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#i got a new mask and it sucks as much as the old one but in an unforseen way

voidhope · 10 months

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The Other Woman

—

Synopsis: Where Miguel leaves Y/N to go back to a different version of his old wife found in another universe.

Pair: Miguel O’Hara x Spider!Reader

Tags: ANGST!!, long term established relationship, heartbreak, marriage, cheating, mental health, cold/distant Miguel

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A/N: Hi! I don’t really write at all!!

I have been a silent reader on tumblr for years but this idea has been playing in my mind so much I had the urge to write it. I have been down so bad for Miguel been on his tag like 24/7 indulging in all the content creators have been putting out. So I’m excited to join in giving content, however keep in mind I kinda suck! Apologies for any mistakes, anything confusing, or it not being well written enough. Honestly could have made this into multiple parts with better details but nah. Tried my best ^^ since it’s my first time, any feedback is greatly appreciated!

Honestly tbh we all don’t have a solid grasp how the whole canon thing and multi universe works yet so!! A lot of what is written is made up to suit my storyline so please don’t get mad about the inaccuracies.

I love a good angst and today’s story will be EXTRAAA angsty!!! As well kinda long!!

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The moment that changed your life was while working on an experiment during your college finals. You were a proud and gifted physics major that was so passionate about discovering and exploring what the world didn’t know.

You had snuck into Alchemax late at night. You wanted to show your professors just how much you could do with the right tools. Next thing you know, playing with their machines, you had spawned a spider right in-front of you. The glowing vibrant red spider had sunk its jaw into your hand.

Your life did a complete turn and you spent the rest of that week freaking out while changes to your body were happening. Causing you to fail your semester after missing exams. Things felt like it could only get worse when a massive blue suited masked man showed up out of nowhere in your dorm interrogating you.

“Where’s the spider?” He had a strong grip on your shoulders. You couldn’t focus while trying to process why this man had what seemed like claws sticking out of the ends of his fingers.

“I don’t know, it like died after it bit me!” You exclaimed nervously at the freakishly strong man. Trying to reach for anything behind you to use as a defense weapon.

“Dios mío no me digas eso…” He groaned loudly letting you go. Having the opportunity to grab something, you threw a sanrio plushie at him. Only causing him to wave his arms in annoyance. “That spider is from my earth and somehow you brought it here. Now you’re a spider-man.”

And the rest is history…

—

You learned that the man was Miguel O’Hara and when he found you he was just starting his missions with the multiverse. You being the few of the firsts to join his team.

Your situation was quite bizarre and he called you an anomaly for a long time, spending hours studying you and also training you. You ended up being the one case that can’t be explained no matter how much effort was put into monitoring you.

Almost like it was meant to be. Your universe remained perfect with its current spider-man doing fine. No big collapse of a black hole or anything. When you got bit by a spider from Earth-928 your DNA merged with that universe making you fit in perfectly. You were one of the only spider-people with an uncertain timeline with new canons being created depending on what universe you were in.

What changed from you being just a piece of research for Miguel is when he then realized that maybe you were a gift from the multiverse. After all the grief and pain he’d went through the universe had given him this person that worked out perfectly no matter how hard he tried to push them away. You fell head over heels for him and vice versa, all while canon events were being created with both of you together.

You were there as his team grew, slowly turning into a family. Then both of you getting married finalizing that this was your home. Everything felt perfect. Although a relationship with Miguel could have its up and down days, nothing could ever tear you both apart. Or so you assumed.

—

“I’m sorry Y/N.” Miguel couldn’t look at you.

“When did this start? Please be honest with me. Did I do something wrong?” You begged at him. You knew he was acting off recently but never did you think it would result to this.

You watched as he exhaled deeply staring at the ground. You felt like you couldn’t breathe as you studied his face trying to grasp onto any emotion he was showing. The atmosphere in his office felt so cold. You so badly wanted to catch his gaze and find the warmth and love his red irises used to give you. He was doing everything to push you away. He was abandoning you.

“You did nothing wrong. I met her during a mission 4 months ago.” Was all he replied.

“Who is she?” Your heart kept breaking. His face hardening as the question slipped through your lips. You knew Miguel wouldn’t leave you for just anyone. Deep in your heart you knew what this was about. He never responded but he didn’t need to when you saw his eyes flicker over to his monitor screens. You followed his trace and saw the photo of Gabriella in the corner.

“Does she have another version of your daughter?” You tried again. This is what made him look directly at you. Miguel kept opening and closing his month unsure how to tell you the truth. You weren’t stupid and he knew that. After everything he couldn’t just walk out on you with a lie.

“No.” He paused thinking of how to finally share the truth without it ruining you. There was no way out of this. “She is a younger version of herself. There is no Miguel in her universe and she’s not important to the timeline. She lives a regular life. I-it’s a chance for me to start at the very beginning.”

