as he navigates the familiar terrain of his home. 

He uncaps a half-empty bottle of Whiskey to pour himself another glass. 

“You know, Matthew,” you prompt, daring to step forward an inch, “as big as your reputation is in this part of the city, Silver Lining is not the kind of magazine that would cover your story.”

“You still came,” he says. 

“I could lose my job if anyone knew I came here.”

“And yet you’re here and not where you should be.” He turns his head over his shoulder. “You wouldn’t risk losing your job if it wasn’t important to you, would you?”

You stammer, “I–” He’s got you. You’re a fish with a hook in her mouth. 

“If Silver Lining Magazine won’t cover my story, why are you here?” Matt turns back to you, leaning back against the shiny Mahagoni of his minibar. It offers a beautiful contrast to his strong physique and the slight paleness of his skin. “Could it be because you’re fascinated by the mythic?” he asks, teasing. “By werewolves and witches and vampires?”

It’s your turn to scoff. “I won’t confirm or deny. My boss wouldn’t let me write a vampire vigilante exposé even if I begged him to.”

“And that’s why Mr. Doherty doesn’t deserve you.” Your body visibly recoils when he pushes forward, moving just an inch toward you. “Your curiosity is a virtue,” he purrs. The moonlight sets your reflection in his glasses alight. 

“Is that why you lured me here?” you ask him. “Because my curiosity is a virtue and you consider yourself better than the people in my life?”

“I didn’t lure you here, and I think you know that. That’s not what this is.” The distance between you starts to shrink, backing you into a corner. “I believe you came here because the thought of interviewing a vampire and sharing your findings with the world on your account excites you,” he says. “You want to be heard. You want to be taken seriously as a journalist, and you want to make people happy.”

The only way for you to come out of this with your pride and dignity still intact is to put up walls before the already existent labyrinth of walls keeping your heart guarded and your soul safe. “Again,” you ask, “why me?”

“Why not you? As I stated in my letter, I’m a fan of your work.”

You roll your eyes. “Yeah, about that. How did you write that if you’re blind?”

“I didn’t, my secretary did.”

“Of course.” Of course, he has a secretary. “I… I just don’t get it,” you say. “You’ve been hiding for so long–” 

Matt cuts you off with an urgency you didn’t expect, “Things have changed. Circumstances…” he trails off. 

“Wouldn’t it be a suicide mission?” 

His answer is silence. You let out an exasperated sigh. “If you want me to interview you, you have to be honest with me.”

“I’m not on the record yet.”

“Right. Maybe you can answer this though—off the record, of course—how can you be certain I didn’t call the cops or the FBI before I came here?”

His eyes crinkle. “I’m not stupid, sweetheart,” he says. 

He’s amused. You’re amusing him. 

“Don’t call me that,” you growl. 

He’s spreading you open, holding up a mirror for you to look into. It’s your miserable self in all its glory, and he knows you better than you know yourself. 

You ignore the sharp pain in your left ribcage as you pull the arrow out of your heart. “Unless someone holds up a sign that they are pro-vampirism, how would you even know I’d listen to you and not just refer you to the Journal of Psychiatry?” 

“Are you telling me you don’t believe in vampires?” Matt quips.

“That’s not… Answer my question!”

The sound of your heartbeat must sound almost like the rapid firing of a machine gun, that’s how fast your pulse is racing. Your veins threaten to burst with the excess blood. It’s a heat like no other. You’re a witch at the stake, and Matt is holding the torch to your gasoline-doused body. 

He clears his throat. Your face falls at the words that tumble out of his parted lips, and the rapid firing turns into a deafening silence and a monotone line on a heart monitor. 

“After what I’ve learned from reading Dr. Rice’s research on the phenomena of vampirism, I can confidently say this species is no different than an animal like the great white shark or the Homo sapiens sapiens—our kind,” he recites. “Vampires are a medium of fiction and propaganda to induce fear, but they are also a widely misunderstood species that is being silenced rather than heard. Our species, the human species, likes to consider themselves superior, even when we’re in a position of being someone’s natural food source. Dr. Rice’s research is based on a comprehensible set of facts, and isn’t that what we have been relying on ever since the beginning? Our psychology makes it possible for us to change the narrative in our favor, and more often than not, we ignore the very facts deemed by humans as an intellectual importance to spread the message of an entirely different agenda. Dr. Rice’s research only proves that egotism and humans themselves will be humankind's certain downfall.”

“My investigative journalism essay,” you breathe out. 

“Published by Columbia University.” 

Your heart restarts with a rush of adrenaline. “How… how do you know all of this?”

“I may be blind,” Matt says, “but I know how to read between the lines.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

The alcohol in his drink seems to have little effect on him. “I know you have questions, and I’m willing to answer them if you promise to publish a detailed report somewhere other than Silver Lining Magazine.”

You look down at your bag, then back at him. “Ben Urich could have told your story in a way that would’ve made people listen,” you murmur. “I don’t have an impressive career like him.”

“Yeah,” he smiles, “but you could have easily written ‘Attack on NYC’. Ben was a good man, an even better journalist, but he could not have written your college essay. And he could never have been you.” 

Your name rolls off his tongue—not a pretentious nickname that makes you want to vomit but your name, and it flicks a switch within you. 

You glance around the spacious living, pulling your laptop out of its confines, and you bridge the distance between you, finally. You notice he smells of sandalwood cologne and scentless soap. “Okay,” you cave. “Where do you want me to set up?”

Session 1.

The spacebar clicks underneath the tip of your index finger. The white of your screen fills with a series of red sequences as the microphone takes in every little sound around you. Except for the two of you and the fading footsteps of one of Matthew’s assistants though, the world has fallen silent in the dead of the night. He’s sitting across from you, legs crossed, head tilted; your life is about to change.

“So, Mister Murdock,” you begin, “tell me. How long have you been dead?” 

His mouth opens in a wide grin. “242 years,” he answers. 

“And what happened the year you died?”

“Well, it was 1782. I was a good few years out of law school. I was a good lawyer, but I wasn’t successful. That year, I met a beautiful woman at a banquet. I wasn’t rich—trust me, I was beyond penniless—but she had been adopted into a wealthy family, and that made her one of the richest women in the room. Everyone wanted her, but when I sensed her across the hall, she only had eyes for me. And she was the first woman to not see me just because I was blind.” He chuckles sadly. “I thought she was the woman of my dreams, the love of my life, but a few weeks later, after letting her into my life, I realized that she didn’t look at me that night because she was interested. She was hunting me. El— Miss Elektra Natchios…”

The year 1782 becomes apparent before your inner eye. As he tells you about the night he met her, you can see the dark-haired beauty making her way across the ballroom. Red lips and a gown to die for. Her dark eyes were full of mischief, but the passion in them could have knocked a grown man off of his feet. And that is just what she did to poor Matthew. 

“I was going to marry her,” he tells you.

He went to church regularly. His knees were bloody from praying, his senses already heightened before he died. God’s soldier, that is how he puts it. He was told that the accident that left him blind happened for a reason, and he had to fight a war that went beyond the country’s fight for independence. 

That summer, Elektra drained him. He didn’t know what she was. She fooled him. He was obsessed with her. Her dark eyes he couldn’t see lured her in, and it was the venom in her blood that became his downfall after she dug her teeth into him.

Matt tried to beg his priest for forgiveness, but he didn’t even make it past the marble stairs before the doors locked. He knelt in a pool of blood—both his and that of the first human he ever sucked dry to survive as a newborn vampire—offering an eternal sacrifice to Catholicism, but God abandoned him on his doorstep. 

The church walls would have been set on fire if he had touched them from the inside. 

You look up from your notepad to find him now standing at the window. He’s not looking out, of course, but he seems so deep in thought, the memories that aren’t your own but his start to dissipate, and you’re brought back to the here and now.

Matt poured his heart out to you. You expected answers, but not this kind, and certainly not of this magnitude. You see him in an entirely different light. He’s vulnerable, fragile, and human. He has endured trauma that killed him, but he couldn’t die because the woman he loved made him immortal. It’s a bigger curse than growing up with the belief that an accident made you God’s soldier. 

He lost everything. For centuries, he has had to live with that. It’s killing you, feeling his pain, the pure agony that radiates off him. 

Your voice is quiet when you ask him, “What was it like?” You don’t have to say it out loud for him to know what you are referencing.

Matt chuckles, the sound a mere breath in the atmosphere. “Like she took my soul from my body, setting fire to my belief system and already heightened senses,” he says. 

You swallow. “That sounds… overstimulating.”

“It was. Is. My heart stopped, but when that happened, something else awoke inside me. The hunger… the hunger was the worst part. It’s insatiable. One hour passes, and you feel like you’ve been starving for weeks.”

“Like you’ve been possessed by a demon?”

“Like I am the demon.”

“But you’re not.” You should stop the recording. You’re not on track; you’re incorporating your feelings into Matt’s story, but you can’t help it. The words tumble out of your mouth without a second thought, a train that cannot be stopped. 

He raises his eyebrows, you can see it in his reflection in the windows. “Are you religious?” he asks.

You shake your head. “This isn’t about me.”

“Are you?”

The veins on the back of his hands bulge as he balls them to fists at his sides. Your throat is a desert, and your heartbeat resembles a storm that burns right through it, sending the sand flying in all directions of the horizon.

You adjust in your seat, crossing one leg over the other. He takes a whiff. He’s smelling you, and that doesn’t help the speed of your pulse to calm down. 

Tapping your pen on your notepad, you watch the red sequences fill the white space of the recording program. It moves with the sound of your voice when you finally dare to answer. “It’s a complicated question because there is a difference between believing in God and believing in the church,” you say.

“Do you believe in God then?” Matt asks. It’s as though he’s trying not to seethe at the mere mention of someone he used to worship. You make a note of that.

“There is so much bad in this world. So much cruelty. I can’t…” You take a deep breath. “I don’t know how to believe in a God that would let the things humans do to each other happen. If God existed—if he was as merciful as Christians like to claim, he wouldn’t let this happen. And I’m so sick and tired of people using their faith, and their beliefs in God and the church as justification to be disrespectful. I don’t understand it. How can anyone? Why is someone who has to drink blood to stay alive—someone who didn’t even choose this life—worth less and the devil’s breed when humans do worse things to each other? Why would God allow us to start wars that kill innocent people? Children? It’s just not fair that we treat ourselves and others as though we are already in hell, and we’re just supposed to accept that God doesn’t care—” You stop yourself, the tears burning behind your eyes. 

Matt turns back around. You can’t look away. “When I was still human,” he murmurs, “I used to believe everything that happened to me was God’s will. The accident, God’s will. Me going blind, God’s will. I went to confession, prayed until my knees were bloody and bruised. I tried convincing myself that every scream I heard from down the block, every person who lost their life or their innocence was my responsibility. God made me this way for a reason, right?” The scoff is as bitter as the liquor in his glass. “I fell apart, you know. I was a kid, so I didn’t understand. I didn’t understand what was happening to me,” he tells you. 

You hold your breath. The glasses slip from his eyes as he takes them off with shaky fingers. You are met with the most beautiful pair of hazel eyes. Emotions dance a heated tango in a tornado. If you look closer, the green specks bring life to his eyes. It’s human nature in the purest sense of the word. 

Your reflection stands in his irises, his unmoving pupils, and the tears glisten in his eyes. They’re as red as blood, watered-down crimson essence. You want to reach out and stroke his cheek, but that would be crossing a very big line that you can’t bring yourself up to touch. 

“I studied law because I thought it would change something,” he continues. You listen. It’s the only thing you can do—listen. “It wasn’t enough. Nothing I ever did felt like it was enough. I lost my father. Jack. I didn’t know my mother until it was too late. Maggie. I had no one. No money, no prospects, just me and those voices in my head, telling me I was supposed to be God’s soldier.”

“You’re not,” you cut in. 

He shakes his head. “I prayed; I crawled up the stairs of the church, and I spent hours repenting for my sins. I bled myself dry for Him. I sacrificed myself. I sacrificed my youth, my heart, and my soul, and I got nothing back. I begged for help until my voice was sore, but nothing… God, nothing was ever good enough. Until Elektra came around,” he says. 

“She changed everything for you. It makes sense. She turned you into a vampire, but she also loved you.”

“She did love me, in her own twisted way.”

“It’s what you deserved,” you say.

He isn’t yours, but the pang you feel in your chest is treacherous. Your heart cracks like a porcelain vase, jealousy creeping in like a parasite of toxic waste.

In response, Matt only chuckles bitterly. “She made me believe again, then took my soul and crushed it in her hand.” The correction makes your shoulders slump. “Instead of feeling like my world ended though, I felt at peace when she sucked the blood out of my veins and fed me her venom,” he says. “It’s sick, I know. I was aware I died that night, that she turned me into a devil who could only survive if he drank the blood of others. The Catholic in me struggled to accept it, but I had no choice but to embrace what she made me.”

“And where is she now?” you ask.

“Gone.” The light in his eyes has fully disappeared now. “I stayed with her for a while until she died in my arms. She showed me what love is, and she showed me heartbreak. She made me hungry for blood, awakening the devil I’ve been trying to tame. She taught me how to feed, how to hunt, and how to chase. But she also cursed me,” he says. “I only exist for myself now. I only bleed for myself. No God, no church, and no more religion. I’m not Jesus, I’m Judas, and I retired the cross the day I was crucified.”

You have run out of questions to ask. Too overwhelming is the sight of his walls crumbling down, this stranger you now know better than any living being seems to. You no longer see money in this, or a story to chase, you only see Matthew, and the halo above his head he still believes is a pair of horns. The world broke him. His faith in God broke him. It crushed him, and he lost everything. How broken he must be. 

“Not such a pretty story when I say it out loud, huh?” He scoffs.

The spacebar clicks again. The recording comes to a sudden halt. One hour and fifty-eight minutes, the first session of your interview with the vampire. You need to put a halt to it now because what you are about to say or do as you reach your hand out to brush his cold, dead skin is not something that should be found on a record. And you won’t ever tell.

Matt pulls away when your warm fingertips brush his. You’re standing across from him now, so close he can smell, hear, and feel all of you at once.

Your touch is the holy water that burns his skin, but the fire sustains him and shoots straight to his core the same way the blood rushes to yours.

“It’s not a pretty story, no,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper, “but it did tell me what I already knew.”

“And what’s that?” he asks.

“That you’re not evil. You’re not the Devil. You’re misunderstood. You’ve been beaten; you’ve been abandoned, hurt, and broken. That doesn’t make you a monster. Trying to make this city a better place does not make you a monster.”

“If you only knew the things I’ve done…”

“I know the rumors suggest that you were the one who fought Wilson Fisk and got this city back where it needed to be. You’ve saved countless women from the worst of fates. You are the reason the innocent people of Hell’s Kitchen feel safe. By picking up that mask, you became a hero, not a villain, and that is the story I want to tell.”

In lightspeed, he has moved you from the window to the other end of the room. Your back hits the wall. 

Matt towers over you in all of his intimidating glory. His eyes spark red, but you hold his unfocused gaze. He has such beautiful eyes. This pull between you is far from human; it’s unhealthy, and it is exactly where he wanted to get you. You’re trapped, pinned underneath him like a deer caught in headlights. 

Exhaling, your breath strokes his cheeks. He closes his eyes, savoring the taste of you. Every particle in the air, he inhales. His tongue darts out to lick his lips. Oh, what you wouldn’t do to suck that tongue into your mouth. 

Your pheromones play his head like a puppeteer pulling the strings of his marionette. He growls. “Do you have any idea how dangerous I am?” 

The moonlight catches his sparkling white teeth. This time though, you come face to face with the sharp edges of his previously concealed fangs. Your jaw drops open. He’s ethereal. 

“I could snap your neck—” Matt places his hand on your neck, “I could make that heart stop beating, take the air from your lungs. I could eat you…” He traces the vein in your throat from your jaw to your collarbone. “I could bite you and suck your blood until you’re empty. I could kill you, sweetheart. My kind is your natural enemy. You shouldn’t be here.”

You shudder. His nose brushes the sensitive skin below your ear. He’s so close you can smell him. On inhale, and his scent consumes your senses. He is all you can feel now. You reach out to hold onto his arms, his muscles tensing under your teeth. He’s big and strong, and those hands have a mind of their own as they begin to wander but never where you need him most. 

You shouldn’t be here, yet you came. He asked you to him, and you complied. Is this your fate now? Chasing after your big bad wolf like the helpless sheep that you are?

Your walls clench around an agonizing emptiness, your swollen clit brushing against your soaked underwear. Whatever he is doing to you, it’s the cruelest form of torture. 

A strangled noise breaks out of the back of his throat, rumbling in his chest. “You have no idea how badly I want to taste you,” he breathes. 

“Do it,” you beg. “Taste me.”

He utters your name again. “Stop.”

“Please.”

Your tone shatters him. When he kisses you, finally, fireworks explode in the universe around you. All the stars seem to finally align. Your heart opens, and it sucks him right into you. Your soul yearns for him. He’s so close yet so far away. 

The moon stands between you, but you cross even that ocean as you push against him, forcing your tongue into his mouth. He takes like heaven and hell; he’s the apple Eve bit into and cursed her for all eternity. But he’s also the snake, the one who compelled you to take this journey of bad decisions and jump right off the cliff’s edge. You melt into him like a broken candle. 

He pulls away. Those fangs are alluring, as sharp as a knife’s tip. You want to know what it would feel like gracing your skin, digging into your as he thrusts his cock into your tight cunt. The thought alone sends your mind into a spiral.

Your lips are swollen, but he has yet to draw blood. Matt looks as though he wouldn’t dare, his eyes darting around in a darkened conflict he feels might cost him more than your dignity. You are begging for it, as is your body, but he’s holding himself back. He’s the one who tied himself to an invisible pillar, keeping his hands locked behind his back. But that is not the Matt you want. 

You lean your head to the side, exposing the length of his neck. All control has slipped from your fingers. It’s in his hands now—you are. He cups your head gently. A mere few inches lie between your fountain and his lips.

You press a kiss to his calloused palm—a desperate and needy kiss, tracing your tongue over the lines that tell his life’s story in a way no interview can retell—and it is then he is forever done for. He’s doomed, and you are the second woman to pull him under the pits of hell. 

Saliva drips from his fangs. You hold your breath. He hisses, a weak admission of surrender; the words die miserably on your tongue when his lips close around your pulse point with all his might, and his teeth drive home. 

You moan aloud. Your fingers tangle in his hair, forcing him deeper as he sucks the dark red essence out of your vein. The sensation is more than you bargained for. It’s a drug that wrecks your system. The synapses in your brain backfire with all their might, and what follows the initial explosion of pleasure shooting white hot through your being is complete and utter silence as this God of a man feeds on you. 

The invisible string between you glows a bright crimson. It slings around you, tying you together like the roots of a tree. It’s an eternal sacrifice. You are giving your all to him, the very core of your existence that is now flowing into his mouth. You swear you can hear his thoughts mingle with yours. Yes, more, please. You taste so good. Your knees buckle, but you remain standing strong. He makes sure you don’t fall. Don’t slip away from me. I need you. 

A tear rolls down your cheek. You could sob. It feels so good—too good to be true. In that moment, you become one. There is no telling where one begins and the other ends. The coil in your stomach tightens, and the only pain you feel is the pleasure threatening to overwhelm you. He’s taking everything as you give him everything, but it is not enough. It has never been enough. 

When your body struggles to catch up with the lack of blood, he pulls away. His fangs drag out of your neck agonizingly slowly. You whimper at the sudden loss.

Matt catches you as you stumble into his arms. “You okay?” He cradles your face, brushing the hair out of your face. Your blood stains his lips. Blinking up at him, the force of your metaphysical connection slaps you awake. 

You cease to exist in all solar systems but his. 

He pokes the tip of his index finger with the sharp edge of one tooth, sliding it over the two holes that are pulsating with the work of your heartbeat.

“I shouldn’t have—” he begins. 

“No,” you say. “You did exactly what you should have.”

“I couldn’t stop.”

“But you did.” You wipe the blood from his mouth. “And I felt you. I only felt you.”

The living room passes by you. Before you know it, your back lands on something much softer than a concrete wall. He’s not a monster, that one, but he surely is an animal. 

You taste your blood on Matt’s luscious lips as he devours your tongue. It tastes of copper and a little bitter, but that is what makes him moan. That sound is the last thing you could ever grow tired of. 

His palm rests on your chest. Your heart pounds against his palm. “You’re so alive,” he says.

You cradle his face in your hands. “And you’re more human than you think.”

If he wanted to pull your heart out and hold it, you would let him in a heartbeat. 

He leans you back. He strips you bare. He kisses down your body like you are a fucking masterpiece for him to explore. That is how he sees you. 

Your head falls back. The kisses wander from your hips to the inside of your thighs. Every kiss brings his breath closer to your center. Matt pulls them apart. He opens you up to him. Your scent clouds his senses, and he groans, but he doesn’t touch. 

His fangs graze your skin. “Mine,” he growls. 

You gasp. He bites into the sensitive flesh. Hard, passionately. Your legs wrap around his head, trapping him there. He sucks, and he sucks, and he drinks, and the wetness pools out of your cunt in an obscene amount. This is foreplay to him. It drives you toward the edge leading to an abyss you are afraid you might never be able to crawl back out of. There is no bottom, it is just a pit, and he’s pushing you closer and closer, and—

Your back arches, but he pulls away before the coil can snap into a million butterflies. He pries your legs away from his head, spreading them further on the mattress, as far apart as they will go. 

Breakfast, lunch, and dinner have been served on a silver platter. He breathes in. The scent of your soaked pussy sticks to the hairs in his nose. It isn’t enough. He breathes in again, your arousal sweeter than fiction. You’re everything and more. He wants to taste that part of you more than anything, suck up the slick that is soaking the sheets—and you didn’t even think that was possible—but he waits because he needs to savor it. He doesn’t want it to be over too soon. neither for him nor for you. 

The blood is still dripping from his tongue and his fangs, and the raw inside of your thigh. He runs his finger through it. The sting runs from the wound to your folds, then back down. Still, he doesn’t touch. He plays with the blood, sucking on his fingers until they’re clean, and then he dives back in for a taste. He doesn’t bite, he kisses and sucks, but he doesn’t push it further. He doesn’t hurt you. 

You’re his saving grace; he has to worship you. Pain only has a place in pleasure. 

“Matthew,” you moan. 

He chuckles, kissing where his fangs left deep indentations. “No one will ever touch you again,” he purrs. “I’ll make sure of that.” 