You felt your heart being ripped out of your chest. You processed the words carefully. She doesn’t have a child yet… Not only was he leaving you for her but he was going to fall in love with her all over again and start a family with her. A family you wanted so badly to have with him.

“What about with what happened last time you tried to live a life in a different universe?” You didn’t understand how this was happening.

He was always so carful he would never do anything to cause that again. Everything you had witness Miguel work so hard for to keep safe for years. Sleepless nights, returning bruised and beaten, frustrations and constant stress. Was it all for nothing? Is he throwing all his work away?

“This is different.” He turned away from you. “I pushed myself then into an already established life. This time I am creating that life. After all the research we did on you…” He knew that this was going to tear you apart. “I learned that if done right I could have a child from two different universes that won’t disrupt anything.”

It clicked to you then that all the research he was doing on you lately was for this. The research he did on you that time was different, personal, intimate even. As he was testing your DNAs together and seeing the outcomes. He mentioned a child and you were foolish enough to assume he was doing research to see what it would be like if you both had one together. You were giddy even as you watched him work. You had both spoken about having a family together in the past but had been too busy with spider activities. You thought it was a sign of him getting more serious about it, knowing how badly he wanted one. You would have never thought he was doing it to see how he could get back his previous child. The one you could never give him.

You had truly believe that Miguel had recovered from his obsession that his grief gave him. He accidentally destroyed a whole universe needing that life back so badly. You had spent late nights watching him re-watch clips over and over of what he had lost. It slowly stopped once your relationship blossomed with him and you thought he was ready to move on and start new. Why would you have never thought that with such a perfect opportunity presented to him that he wouldn’t drop everything for it.

“I think it’s best that you leave.” He spoke with a soft tone. As if not looking at you any longer will make the problem go away. You couldn’t wrap your mind around how he was just throwing you away like this. As if he wasn’t making you dinner, giving soft kisses, whispering I-love-you’s not so long ago.

You felt too choked up to ask anymore questions. Your throat tight and painful as you held back tears from escaping in-front of Miguel. You just nodded and headed straight out the door not being able to handle another second in that room. Your knees and hands were shaky as you speed walked into the nearest bathroom and let it all out.

—

It didn’t take long for everyone else to know something had happened. Everyone had gotten used to seeing you and him sitting together at lunch. You would make him cute lunch boxes and everyone would gag a bit while watching the two of you smile together. Some cringing seeing their scary boss being so soft around you. It was a big surprise when Miguel started to eat alone with a bag of take out food and you no where to be seen.

His teams he sent out for missions were all confused when you weren’t assigned to anything. Knowing you were one of the best, one of them slipped out a “Call for Y/N!” In the middle of fighting an anomaly too strong for them. Miguel only looked away.

It wasn’t until a new woman showed up in Miguel’s office with a grip around his waist. That’s when the spider-community realized that this was way worse than they thought.

—

You on the other hand had spilled everything to Hobie when he caught you that day leaving the bathroom with puffy eyes. You had been staying with him in his universe until you could gather yourself together to return to HQ. You knew you were going to leave for good, but you needed to go back to retrieve all your things. You couldn’t stay with Hobie forever. Worse that you weren’t from there.

You still had some hope that Miguel would come looking for you and tell you that he was all wrong. However almost two months had passed and not a word from him… That’s when you knew it was time you should return to what you once knew.

Stepping into the portal Hobie followed close behind you. He told the few others who were once close to both you and Miguel that you would be visiting. Stepping through the portal you were immediately greeted by Jessica and Peter B Parker.

“Oh, Y/N.” Jess sighed your name sadly while pulling you into a hug. You felt like you wanted to cry all over again. Missing your friends so much. Peter B came behind giving you a hug on the side.

“He’s on a mission right now.” Peter spoke up. “It might be a long one too but don’t waste anytime just incase.”

You nodded pulling away from them. Looking up around the headquarters building faintly smiling at the past memories you had here. You started heading to different areas gathering all the little things you had left around. Hobie had stitched for you a cute backpack with different scraps of patterned clothes and covered in patches of punk band logos but made with hammer space technology. Making it fun for you to fill endless of your things in the bag.

The last stop was in Miguel’s office. Doubt started to fill your mind; maybe he already threw out all of your stuff. Why would he even keep it after all of this? What no one could warn you of was the other person sitting on his platform.

“Hello!” She chirped at you. It felt like the air in your lungs had just been punched out. You knew her too well. From all the photos and videos you had seen peaking over Miguel’s shoulder. However seeing her in person was something you had never expected. You knew it wasn’t the original her but it was a copy paste image for sure.

“Hi.” Was all you managed to choke out. She was beautiful, stunning. You could see clearly now the similar features she shared in another universe with her daughter. The parts that Miguel didn’t have. She kept smiling kindly at you, almost in a graceful way. You started to feel all your insecurities start eating you up from the inside. How could you have ever compared to her.