You try to protest, but the words die on your tongue when he leans in, capturing your clit with his hungry mouth. The wound on your thigh closes. The blood from his lips mixes with your juices, and you cry out at the intensity of it all. 

He eats you with the ferocity of a man starved for weeks. He eats your pussy like he ate your blood, savoring every drop but still feasting for the taste to spread out in his mouth like wildfire. Sour, sweet, and copper. He sucks your sensitive clit into his mouth. His tongue drags through your folds, up and down, and then the tip slides inside, tasting your walls. He grows bolder as your moans accelerate. 

Matt cradles your thighs. He forces your hips back down to the mattress, stronger than the average human man. You have to endure his beard scratching and burning, and the pace he has set.

The orgasm creeps up on you. Before you know it, he has plunged his tongue into you, and your body convulses around him. You scream into a pillow as you come. 

You are each other’s forbidden fruit. No prayer in the world could keep you apart. 

Faintly, you can hear him say, “Good girl.” Your legs quiver. He pulls away, then comes right back like a boomerang. 

He’s warm now. He was cold before, but when he kisses you this time, he’s warm. He’s hot. You run your hands over his bare chest, the scars that lie under the dark strands of hair. You tug at it, and he moans. You can tell he is a little insecure, but by pressing your lips to one of the cuts on his shoulder, he relaxes. 

What he must have endured, what he must have lived through before he died and was resurrected in the same breath, just without a beating heart—you don’t want to think about it or you will break, but you can still feel him through the crimson tie that holds you together, and you know that he has suffered enough for more than two lifetimes. You wish you could take it all away from him. You wish you could have saved him before it was too late, loved him more than the woman who turned him, but turning back time is an impossibility. You are both acutely aware of that. 

“Hey.” Matt tilts your head toward him. “Where did you just go?” he asks. 

“Thinking about you,” you murmur. 

“Me?”

“You.”

“Why?”

“Because I want to be your salvation.”

You. His salvation. He kisses you, softly this time. He pours gratitude into his lips and bleeds them out in poetry as they slide into your mouth, and you swallow every last drop. 

If someone had told you a week ago where you would see yourself on that particular Monday, you would have laughed at them. And if someone had told you a week ago that you would be making love to the devil, you would have called them crazy. But it’s happening. 

He thrusts into you without a warning. His thick cock fills you like nothing and no one ever has before. Your cunt has been molded to fit him, you’re sure. You take him in, and you moan at the stretch. It’s a pain so delicious you could fall apart right then and there just from the feel of him inside you. 

Every thrust drags the tip of his cock along your sweet spot. Every added sensation drives you closer to your death. 

Your body tingles. He explores your face with his lips rather than his fingers, moving to your neck again. You cling to him, oh-so-desperate for him. He likes you like that, and you like him like that. 

“You’re fucking with my head,” he tells you. “Offering your pussy to a vampire. Letting me drink your blood. Begging me to fuck you. You’re in my head, baby. Can’t get you out of my system. Fuck.”

You are his downfall, his salvation, but he is all of those things to you as well—all of those things and more. If he could read your mind, you would tell him that. Words can’t do justice to how you feel. Not right now, maybe not ever. 

“Bite me again,” you beg.

His thrusts falter. He searches your body for any sign of regret. His fangs come out, and he buries them deep in your jugular vein. The floodgates open wide. Your walls clench around his cock, your clit pulsates, and the wave crashes into you. 

You come as he devours your neck and your blood. You transcend into another dimension, far away from everything and everyone but never him. Never Matthew.

The sensation of you wraps around him like a weighted blanket. His balls tighten, your blood unfolding its taste on his tongue. You are all over him, inside of him, everywhere at once. He falls head-first, dragging you down with him. 

He comes with a shout that is only muffled through his teeth buried in your flesh, his cum spurting into you and filling your cunt to the brim. Your eyes roll back. You’re flying and falling all at once. 

Oh, how good it feels to be consumed by him. To be fucked and sucked dry. You would have never expected this to come out of your week, let alone your life, but now that it has happened, you are floating on cloud nine. 

Dizziness threatens to take over, but before you can pass out, he forces himself away, allowing your heart to catch up with the lack of blood in your system. He collapses on top of you. His cock softens, but he stays inside. You need him there. You want him there. And that is the only place he wants to rest tonight. 

He heals the wounds on your neck. “You have a mark,” Matt rasps, tracing your skin with his finger. 

You choke out, “Yours.”

“Yes, you are.” He kisses you there. Once, twice, even a third time. “Mine,” he says.

You’re his. He’s yours. It doesn’t get any better than this. 

The minutes tick away on the obnoxious clock on the wall. Matt pulls out eventually, wrapping you up in a blanket. He coaxes you to drink, but you’re barely lucid. Only when he begins to stroke your hair you start coming back to yourself. You thought you might regret it, but as you look at him, his almost guilty eyes staring back at you, all you can do is reach out for him. 

“Session two tomorrow?” you ask.

He chuckles and retorts, “Have I not scared you away?” There is some truth to it though.

He’s covered in your blood. It sticks to his lips, his hands, and his chest. It’s sickeningly intimate, in a way.

You shake your head in response. “You could not possibly.”

He listens to your heartbeat. You’re as honest as they come. 

“Okay,” Matt says. “Session two tomorrow then.”

That night, you fell in love with the Devil, but he also fell in love with you, his angel in the form of a reckless journalist, and the only blood he ever wants to taste again until the end of his miserable, cursed days. 

Matt Murdock (Smut) Tag List: @shouldbestudying41 @theradioactivespidergwen @cheshirecat484 @1988-fiend @acharliecoxedfan @gpenguin666 @linamarr @mcugeekposts @itwasthereaminuteago @norestfortheshelbywicked @yarrystyleeza @littlenerdyravenclaw @etanordoesbullsh1t @thychuvaluswife @harleycao @schneeflocky @imjustcal @pipsqueakkitten @merlinbtch @sya-skies @amberritonicole @ravenclaw617 @pigeonmama @bohemianrhapsody86 @a-girl-has-n0-name @winkev1 @callsign-ember @chittaphonstar @buckyyyismahhlife

#matt murdock #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock smut #matt murdock x fem!reader #matt murdock x you #vampire!matt murdock #matt murdock angst #daredevil #x reader #interview with the vampire #charlie cox #alternate universe #reader insert

[marshymallo]

FIC RECS: 「 stranger things 」

「 Nine Facts, One Lie ~ Steve Harrington x Fem!Reader 」

Synopsis: It didn’t matter that your best friend Robin claims he’s changed, you do not like Steve Harrington. He used to be egotistical, a player, an asshole — and you’re not in any hurry to believe he’s changed his ways. Never mind that he seems terribly kind now, compliments here and there, or even that he’ll pick you up from a date gone horribly wrong…

「 You Shook Me All Night Long ~ Steve Harrington x Fem!Reader on AO3 」

WARNING: CONTAINS SMUT 18+, PLUS SIZED!READER, MENTIONS OF BULLYING AND DIET CULTURE, SET PRE-SEASON 3

Synopsis: Steve had never pictured himself ending up here - working for minimum wage at an ice cream shop, wearing a fucking sailor costume. But hey, life catches up to you and plans change. He also never would have guessed that someone who had been sitting quietly in the background of his life for years would secretly be the hottest babe of the century - and in the moment he found that out, he had never been more thankful for ice cream minimum wage slavery and the stupid outfit you seemed to find adorable.

「 Maneater ~ Steve Harrington x Fem!Reader 」

WARNING: CONTAINS SMUT 18+, DOM!READER

Synopsis: “I thought she’d be like mean and shy but not she wasn’t shy at all-she’s like-she’s like a man eater-Definitely an apex predator if I’ve ever seen one. Steve she was looking at you like she wanted to eat you”

「 Tequila & Strawberry Lipgloss ~ Steve Harrington x Fem!Reader x Robin Buckley 」

WARNING: CONTAINS SMUT 18+, ZERO SEXUAL INTERACTIONS BETWEEN STEVE AND ROBIN (FOCUS IS ON READER), PART 1 OF 4 IN THE “DRINKING IN YOUR LIPS” SERIES (OTHER 3 PARTS ATTACHED TO THIS POST)

Synopsis: you’re dating steve and you think robin’s hot.

「 Jealous Steve Watches You Flirt ~ Steve Harrington x Fem!Reader 」

WARNING: HEATED MAKEOUT SESSION

Synopsis: when returning back to the trailer, an unexpected bump in the road causes reader to flirt her way out the situation, leaving a very jealous steve harrington to watch.

「 Code Red ~ Steve Harrington x Fem!Reader 」

WARNING: CONTAINS SMUT 18+

Synopsis: Dustin has the worst timing and stumbles on a secret relationship

「 If The Slipper Fits ~ Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader 」

Synopsis: When one of the leads of the school play gets injured, Robin asks Eddie to fill in. He’s not to keen on the idea at first but when Robin mentions that you are in the play, and he would get to play your romantic interest, he changes his mind. 

「 Stalker in Aisle 5 ~ Eddie Munson x GN!Reader 」

WARNING: BRIEF SEXUAL JOKE

Synopsis: you notice a certain curly-haired nerd frequently visiting your workplace. finally, you decide to acknowledge his stalking.

#mae’s recs #steve harrington x reader #robin buckley x reader #eddie munson x reader

[muzansfangs]

NSFW ALPHABET — Grimmjow

Starring: Grimmjow x f!reader

Format: head canons

Warnings: nsfw, vaginal sex, spanking, degradation kink, handcuffing, dacryphilia, choking, oral sex (f!reader receiving), oral sex (Grimmjow receiving).

Plot: basically, a series of nsfw head canons about Grimmjow, based on the alphabet.

﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

A = aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Grimmjow is definitely not a gentleman. When he is done with you, he simply rolls beside you and lays on his bed with a devious smirk plastered over his face. He is selfish and that should not be a surprise.

However, there are times when he shows you a part of him you did not know he actually had.

Whenever he thinks he has been particularly rough with you, he jumps on his feet and grabs you a glass of fresh water. He kind of enjoys taking care of you from time to time. Therefore, before letting you go to clean yourself, he simply pulls you back onto the bed and allows you to snuggle in his arms. This small moment of affection usually includes forehead kisses and his arm draped over your waist in a protective iron grip. He is not that good with words, he just likes to make you understand that he cares.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Once he has chosen you, he is obsessed with every inch of your body. Yet, if he has to pick his favority body part about you, there is no doubt that it is your hips. Why? He loves digging his nails onto them as he pounds you at a feral pace. Also, he is addicted to them and loves to watch you sway them to tease him.

His favorite body part of himself are definitely his thighs. They are muscular and they grant him the chance to stand still for hours as he takes you up against the wall. Also, he really loves the sound of his thighs slapping against your backside as he takes you from behind.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

The pride and joy he draws from spurting his cum into you is immense. Yet, there is something that really makes him feral. Maybe it’s all because the beast inside of him is an apex predator, who knows, but he loves to spill his cum on your stomach and chest. Why? He thinks of it as a way to mark you permanently.

No man or hollow is allowed to come anywhere near you like that.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

He would always deny that, if you ever found out about it, but he has always wondered what it would feel like to involve Ichigo in one of your intercourses. He is not really into threesomes. Grimmjow is extremely territorial. Yet, his thirst for glory and supremacy makes him wonder if he would be able to satisfy you more than Ichigo could during sex.

He will never talk to you about that, of course.

Maybe you could suggest him that? Oh, the effect you would have will be: Grimmjow.exe stopped working.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Of course he is experienced. He has been around for a long time and someone with that appearence, cockiness and smug smirk on his face knew exactly what he wanted. Despite that, he surprisingly had high standards. For real. Therefore, he usually had to turn to masturbation most of the times.

However, he knew very little about some experimental stuff and he did not know anything about toys. Yet, he made you feel things you did not think you would have ever been capable of experincing. And all of that happened without the use of toys. Guys, he is too good for this world.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

This man has two favorite positions. Missionary and doggy. It should not really be a surprise. Let’s take a close look at why he enjoys taking you in these two specific positions, though.

Grimmjow is a dominant man, a partner who loves to prove you that no one could ever make you feel the way he does and he likes to show it through his actions. While he surely enjoys gripping your hips until you will be left with some marks resembling small crescent moons on them, shout-out to his nails, he loves watching the effect he has on you. Therefore, missionary. He needs to look straight into your teary eyes and take pride in the way you leave your mouth hanging open in pleasure, as he takes you on cloud nine. According to him, you make some very lewd faces he could never get tired of.

Now, doggy is a position connected to his primordial desire to submit you. It’s an animalistic feeling, the uncontrollable urge to sheathe himself into you as deep as he can and make you beg for mercy. It is not like you can easily escape his grip like that and he loves it. Also, the spectacular view granted by this position is exactly what he needs to lasts for hours. Your arched back and you ass are better than a fight with Ichigo. And you know how badly he wants to fight that man.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Grimmjow is straight up serious. He takes the matter of pleasuring you as a military task. Yet, he always tries to whisper some dirty pick lines before the act to get you in the mood. Although they are really bad, and you wonder has taught him them, you just laugh it off and appreciate his jokes.

Some teasing comments here and there and even his attempts to tickle your sides to make you laugh make the whole experience balanced. Overall, he is the perfect mix you would always open your heart to.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

The carpet definitely match the drapes. Grimmjow takes pride in his masculinity. While he did not really pay much attention about how well groomed his hair were before he met you, that changed when you two crossed paths and, eventually, explored your intimacy.

He did not really want you to be uncomfortable while you gave him oral and he decided to trim and take care of the matter. While they may have been unkempt at first, now they are definitely shorter and tidy. Whenever you tease him about how lovely it was of him to do you this favor, though, he always grumbles excuses about the fact that it is a simple trend.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Grimmjow is not very romantic, so do not expect him to light up some scented candles and scatters some petals around your bed. When it’s your anniversary, when he feels particularly affectionate towards you, he will surely try to put some more effort throughout the whole act.

How? Long, passionate kisses and his fingers running through your hair to massage your scalp as he lets you ride him sensually. That intimate positions and some sweet nothings whispered in your ear are his love language.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Before meeting you, it was another form or stress relief for him. Nothing he would seek continously, of course, still he needed it. Things changed since you are together. Why would he need to jack off, when he can simply ask you to help him out.

The funny thing is that, if you are not around and he feels certain urges, he just waits patiently for your return or chases you down. Girl, you cannot escape the panther inside him.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Some kinks are part of him exactly like the hole in the middle of his abdomen. Let’s get started. He is not into hurting you, really, but leaving some marks on your skin and making you emit those cite little yelps he adores are not something he is willing to gove up on so easily.

Biting your neck and spanking you are probably at the top, but let’s not forget choking. He would never let it go too far though. Seeing you hurt and knowing it is his fault would probably only make him feel bad for real. And he loathes the negatives feelings.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Anywhere. Jokes aside, his favorite place to have sex with you is in your house. He loves paying you visits in the world of the livings and making memories with you in every corner of your house.

Your bedroom has a special place in his heart.

Maybe, Ichigo’s rooftop too. But that’s only to piss him off.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

You. The sight of his partner walking up to him with a soft smile on her face is enough to get him turned on. He has to admit that when you wear his robes he feels the urge to take you right here and there. He cannot still explain himself why, but he likes you wearing his jackets.

It probably strokes his ego.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Seeing you cry. You can tell he is not into dacryphilia. He loves seeing you desperate for him and exhausted. Overstimulated, at best, but not crying. As soon as a tear escapes your eye, he stops. No matter what you say, no matter if it was a natural reaction. He is not going to touch you again for the rest of the night.

Of course, if you point this out and accuse him of having turned into a sofie, he will yell at you. Typical of Grimmjow.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Grimmjow is more into receiving oral. The reason is simple. He likes to feel praised, honored and pampered. Also, he is kind of selfish and he likes watching you struggle to take it all in your mouth. You look cute like that, according to him.

If he feels the desire to give you oral though you are in for a ride. He only laps at your folds, if you sit on his face. Do him a favor, make him happy, just lower your heat on his mouth and let him enjoy his feast. The bruises on your thighs of his fingerprints are worth it.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Rough and steady, fast and feral. It does not matter which pace he picks. You are always going to end up squirming in his arms. If he has to choose a pace by default, he will go with fast and feral. It is just in his inner nature.

Yet, especially if you have been apart for too long, he will take his time with you. Hard, deep and steady thrust to create a passionate rhythm are what await ahead of you. Long nights in his bed and days spent in trying to walk properly are a sweet torture you can endure.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

He is not against them, but he is one of those guys who do not want to feel the pressure of time on their shoulders. Every single time you end up in bed, he wants you to feel good for real. He believes that quickies may ruin his performance.

Then again, if he is stressed or angered, he would have no problem in cornering you somewhere safe from prying eyes and steam off some stress by thrusting into you at a feral pace. He does not even care if someone walks in on you two.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

This man is down for whatever. He would do whatever it takes to please both you and himself. He is willing to experiment anything you suggest, even if sometimes he is the one who comes up with new ideas. This might have happened after he bumped into porn sites. Take the computer away from him.

Yet, the risks he is willing to take never go too far though. Since he actually can’t get you pregnant, he does not consider finishing into you as a risk. He won’t go too far in risking to hurt you either. The furthest he is willing to go is probably public sex. He is completely unbothered by the idea of getting caught during the act. It’s a risk that turns him on.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

This man can and will last for hours. Most of the time, you end being overstimulated and he draws pleasure from it. While he is a little bit selfish and keeps on chasing his orgasms no matter what, he knows he cannot risk having you faint on him or be too sore.

He stops as soon as you ask him to. He has some sense of decency and respect for you. He loves you, after all.

In terms of rounds, he could literally go for five, or six rounds, but restrains himself and sticks up to a maximum of three. You matter more than his climax to him.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Grimmjow didn’t actually know about toys and their use until you introduced him to them. He was intrigued at first and decided to use even some of them. His favorite ones are clearly restraints and it is not a surprise that he loves to handcuff you and watch you squirm as he tortures you with the use of a vibrator.

However, his pride sometimes suggests him not to involve them too much during your intercourses because he would rather be the one to cause you pleasure directly.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Despite what the majority of you would think, Grimmjow is not much a teaser. Why? He is too hungry to waste some precious time in trying to constantly bring you to the edge and let you down before you can reach your climax.

Unless you have somehow truly got on his nerves or you beg him to actually tease you, he will go straight to the point. He has to admit that your pleas when he hundcuffs you are quite arousing though.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Actually, Grimmjow is not that vocal. Naturally, he is not that silent either. The sounds he emits are guttural, almost animalistic. He loves to grunt and growl next to your ear, whispering some dirty words here and there to point out that you are the reason why he is sounding like a beast. He is so masculine and his raspy voice as he swears before reaching his climax is one of the most arousing sound you have ever heard in your life.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

What makes him go absolutely feral? Well, as mentioned above, he loves to cover you in his cum. Now, if you ask him what paradise feels like for him, that is the scenery he is going to describe to you.

Grimmjow spurting his semen on your face. It is degrading, animalistic, vulgar and dirty. Yet, he does not intend it as such, not even as an act of submission. He finds it adorable the way you look like that, messy and kneeling in front of him as he marks you as his preperty.

Yeah, the infamous Sexta Espada is going to go for another round with you after that.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Probably around 6 inches long and impressively thick. He definitely knows how to make the experience enjoyable for both of you. The tip is a bright shade of pink and his light-blue patch of hair on ‘v’ line makes him absolutely hot as he towers over you before the act.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?).

High, extremely high. If it depended on him, he would probably have you pinned down underneath him every time you make eye-contact. If your gaze lingers on him for too long, approximately, five seconds, you are surely not going to be able to walk properly for a few hours. This man is hungry. Feed him.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards).

He does not really feel the urge to sleep and his stamina are something out of this world. He could literally lasts for hours and still not feel the urge to sleep. However, since you do seem to enjoy cuddling after it and resting together seem something he labels as a ‘couple thing’, he allows himself to take small naps.

If he does, there is no way in the world you are going to leave the bed. If he sleeps, you will sleep with him.

AUTHOR NOTE.

Hi guys! That’s the first nsfw alphabet I have ever written in my life and, as you have requested in my poll, here we are with Grimmjow. Next to come will be Aizen and Urahara! Let me know if you want to be tagged in them, when I will update the works!

Likes, comments and reposts are appreciated!

#grimmjow x reader #grimmjow x you #bleach grimmjow #grimmjow smut #grimmjow headcanons #grimmjow jaegerjaquez #grimmjow x y/n #bleach x reader

[thought--bubble]

Make You Purr

Ettore X (Neuro-Divergent Reader)

Warnings after the cut

Ettore Masterlist

Full Masterlist

Banners by @arcielee

Warnings:: Dubcon,Smut, Mommy Kink? Lactation, Ettore.

A/N: This can be read as a one-shot or as a follow-up to my Kitty-Cat series, which can be found here

"You do not need to accompany her every time," Dr. Dibs looked up at Ettore, irritated while he looked back at her expressionless from his place leaning against the wall.

That's my pet

He stays put a smug look on his face as Dibs does her exam on you checking on the progress of your pregnancy, taking blood tests, checking your weight and just all the things that generally should be tracked and monitored for a pregnant woman.

From the outside, it would seem like a dedicated doctor and a loving boyfriend were supporting you during your pregnancy, but that couldn't be further from the truth. Dr. Dibs is no caring OBGYN. She is a mad scientist trying experiments and using the woman aboard this ship as lab rats. While Ettore is not anywhere close to a loving boyfriend. Ettore is an apex predator driven by primal needs. He is compelled to make moves and decisions that serve to keep him fed. Which is how you ended up in your current predicament.

Your inability to communicate with those around you and your incessant need to be touched made you the perfect prey for Ettore, and he circled and cornered you until finally, like a gazelle to a lion he now has you exactly where he wants you.

Ettore had made himself feared upon this ship and, in doing so, made himself untouchable. Even with this status, he goes about his daily life almost the same as he did before, except now he brings his pet with him everywhere, and he no longer hides it. He doesn't feel the need to pretend that he doesn't own you. No, instead, he flaunts it. Dragging you behind him at all times, he worked hard to catch you at great personal risk, and he would be damned if someone were to come between you now.

You are about 5 months pregnant at this point, and still Ettore keeps you glued to his side. You are his pet. His property, and as your belly grew, and your breasts swelled, you had thought his appetite for you would have lessened, but somehow, it seemed to have the opposite effect.

Ettore was more insatiable than ever to the point where he wasn't even waiting to get you in private anymore. At times, he just bent you over the counter while you worked the cafeteria shift, showing no concern whatsoever to the other inmates coming and going. The never-ending pressure of Ettore's sexual needs and possessive behaviors coupled with your pregnancy had your battery running dangerously low.

After your appointment with Dibs, you were exhausted and wanted to lay down. Ettore headed towards the cafeteria, but you turned the opposite direction towards his room, the room that you now both slept in.

"Kitty?" He calls after you while he watches you waddle in the opposite direction. He follows you back to his bunk, and you crawl in and sigh, instantly closing your eyes.

"Cmon, it's time to eat." He grips your hand tight and attempts to pull you from the bunk. You yank your hand from him and roll over, grumbling.

Why isn't she listening? she always listens?

He crawls into the bunk with you and rolls you flat on your back. You instantly start to whimper and whine.

"Shhh kitty." He strokes your cheek, and with a small smile, you nuzzle into his hand. "What's going on with you, huh?"

He pulls the blanket down and off of you, then quickly reaches for your scrub bottoms, pulling both those and your panties down.

You attempt to squeeze your legs together. You are tired, big, uncomfortable, and your boobs hurt. Trying to keep up with Ettore's insatiable appetite has become near impossible for you, but Ettore always makes sure he gets what he wants.

He positions himself between your thighs and begins to stroke himself to hardness staring at your belly. He rubs his hand up over your stretched out abdomen and tilts his head to the side.

I did this. This is mine

He rubs his thumb over your clit watching as your body begins to twitch, your belly poking higher into the air. He slides a finger into you as he leans over you and grabs one of your tits.

Your eyes fly open, and you wince at the harshness of the squeeze pushing his hand off.

He growls, but as he goes to grip it again, he feels the heat radiating off of your breasts and instead ops to simply roll the nipple between his fingers.

You let out a sound that is somewhere between a sigh of pleasure and a groan of pain. Ettore's cock throbs at the sound as he bites his bottom lip.

Such a helpless little thing, my kitty

He lines himself up at your entrance, unable to wait even another minute before pushing himself into you with a growl. You whimper at the intrusion, as he slowly pushes his cock further until he bottoms out and then starts to slowly drag himself back repeating the motion at that same unhurried pace.

You close your eyes and lay back, trying to just enjoy the sensation. You feel his hands move along the tight skin of your stomach, the touch gentle, much more gentle than you are accustomed to.

You melt into the mattress, eyes closed, just soaking in the attention until suddenly it stops. Ettore pulls out of you and drops down beside you, looking up at the bunk above. You roll your head to the side and, with shock, recognize the look on his face. Only it isn't a look you have ever seen on him, only on others. He looks vulnerable, scared even.

You pull yourself up, and he instantly joins you by sitting up himself, his eyes watching every little movement you make. You know he needs comfort and care. It isn't something you ever expected him to need. You don't know how you know. Maybe a mother's intuition? All you know is he needs this now and you couldn't help but want to provide it to him.

You lift your leg across his lap, straddling him as he looks up at you. His eyes are pleading, like a lost puppy in need of saving. You know this man to be a wolf, but all wolves were puppies once. You kiss his forehead and rub your cheek against his and feel his body tense and then soften.

Ettore closes his eyes the feeling in his chest gets tighter and he is getting worried, he doesn't recognize this feeling and he doesn't like it, but when he opens his eyes again and looks up at you as you gently caress the sides of his hair with your hands he can't help but surrender to this new feeling, even if just for a little while.

Please Kitty, take care of me

You lower yourself onto his cock and ride him slowly. He slides his hands up your back pulling your chest towards his face nuzzling his face in between your breasts. The gentleness of this experience is something entirely new to him, and his head is swirling with new feelings and new sensations, the whole thing becoming a bit overwhelming.

He grasps tightly at one of your breasts, and you shriek out in pain. Your boobs have been so sore the last month that touching them almost at all is unbearable. He takes his hand back quickly and gently caresses your left breast. You continue to bounce gently on his cock as he takes your left nipple into his mouth.

You hiss slightly pulling away, but he holds you in place with his hand on your back as he continues to swirl his tongue around your nipple and gently suck on the tender flesh. His eyes go wide the first time he feels liquid enter his mouth but when he looks up at your face, only to see a look of relief and euphoria he knows this is right, this is what he should be doing. so he continues his ministrations, drawing more liquid from your breast while gently massaging the hot skin.

You start to move your hips with more purpose as he switches to your right breast, again circling the nipple with his tongue before drinking his fill.

You wrap your hands around the back of his head, holding him gently to your chest as you slightly increase your pace, your breath coming out in labored huffs. Your center starts to clench around him, and he knows you are getting close.

He continues to suck on your nipple while bringing his hand down to your clit and rubbing circles upon the engorged nerve.

His eyes open in shock when you start to moan, really moan, loudly. His obedient, sweet, quiet, Kitty almost never makes a sound.

I finally made you Purr

The sound of your moans, the clench of your most intimate muscles around him and the shudder that runs through your body from the power of the orgasm that blasted it's way through you was enough to send Ettore into bliss of his own as he grunted, looking up at you jaw slack while he coated your walls once again.

He helped you lay back on the bed and watched you intently as you drifted off to sleep a small smile on your face.

As he lay there next to you, his hand on your belly, his mind started to race with the thoughts of the other women who had gotten pregnant on the ship. All of them died.

Every. Single. One.

Dibs didn't try hard enough, she missed something, she's doing something wrong.

For the first time in months, Ettore got out of bed and left you alone to sleep while he moved through the hallways with purpose toward the office of Dr. Dibs.

He was determined to make sure she was aware of how important it was for her to figure out how to get you through the pregnancy without losing you.

Because if Kitty dies. Everybody Dies

Epilogue for Kitty-Cat series can be found HERE

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#ewan mitchell verse #ettore high life #ettore x reader #ettore #ettore smut #ettore imagine #ewan nation #ewan mitchell fanfic #ewanverse #ewan mitchell #jess fics #my red flag bf

[mysticmellowlove]

ENTITY CO - LEON

note; welcome to the first post from my new series, I'm hella stoked about this, give the people monster yans!

warnings; sub yan, sub male, a/b/o, monsterfucking, dom reader, yan male, male reader, possessive/territorial, monster caulk!, omega reader, anal,

Entity; Werewolf - Leon. Unnatural strength, enhanced senses, transforms under the light of the full moon, infectious, widespread, weak to silver

"I know you've had a long week O3." My lips pursed as I looked up towards the handler who looked after my section. ENTITY was a new and rising enterprise dealing with relocating hybridized 'monsters'. I, however, was an in-house monster which simply meant I'd be staying here for the rest of my life. It was not the best job but at the end of the day all my needs were fulfilled and I was only a couple of tasks below platinum, the tier when the real privileges set in.

"But we're having some trouble with Leon again, he's mid-rut and refuses to fuck any of our other omegas. You're the last one we can come to." The handler looked down at me from his balcony as I nestled into the furs that comprised my nest. I had just gotten done with helping two other alphas with their ruts and now... now they want me to do it all over again. I grit my teeth and tried my best to pretend as if I wasn't completely drained dry. Day after day of helping men who barely gave me another glance had really grinded my gears and now I have to help Leon?

Notorious for rejecting omegas, sometimes even going so far as to maim them and leave their dead bodies for his handlers to find, and prone to extreme violence and isolation... Leon was by far one of the worst werewolves held in ENTITY's facilities.

"So you want me to go in there and help him out?" I scoffed as I looked upwards. They nodded because, of course, it had to be my responsibility to deal with all the hardasses here. With a simple shrug and a sigh, I was on my way to the isolation ward.

The isolation ward is the home of the most dangerous monsters in the warehouse. It was darkened to their liking and the atmosphere was horrific. My instincts were going haywire. This place was awful, the complete opposite of a nice place to rest and create a nest. A bitter feeling grew in my stomach as I was escorted down the hallway by the isolation wardens.

We eventually stopped at one of the doors, Leon's name and species engraved into it. I shook my head in annoyance before the warden himself guided me inside. There were no formalities, no warnings, nothing but a small shuffle and the sound of a lock behind me. This wasn't a simple task, everyone was assuming I wasn't going to make it out of here. I grit my teeth at the gall they had to just sack their most useful omega like this.

However, with the task at hand I focused on the murky haziness of the room. I had to say the forest smell that seemed to permeate the sheets spread in the corner was calling to me, Leon smelt good as much as I hate to admit it.

Movement emerged from the blankets and there he was, the hulking beast that was Leon. He was shirtless, only a pair of beaten-up boxers covering what I knew to be a massive cock. Scars littered his chest as his yellow eyes seemed to pierce my soul from across the room. I hadn't really seen him around before but from the rumours I heard apparently he had been found up in the Alps. His beast was majestic white, mottled with old rusty stains from his time as an apex predator. Now? Now he was a lumbering hunk of meat. It was... sad in a way.

"You're mid-rut, rejecting all other omegas," I stated. I was stalling and I think he knew it as well as he sniffed at the air. I knew he wouldn't be able to scent slick on me, I was tired and not at all aroused to be in this position. Years of acting like someone I wasn't all because I got dragged here to this facility... it had worn me down.

"You smell like three other men." His voice was gravelly, a tone so deep that in any other circumstance it would send shivers down my spine. I swallowed my pride and walked forward, inspecting his makeshift 'nest' with slight disgust. I was wary about him sure but I also had a job to do. This was no place for someone like me to be, it was grungy and dark and hard.

I began to shed my shirt, letting it fall into the muddled mess of blankets below me before I was unceremoniously stopped by a guttural growl. My inner self froze at the sound as it reverberated around the room, frozen in fear as his clawed feet audibly approached me.

"Who the fuck did this?" He whispered low, his head leaning into my neck as he scented me, trying to find the last male I was with. I coughed to clear the uncomfortable feeling. Before I could say anything he slid his hand around my face and clasped my mouth shut.

"I know what you'll say, 'it was nothing' but it isn't is it. You don't know me but I've been waiting for you. Years..." The weight in his voice was palpable as I smelt the sweat and rolling scent from his hand. My muscles were taut as his claws trailed down to the bruises and scars on my back.

"They tried everything to get me to calm. I call them sacrifices, which they tried to appease me with when I arrived. But you, you were in the middle of it. A simple throwaway scent that I'd be tracking down for months after my arrival. Leather and lemon tang, so fucking indulgent." My eyes fluttered as I could do nothing but listen to him. I didn't remember that day at all, all I knew was that I was helping the newer omegas settle in, could my scent have entangled with theirs? Was that why he was able to sense me?

In a room full of ripened omegas he found my scent.

"I stalked the halls, cries and calls from all the other hybrids here couldn't get me off that fucking scent and just when I thought I found it... they locked me up here." He growled, his teeth beginning to nip at my neck, my gland. My eyes widened in alarm. There was one big rule between all the werewolves here, no marking. Absolutely no marking, we were here to be hired out after all. I felt my heartbeat rise as his teeth grew closer to my sweet spot. My legs grew weak but as I suspected he was holding me up, the hard muscles in his chest pressing against my now unclothed back.

The small trickle of slick that left me made me ashamed for a moment, to think that such an animalistic man could get me going like this after everything I had tried to do to solidify myself here. I didn't want to be an omega...

"Fuck, there you go. Getting wet for me now, aren't you? There's that smell I love so much. The bite of leather, the hint of lemon, the smell of sweat." He grunted as his hips rocked into my ass, his hard cock basically fighting to be free of his boxers.

"There's something about you, something I could sense from the very first time I detected you." He whispered, his free hand going to trail to my underwear, tugging on them until the elastic snapped back to my hips.

"You're exactly what I need, something no one else can give me." My breathing stuttered as his hand left my mouth and he pulled away. I turned to look at him, wondering if he meant what I thought he did. Did he know, how did he know? My mind seemed to fizzle out like a sparkler, I hadn't even met with him beforehand and he seemingly already knew everything about me.

He grabbed my hips and pulled me in, his towering figure loomed over me almost in a protective huddle.

"I know you want to." He whispered, his tone salacious as he looked me in the eye. His claws left my hips and wrapped around my wrists as he brought my hands upwards to wrap around his neck, bearing it to me. My breathing stuttered.

"Fucking ruin me omega, teach me who's the bitch in this relationship." And just like that I couldn't help the wetness gather in my boxers, nor could I stop myself from turning in his grasp and wrapping my arms around him. Harshly I pressed my mouth to his, taking advantage of his crouched height. It was all teeth and tongue, my teeth basically tore into his lips as I willed him to open it. His eyes fluttered shut as he let me in, not even competing with me as I explored his mouth.

He was hot-blooded against me, his arms crowding around me as he gently nudged me towards his gathering of blankets. I nearly recoiled at the dingy feeling and the harshness of the ground.

"First mode of action we're going to have to overhaul this horrific nest," I grunted as I flipped him over, with his help of course, and sat on his waist. He looked sheepishly up at me, a pretty pout on his lips.

"Sorry, I tried..." I silenced him by shoving my fingers into his mouth, pressing down on his tongue.

"You said you wanted to be treated like a bitch? Then sit pretty and shut the fuck up." I growled as his pupils seemed to blow out, his eyes nearly completely enveloped in black. I pressed my hips into him, letting the sheer size of his cock nestle against my ass before I decided that enough was enough. I wanted him inside me, I wanted him to break at the feeling of me.

I pulled my hands back so I could undress myself. His eyes seemed to rove over my figure, the occasional grunt and growl leaving him as he took notice of the many marks my other 'partners' had left on me. I could basically feel the intensity roll of him, the heady scent of an angered alpha, one so similar to a mate protecting their own.

"Fuck, look at you. Bet I'll be able to slide right in." He groaned as his head fell back to the tangle of blankets behind him. A content sound left my throat as I looked at his bare neck. I could feel my hands tense as I fought the urge to nip at him.

"Please, let me feel you. Let me take you, let me become wholly yours." For a moment he sounded vulnerable as he looked up at me, a shine in his eyes. I reached behind me and grabbed his cock, pulsating and hot I eased him into my hole. If I weren't currently in the haze of sex I would've been embarrassed at the ease it went in, the amount of slick I had produced prompted no issue for his large dick to nestle inside me.

The sounds that reverberated around the room were primal and audacious. The sound of his cock rocking into me was punctuated with the squelch of my arousal. I breathed out a sigh as I felt that particular emptiness be filled.

His hips seemed to shudder at the feeling of being inside me, his eyes rolling to the back of his head as he let out an exhaustive groan. Immediately his hands found purchase on my hips but he didn't move me. He really was giving up all control to me, fighting against what I assumed to be his roaring instincts to let me fuck him into oblivion.

I did exactly that, raising and slamming my body down on him as if I was trying to impale myself on his cock. I felt it pulse in my ass, hitting all the spots that made me want to keen into him. My hands wrapped around his neck as I used him to drive myself down deeper... harder.

A hoarse growl left him as his eyes opened and watched me, my expression and my sweat-shined body above him.

"So fucking beautiful. Fuck!" He cried out at the brutal rhythm I had set for myself, lost in the feeling of ecstasy and domination.

"Take all of me, my cock, my breath, my life. It's all yours, whatever you want." He continued to babble on, his words breathy as I stole his air. I began to feel his cock swell inside me, anticipation pulled at my walls as I felt my own dick twitch. Like a sudden wave, I felt my orgasm come over me, sticky cum painted his chest as he growled out in satisfaction.

"That's right, mark me pretty boy. I belong to you, fuck I belong to you." His hands stroked my cock, pulling the last strings of cum from me. He was greedy as his finger traced over my lip, gathering the musk onto his hand before he licked it off. A rumble left him as he tasted me. I huffed as I slammed my hips down, half weary from the feeling of pleasure enveloping me, and felt his cock swell in my ass. His knot formed as I slumped down onto his chest, the feeling of sticky cum being shared between us. I could feel him in the most intimate parts of me, filling me up with his seed.

His hands went to the back of my head as he pressed me into his neck, the smell of his musk seemed to wrap around me like a blanket. I felt myself grow sleepy as I unwillingly nestled into him, unable to fight the sense of protection I felt around him as he enveloped my body completely.

"Sleep precious one, I'll be here when you wake." He hummed as I finally found myself letting my exhaustion take over me. My day had been long and even though I wanted to sleep in my own nest I found that being here wasn't so bad after all.

Leon coddled the male to his chest as he breathed out in tune with him. Finally, he had his precious omega in his arms. Since day one he had been looking for him, the one they called O3. How demeaning he thought, to be given a number instead of a name. But now he was here and he wasn't O3 anymore, not to him at least. His precious omega, his life, his love, his muse.

He didn't care about the blood he spilt in his endeavour to find him. All those other omegas couldn't even hold a candle to him. Their desperation and submission disgusted him, the wanton moans that were so obviously fake. Not like his omega, the guttural sounds from his chest were real and his alone. He made him feel that way, not anyone else. Not one of the other alphas he had been forced to service, never again.

The door to his 'cell' opened and his main warden walked in, in his hands a bag to clean up what they assumed would be a mess. They stopped in their tracks as they saw the two bundled up together. A feral growl left his throat as he watched them intently.

"Have his stuff moved here." He said as he looked at them, their eyes surveying the room as if it were hiding something. When they didn't answer he gently pulled himself out of his warmth and laid him against the blankets.

He stood to his full height, uncaring about his slicked cock as he prowled over to the warden. Before they could do anything his hands were around their neck, heaving them up into the air.

"They're mine." He growled, his eyes flashing a disturbing yellow as he bared his teeth to them. He looked towards the camera in the hallway outside, knowing that others would be watching him. With a snide grin, he brought his other hand to the warden's head and dug his claws into them.

Their skull broke with a satisfying pop.

His eyes locked onto the camera, his mind making up what would be happening in the warden's offices at this very moment. He threw the limp body outside of his cell and turned around swiftly, letting the metal door click shut behind him.

#sub male #dom reader #sub yandere #yandere male #male reader #monster yan #oc entity #monster yandere #yandere x reader

[ellaa-writes]

After König got out of the military, he used his savings to invest into himself. Shiny new toys, high tech equipment and with the right connections he no longer existed. A spirit floating through the world slaughtering and killing. Completely underground and off the radar. Taking out the competition if he needed to, he wasn't afraid to play dirty hell he liked being dirty. Creating a criminal syndicate, disguised as a legit business. A few guinea pigs at the top to take the fall if it every happens. Untraceable accounts and many dead ends. The killers he recruited viewed him as the top Alpha. There being only a handful of Apex predators in the world. The Beast being the most deadliest to date. The stories spread far and wide, when he was on the battle field he'd let The Beast take control, ripping out of his flesh. Charging the front lines, snarling and foaming at the mouth. Ripping chunks out of the enemy and swallowing parts whole. König and The Beast coexisting together, both needing the other for survival. His first memories being The Beast, the things he'd tell him whispering into his ear. It's scared him as a child, thinking it was going to eat him from the inside out. The Beast was him the moment his mother learned she was pregnant, the little ball of cells growing in her womb. The older he got the more he began to trust The Beast and The Beast got more powerful as König got more powerful. It was The Beast that first saw you, first sniffed you out and the first to claim you as his.

(more Alpha König headcanons ft. The Beast. Chacater from my The Beast Within series.)

#cod mw2 #könig #könig mw2 #alpha könig #konig #konig cod #konig mw2 #konig x reader #konig x you #könig cod #könig x you #könig x reader #könig cod mw2 #a/b/o dynamics

[mostlysignssomeportents]

The internet is not a (link)dump truck

Monday (October 2), I'll be in Boise to host an event with VE Schwab. On October 7–8, I'm in Milan to keynote Wired Nextfest.

The second decade of the 21st century is truly a bounteous time. My backyard has produced a bumper crop of an invasive species of mosquito that is genuinely innovative: rather than confining itself to biting in the dusk and dawn golden hours, these stinging clouds of flying vampires bite at every hour that God sends:

https://themagnet.substack.com/p/the-magnet-081-war-with-mosquitoes

Here in the twilight of capitalism's planet-devouring, half-century orgy of wanton destruction, there's more news every day than I can possibly write a full blog post about every day, and as with many weeks, I have arrived at Saturday with a substantial backlog of links that didn't fit into the week's "Hey look at this" linkdumps.

Thus, the eighth installment in my ongoing, semiregular series of Saturday linkdumps:

https://pluralistic.net/tag/linkdump/

This week, the miscellany begins with the first hesitant signs of an emerging, post-neoliberal order. The FTC, under direction of the force-of-nature that is Lina Khan, has brought its long-awaited case antitrust case against Amazon. I am very excited about this. Disoriented, even.

When was the last time you greeted every day with a warm feeling because high officials in the US government were working for the betterment of every person in the land? It's enough to make one giddy. Plus, the New York Times let me call Amazon "the apex predator of our platform era"! Now that it's in the "paper of record," it's official:

https://pluralistic.net/ApexPredator

Now, lefties have been predicting capitalism's imminent demise since The Communist Manifesto, but any fule kno that the capitalist word for "crisis" also translates as "opportunity." Like the bedbugs that mutated to thrive in clouds of post-war DDT, capitalism has adapted to each crisis, emerging in a new, more virulent form:

https://boingboing.net/2023/09/30/bedbugs-take-paris.html

But "anything that can't go on forever will eventually stop" (Stein's Law). Perhaps our mistake was in waiting for capitalism to give way to socialism, rather than serving as a transitional phase between feudalism and…feudalism.

What's the difference between feudalism and capitalism? According to Yanis Varoufakis, it comes down to whether we value rents (income you get from owning things) over profits (income you get from doing things):

https://pluralistic.net/2023/09/28/cloudalists/#cloud-capital

By that metric, the FTC's case against Amazon is really a case against feudalism. Through predatory pricing and acquisitions, Amazon has turned itself into a chokepoint that every merchant, writer and publisher has to pass through in order to reach their customers. Amazon charges a fortune to traverse that chokepoint (estimates range from 45% to 51% of gross revenues) and then forces sellers to raise their prices everywhere else when they hike their Amazon prices so they can afford Amazon's tolls. It's "an economy-wide hidden tax":

https://www.thebignewsletter.com/p/the-ftc-sues-to-break-up-amazon-over

Now, feudalism isn't a straightforward proposition. Like, are you sure you mean feudalism? Maybe you mean "manorialism" (they're easy to mix up):

https://locusmag.com/2021/01/cory-doctorow-neofeudalism-and-the-digital-manor/

Plus, much of what we know about the "Dark Ages" comes from grifter doofuses like Voltaire, a man who was capable of dismissing the 800 year Holy Roman Empire with a single quip ("neither holy, roman, nor an empire"). But the reality is a lot more complicated, gnarly and interesting.

That's where medievalist Eleanor Janeaga comes in, and her "Against Voltaire, or, the shortest possible introduction to the Holy Roman Empire" is a banger:

https://going-medieval.com/2023/09/29/against-voltaire-or-the-shortest-possible-introduction-to-the-holy-roman-empire/

Now, while it's true that Enlightenment thinkers gave medieval times a bum rap, it's likewise true that a key element of Enlightenment justice is transparency: justice being done, and being seen to be done. One way to distinguish "modern" justice from "medieval" trials is to ask whether the public is allowed to watch the trial, see the evidence, and understand the conclusion.

Here again, there is evidence that capitalism was a transitional phase between feudalism and feudalism. The Amazon trial has already been poisoned by farcical redactions, in which every key figure is blacked out of the public record:

https://prospect.org/power/2023-09-27-redacted-case-against-amazon/

This is part of a trend. The other gigantic antitrust case underway right now, against Google, has turned into a star chamber as well, with Judge Amit P Mehta largely deferring to Google's frequent demands to close the court and seal the exhibits:

https://usvgoogle.org/trial-update-9-22

Google's rationale for this is darkly hilarious: if the public is allowed to know what's happening in its trial, this will be converted into "clickbait," which is to say, "The public is interested in this case, and if they are informed of the evidence against us, that information will be spread widely because it is so interesting":

https://www.bigtechontrial.com/p/secrecy-is-systemic

Thankfully, this secrecy is struggling to survive the public outrage it prompted. While the court's Zoom feed has been shuttered and while Judge Mehta is still all-too-willing to clear the courtroom during key testimony, at least the DoJ's exhibits aren't being sealed at the same clip as before:

https://www.theverge.com/2023/9/27/23892215/google-search-antitrust-trial-documents-public-again-judge-mehta-rules

In 2023, the world comes at you fast. There's an epic struggle over the future of corporate dominance playing out all around us. I mean, there are French antitrust enforcers kicking down doors of giant tech companies and ransacking their offices for evidence of nefarious anticompetitive plots:

https://www.theverge.com/2023/9/28/23894863/nvidia-offices-raided-french-competition-authority

As ever, the question is "socialism or barbarism." But don't say that too loud: in America, socialism is a slur, one that dates back to the Reconstruction era, when pro-slavery factions called Black voting "socialism in South Carolina."

Ever since, white nationalists used "socialism" make Americans believe that "socialism" was an "extremist" view, so they'd stand by while everyone from Joe McCarthy to Donald Trump smeared their opponents as "Marxists":

https://thehill.com/homenews/campaign/4066499-trump-paints-2024-campaign-as-righteous-crusade/

As Heather Cox Richardson puts it for The Atlantic, "There is a long-standing fight over whether support for the modern-day right is about taxes or race. The key is that it is about taxes and race at the same time":

https://www.theatlantic.com/ideas/archive/2023/09/american-socialism-racist-origins/675453/

The cruelty isn't the point, in other words. Cruelty is the tactic. The point is power. Remember, no war but class war. All of this is in service to paying workers less so that bosses and investors can have more.

Take "essential workers," everyone from teachers to zookeepers, nurses to librarians, EMTs to daycare workers. All of these "caring" professions are paid sub-living wages, and all of these workers are told that "they matter too much to earn a living wage":

https://www.okdoomer.io/praise-doesnt-pay/

The "you matter too much to pay" mind-zap is called "vocational awe," a crucial term introduced by Ettarh Fobazi in her 2018 paper:

https://www.inthelibrarywiththeleadpipe.org/2018/vocational-awe/

Vocational awe is how creative workers – like the writers who just won their strike and the actors who are still fighting – are conned into working at starvation wages. As the old joke goes, "What, and give up show-business?"

https://ask.metafilter.com/117904/Whats-the-joke-thas-hase-the-punchline-what-and-give-up-show-business

In this moment of Big Tech-driven, AI-based wage suppression, mass surveillance, corruption and inequality, perhaps we should take a moment to remind ourselves that cyberpunk was a warning, not a suggestion. Or, more to the point, the warning was about high-tech corporate takeover of our lives, and the suggestion was that we could seize the means of computation (a synonym for William Gibson's "the street finds its own use for things"):

http://www.seizethemeansofcomputation.org/

We are living in a lopsided cyberpunk future, long on high-tech corporate takeover, short of computation seizing. This point is made sharply in JWZ's "Dispatch From The Cyberpunk City," which is beautifully packaged as a Hypercard stack that you run on an in-browser Mac Plus emulator from the Internet Archive:

https://www.jwz.org/blog/2023/09/neuroblast-dispatch-from-the-cyberpunk-city/

Cast your gaze ahead, to the near future: Public space has all but disappeared. Corporate landlords use AI-powered robots to harass the homeless. The robots, built slick and white with an R2-D2 friendliness now most resemble giant butt plugs covered in graffiti and grime.

Science fiction doesn't have to be a warning. It can also be a wellspring of hope. That's what I tried to do with The Lost Cause, my forthcoming Green New Deal novel, which Bill McKibben called "The first great YIMBY novel":

https://us.macmillan.com/books/9781250865939/the-lost-cause

Writing a hopeful novel of ecological, social and economic redemption, driven by solidarity, repair, and library socialism, was a powerful tonic against despair in this smoke-smothered, flooded, mosquito-bitten time. And while the book isn't out yet, there are early indications I succeeded, like Kim Stanley Robinson's reaction, "Along with the rush of adrenaline I felt a solid surge of hope. May it go like this."

And now, we have a concurring judgment from The Library Journal, who yesterday published their review, which concludes: "a thought-provoking story, with a message of hope in a near-future that looks increasingly bleak":

https://www.libraryjournal.com/review/the-lost-cause-2196385

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/09/30/mesclada/#melange

#pluralistic #antitrust #amazon #opacity #impunity #vocational awe #cyberpunk #dystopia watch #hypercard #jwz #holy roman empire #voltaire #enlightenment #dark ages #history #eleanor janega #linkdump #linkdumps #the lost cause #science fiction #books

[welldonebeca]

Apex Predator (V/Final)

Pairing: Ikaris x Thena x Makkari x Ajak x Sersi Warnings: Smut. Orgy/Gangbang. Oral sex. Dirty talking. Rough sex.

If you like my work, consider buying me a coffee or subscribing to my Patreon. It’s just $2 a month and helps a lot while I go through these hard times.

Masterlist

Ikaris held onto Thena's thigh as she squirmed on top of his face, moaning as he devoured her.

"Ikaris," she tried to protest. "Too... much!"

He didn’t even take his lips off her cunt, licking her clit and making her cry out.

“I think you can take it,” Ajak decided, cooing her.

Thena trembled, moaning out, shaking over him, cumming again, and Ikaris decided to show her some mercy, pulling away.

“Thena,” Ajak pulled her hair back, standing over her, caressing her cheek. “Be nice. Thank our Alpha.”

“Thank you…” she grunted, crawling away, probably overwhelmed.

Ikaris smiled and was about to answer when Makkari grabbed his face instead, sitting on him to get her own ride, and Sersi’s lips wrapped around his cock, sucking him off.

His Omegas were insatiable and, as a good Alpha, it was up to him to give them whatever they wanted.

They’d all been so needy for him lately. Even Makkari, who had Druig, had been coming to him more an more lately.

“Alpha,” Ajak moaned, taking one of his hands and placing it between her legs.

He ran his fingers on her wet folds, always so sweet and welcoming to him

Of all four, she was the one most eager for him, always. Sersi was more affectionate and confident in their relationship and both Thena and Makkari had their side partners to spend time with - in Gilgamesh and Druig - and never really needed him as much as they wanted him.

But Ajak was always eager to take whatever he offered her, looking for his company and so wet to be fucked he knew only an exchange of looks could get her ready for him sometimes.

“Ikaris,” Sersi called him, lips leaving his cock, and he felt her fingers running on his thighs, hungry. “I want to ride your cock.”

He lifted Makkari from his lips, pushing his fingers into her cunt and playing with her clit just as Thena leant to kiss her, sweet and hungry, humming something he couldn’t quite hear, but might as well be one of her sweet praises.

“And that’s how you ask?” he teased her. “Not nicely, not politely?”

Sersi whined.

“Please, Ikaris,” she begged. “May I have your cock? Can I ride, please, please?”

Ikaris smiled.

How could he ever deny her anything?

“Come now before Ajak beats you to it,” he instructed.

Makkari apparently took his hint, and sat back on his face, and he grabbed her hips, eating her out again.

By Arishem, Ikaris had never found a flavour he had favoured over another but omega slick was by beating to be the best.

He was glad he had mastered multitasking as he focus on eating Makkari - his cheeky Omega rubbing her clit against his nose - as he now fucked their leader with four fingers and Sersi impaled herself on his cock, taking her pleasure from him.

Ikaris was now just their toy, someone they could use to get filled and pleased.

He could already feel his knot tingling, threatening to pop. Sersi's lovely mouth already did wonders and her cunt only served to send him off, he suddenly felt a tight grip on his shaft.

"Now, now, little boy," Thena cooed. "She isn't done yet. None of us are."

He throbbed.

Fucking hell. Those Omegas were going to kill him one day.

He grunted, wanting to growl at her but with his mouth preoccupied, but his attention was pulled back to Makkari when she cried out, rubbing herself harder against him, moaning as she neared her release.

It always pleased him so much to hear Makkari's voice. It was so rare that she even used it, and it was deep and soft anytime she did. Hearing it meant he was doing something very, very right.

She finally came, covering his face with slick, and fell by his side on the floor, panting in bliss.

Before he could even have a moment to himself, Ajak grabbed his face, kissing him deeply.

"You want a ride next?" he offered, using the heel of his palm to rub her clit.

"I want to see your face when you cum," she hummed, moaning as he curled his fingers to find her sweet spot.

"Sersi," he moaned, reaching his free hand to grab her thigh. "Such a fucking good Omega."

She moaned, bouncing on his cock.

"My Sersi," he growled. "So good for your Alpha."

She just moaned more, Ajak's cunt squeezed his fingers.

"Ikaris," she cried.

"Cum for me, my sun," he coaxed his bouncy Omega. "Let me breed you up."

Sersi cried out, cunt fluttering around his cock as she came, and was still shaking on top of him when Ajak came just as well, coating his hand in her wetness.

Ikaris followed right after, eyes connected with hers as he came, dumping his seed into Sersi's cunt and knotting her, as his other Omegas just settled on his big bed - something he had had done especially for them.

Sersi curled on top of his chest, cuddling him as Ajak took his right side and Makkari took his left, and Thena lied across the top of his head, pulling his to rest his head on her soft stomach as she petted his hair.

"Our Alpha," Ajak kissed his cheek.

"Such a good Alpha, little Ikaris," Thena caressed his jaw.

Something filled him deeply. Devotion for his girls, and deep pride, for his Omegas were sated for now, and he could feel their love for him, each in their own way.

#Apex Predator series #ikaris x sersi #ikaris smut #ikaris fanfic #ikaris fanfiction #ikaris #ikaris x ajak #ikaris x ajak fanfic #ikaris x ajak smut #ikaris x ajak fanfiction #ajak x ikaris #ajak eternals #ajak imagine #ajak smut #thena x ikaris #ikaris x thena #ikaris x makkari #makkari x ikaris

[ambreignsfan4life]

Favourite Moments of 2023 Part 2 Round 5

#wwe #randy orton #legend killer #apex predator #the viper #iyo sky #damage ctrl #wwe fastlane #wwe survivor series #tumblr polls

[goingxmissing]

2023 fic reader highlights

thanks to mostlymaudlin for putting together this template. i'm going to enjoy rereading all of these over the next few days and using the floating ao3 comment box, which has significantly improved my life, and increased the unhinged nature of my comments.

Fic that made me laugh

Cool Things to Say to Your Soulmate by @powerful-owl & @love-leah • daniel ricciardo/max verstappen • a collection of soulmate AUs (everything em writes is hilarious, and this is full of heartache, miscommunication, and so many fun takes on the soulmate trope. delightful. haven't looked at geese the same way since.)

2. Fic that made me cry

one step closer and i'm real by @officialmood • daniel ricciardo/max verstappen • time travel, alternate universes (this fic is exquisite, every version of daniel that max meets is distinctly different and broke my heart in a multitude of ways. made my heart twist in the best way.)

3. Fic that gave me a story hangover

all this happened, more or less by multi21 • charles leclerc/max verstappen • social media, canon divergence (so much fun and so inspired! charles is a secret singer-songwriter, told through social media posts and devastating lyrics, le castellet is in my head at any given moment. went with this for story hangover because i thought about it for Days afterwards and then charles literally put his music on spotify. drop the escalier des fleurs content charles!!)

4. Fic I want to discuss book club style

playboy in the grotto by @freeuselandonorris • lando norris/oscar piastri • watersports (the pinnacle of horny romance: gross, filthy, desperate, fond. had to pause reading several times to rant about my favourite bits. need a book club to discuss the wider cinematic universe where they explore more kinks in the most tender way.)

5. Fic that got me a lil flustered

the fire is slowly dying by @strawberry-daiquiris • oscar piastri/mark webber • age difference, mentor/protégé (this is one of the most unhinged fics i've ever had the pleasure of enjoying. oscar is a total menace. scenes in this fic will stay with me Forever. i urge anyone to take a chance on the pairing if you're intrigued and FEAST.)

6. Fic by one of my favourite authors

jump right in by @strawberry-daiquiris • lando norris/oscar piastri • rule 63 (imagine your fiancée muses, 'what if lando was a girl and she'd never had an orgasm?' one day and then a couple of months later she's still working on a 100k+ masterpiece following the 2023 season where a third of the grid are women? i'm the luckiest. this fic is everything and i'm going to be LOST without it when it's finished.)

7. Fic I reread more than once

screen glows in a dark room by @hollywoodsargeant • oscar piastri/logan sargeant • phone sex, sex toys (steaming hot phone sex, not a single word wasted. the first fic i read for this pairing and i keep coming back to it and also the whole apex predator series. HIGHLY recommend checking these out for the Dynamics.)

8. Fic I sent to everyone I know

side by side in orbit by @glasscushion • lando norris/oscar piastri, max fewtrell/lando norris • cuckolding, voyeurism, open relationships (the concept is rancid and the vibes are UNMATCHED. this was delicious. as i said in my comment: when max feels spit pool beneath his tongue, when he forgets to breathe because he's so into what's happening in front of him. i felt that!!!!! immediate rec.)

9. Fic that made me fall in love with an author

i'll kiss you first by venerat • lando norris/oscar piastri • a/b/o (my first fic for this pairing, i read it on a Very Early train and my brain never recovered. you might be able to tell from my tumblr. me reading this fic over and over like: 😅. still can't see the word 'ripe' and not think about lando being a grotty omega. every fic by venerat is an absolute BANGER. hit that subscribe button, my friends!!)

thank you to all of the wonderful authors and creators who have shared their work in fandom this year. 2023 has been a feast <3

#fic rec #i tried to do this post without commentary but it was impossible #blanket rec for all fics by the authors mentioned #i only wish there had been more spaces but it was such a delight to use the prompts to really think about fics that fit #i've read basically no books and A Lot of fic this year sooooo #can't wait to lose my mind rereading all these!!!! #maxiel #max/daniel #lestappen #max/charles #landoscar #oscar/lando #loscar #logan/oscar #oscarmark #nortrell #fic #ao3 #about me

[farfromstrange]

Watching the AMC tv adaptation of Anne Rice’s “Interview With The Vampire”, I got back into the mood of writing for my series ‘Total Eclipse Of The Heart’, but since it’s been a while since I’ve written anything fantasy-related, I decided to practice my vampire writing a bit more with a little One Shot. I’m going to tease it before I post it. I’m too excited not to. This baby will be yours tomorrow, and I will use my Matt Murdock Tag List for this, but if you want to be tagged (and you haven’t filled out my Tag List Form), let me know and I’ll tag you for this! Anyway, without further ado, here is a little sneak peak…

Interview With The Vampire

Pairing: Vampire!Matt Murdock x F!Reader

Warnings: Vampirism, angst, SMUT (18+ MINORS DNI), oral sex, unprotected p in v (but it’s with a vampire, so not sure if that counts as a warning), blood play, biting, marking, scent kink, mentions of suicidal thoughts, violence, age gap, Dom!Matt, long One-Shot (it’s a word-count beast)

Summary: You are the first journalist to interview Hell’s Kitchen’s resident vampire vigilante after he requested you personally to tell his story. He’s offering you a way out of your miserable job—to make your voice be heard. You’re desperate and curious, so you decide to take the risk. Most people only know him as Daredevil, but you are about to learn who’s really behind the mask. How hard can it possibly be? As it turns out, interviewing a vampire is a lot more complex than you expected it to be, and Matthew Michael Murdock has set his mind on ruining you for any other man to come.

ACTUAL SNEAK PEEK UNDER THE CUT

[…]

The sun has long set over the Big Apple. Artificial neon, cars, and ceiling lights burning in the highrises along the riverfront cancel out the darkness that has befallen the country’s east. Noise melts into a flood that rolls over people’s senses, but most in New York City have grown numb to the city that never sleeps.

Sirens follow cacophonies of screams. Teenagers get into clubs with their fake IDs, adults get drunk in bars or go to work the night shift at their underpaid jobs, and the other half cry themselves to sleep, knowing they will have to get up in the morning and go through the same hell all over again.

Life has become a miserable existence, and it leaves human beings wondering, ‘How much longer do we have to endure this before we all finally drop dead?’

The system fails them. The law fails to protect them. All they can do is lie down and wait to die. And they will die sooner or later. That’s inevitable.

In Hell’s Kitchen, in a penthouse with a view of the Hudson through colored windows that gloss over during the day and show the city throughout the night, resides someone who most of the city only knows by an alias—Daredevil.

If anyone crosses him, he will suck them dry. It’s not a metaphor, I’m afraid; his reputation precedes him. Criminals fear the red eyes that come with fists and a sharp set of teeth that will surely run them into the ground. The rest of the city feels a little safer with him around, but so far, no one has dared to question his nature.

Fear is known to work as a paralytic. And this man living in the penthouse by the Hudson is the personification of what one might consider fear-inducing. Without the fear of others, he would not be thriving.

An apex predator like him lives for the thrill of the kill. When the adrenaline spikes, it makes the prey start running and the blood taste so much sweeter. It is to a creature of his kind what a good glass of century-old red wine would be to a human being; he savors every last drop of it.

[…]

#matt murdock #daredevil #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock x fem!reader #vampire!matt murdock #matt murdock x you #matt murdock angst #matt murdock smut #daredevil x reader #journalist!reader #alternate universe #interview with the vampire #reader insert #charlie cox

[skrbol]

Semi-Aquatic Percy Jackson Headcanons

(A lot of these will be random Atlantean culture ideas I made up)

Markings

If you were to ever see Percy shirtless you would see what he wants you to see, the mist is a powerful tool, especially for covering obvious marks. But if you are one of the few to see him without you would see identical columns of burn marks going from his collar bones down to his waist, each small and precise. In Atlantis warriors mark themselves with each battle won, each powerful enemy slain. Percy choose to brand himself with his victories, so that every time he looks at them and remembers the victory he remembers the pain and suffering wrought with it. Percy is a war veteran, and he’ll be damned if he ever lets himself or others romanticize the killing of war and the death of his companions.

Hair

Atlanteans put either a braid or loc in their hair for each year they are alive. The royal family never has, for in their immortality they would run out of space. Percy has never viewed himself as a prince, and he sure as hell isn’t immortal. He had 16 of them when he decided Olympus's fate, and 17 when he walked through the depths of Tartarus. And ever since he got them he’s had his camp beads decorated on them.

Strength

After his third quest Percy became obsessed with getting stronger to mitigate future deaths. It got to the point where he let himself submerge to the bottom of the sea, to the deepest trench, and let himself slowly get crushed by the pressure of the ocean. Pushed into the mud until he grew the strength to stand up, and then he’d let more weight fall onto him. Eventually he was able to stand with the weight of the entire ocean on him. It took him a week of ripping doors off hinges and breaking something with a touch before he got control over his new found strength.

Monster (Inspired by Witch_of_History’s Series)

Poseidon was renown as the Father of Monsters. All his children have the potential to live up to that title, his godly spawn where born with it, sharp teeth, razor claws, and tough scales. It came with being his immortal child, you were born touched by all his domains. But demigod children only gain access to their parents domains as they age or as they need them, and his half mortal children had never been monstrous. But as with all things mythological Percy pushed the envelope. His time in the deepest depths of the sea caused his body to adapt to his environment, the royal family was mostly homogenous with their monstrous traits. Percy was always an outlier to them though, when he finally ascended from the depths he had adapted beyond human. Increased senses of smell, sight, hearing. Able to sense nearby creatures bio-electric signals, capable of echo-location, can see infrared, magneto-reception. His monstrous form is a blue scaled, razor clawed,bi-pedal apex predator of the deep. A scaled merrow-esque person with an extra rows of shark teeth behind their human teeth. Annabeth and Grover have never been more enamored with a demigods powers before, and the Hunters have never had a better hunting companion. Much to Artemis’ chagrin and Thalia’s delight.

Favors

Strong warrior or kings in Atlantis keep rings of their enemies and allies. On one hand will be rings made from the bones or weapons of enemies defeated, on the other are gifts or symbols fealty of debt’s owed to the wearer. Percy has no lack of rings. Titans, Giants, and ancient monsters leave many spoils for souvenirs. It’s his other hand that draws interest however, he liberated Thanatos, spared Hades after defeating him, assisted Persephone in retrieving her illegally made sword. None of these things came free, other demigods typically are sent off with recognition and little else. But Percy is a hardened veteran of undersea battles, defeating creatures older than Olympus and fighting against Oceanus prior to the Battle of Manhattan. They had no choice but to give him tribute for his actions. Hades and Persephone groaned about it, Thanatos gladly gave it up, and yet having a box filled with rings of allyship, fealty, and loyalty he’s never used them. But what people always forget is that Percy and Annabeth are a pair, whatever one has the other does as well. Best believe it, Annabeth has many plans that could use some godly touch.

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