“What’s your name? I don’t think I’ve seen you here before.” Getting off Miguel’s platform she walked closer to you. The room started to feel suffocating.

“Y/N.”

“Well, it’s nice to meet you! It’s nice to meet other girls around here.”

Your eyebrows furrowed as you realized she had no reaction to your name. So Miguel never told her about you… Or that the fact was he was still even legally married to you.

“My boyfriend isn’t here right now but, if you want, I can tell him you stopped by.” She continued as you stayed silent.

“Oh, no it’s okay. I just came in here to get some stuff.” You rushed as you really wanted nothing to do with Miguel at all. You almost worried that he might even get angry knowing you got to speak with her. If he already dislikes you this much you couldn’t even imagine how he would feel if you got in the way of this for him.

You started heading over to the familiar drawers around the room. Grabbing your old hoodies and shirts finding your most comfortable of things here. You treated this place as one of your safe spaces as you used to spend so much time here.

“Oh I didn’t know these were all yours! I was wondering why this was all around. When I came here I wanted to do some spring cleaning but Miguel wouldn’t let me touch anything.” She followed besides you. “It’s so mind blowing seeing all this technology. We don’t have any of this where I live-“ She continue rambling but you started to zone her out. You felt like you were about to have a panic attack any minute. There was one question that kept burning in your mind.

“Are you and Miguel already planning to have a child?” You blurted out. Your eyes widened a bit as you surprised yourself. She let out a loud laugh.

“Oh dear no! We have only been together about 6 months. You must be new around here so you must not know much about us.” She chuckled.

In some cruel way you were hoping she would have said yes. You had that twisted hope of maybe Miguel just keeping her to have a kid and ditching her after he gets Gabriella and run back to you. In reality he was playing the long game, he really meant it when we said he was starting over. “He’s never mentioned kids anyways. I’m not even sure if he’d like them or do well with them.”

With that statement she made you looked at her appalled. Anyone could see in Miguel how good of a father he could be. Just in the way he takes care of the society he built here. You started to realize that she really has been left in the dark. She doesn’t know anything. She probably doesn’t even know that she’s a replacement of another self. You wondered why Miguel was doing this. It felt like he didn’t just toy with you but with her as well. A man you came to love for how selfless he was, to realize now everything was for his own personal gain. Suddenly you started to feel bad for her. You couldn’t dislike her, she wasn’t doing anything wrong and she doesn’t even know.

“I got all my stuff. Nice to meet you.” Was all you could say as you zipped up your bag and turned straight around out of there. Not giving any glance back at her, you left to one of the empty training rooms to recollect your overwhelming thoughts. All of the self healing you tried the past month thrown in the garbage.

It wouldn’t be too soon that news of you going around the building was returned to Lyla. You had cut out all coms while you were gone so she immediately popped up on your watch when she found out.

“AH-“ You jumped as the tiny AI was suddenly in front of your face.

“It’s so wonderful to see you Y/N. Oh my god!”She started. Then she went on rambling about how she knew everything and had seen everything. How she didn’t agree with what was happening and was doing everything she could to convince you to stay. After 5 minutes of her rambling you stopped her to let your emotions out.

“Lyla, Lyla It’s okay. Just stop. It’s all complicated I know, but this didn’t work out. I wished Miguel just cheated on me like all the other fucked up normal men out there. That I walked in on him deep in another random girl. Though painful I could have tried fixing and fighting for us. But instead what I got was him emotionally cheating on me and chase after something he knows I can never give him.” You felt yourself choke up. “I can never ask him to give up what he longs and dreams for just for me to be happy. I lost this battle the moment he laid eyes on her.”

Finding comfort in the AI your husband made. You’ve created a bond with Lyla that Miguel found cute but you knew now this might be the last time you’ll be speaking with her.

“You can give him a family y/n… you guys have been married two years now. I know you’ve both set the thought aside until the multiverse issues are better but you can fight for him. You have to snap him out of his fantasy. He still thinks about you.”

“Lyla you know deep down truly he never just wanted a family. He wanted exactly what he had. What he lost. Which should be impossible but being by his side seeing how insane the multiverse is… Good for him for believing in something so hard he’s found himself even a third chance to do it.”

“I hate that you’re being too kind about this situation.” Lyla paced around you.

“I love him so deeply Lyla. You know that very well. It’s so hard to suddenly hate him. I am angry, but I’m also emotionally drained I can’t do this.” You let out a deep sigh. “I’ve watched him long for this family when we just met. For some stupid reason when things worked out for us I thought I would be enough… When we got engaged and he would spend some days at home with me not even coming to HQ. I thought he was finally moving on not just from his grief and past but from the weight of his work. I saw a bright future for us.”

“You can still have a bright future with him! You moving here gave him a new canon event, another chance at life in his timeline. Here in his own universe! He’s just too obsessed and he’s lost himself in that.” She exclaimed with her hands up.

“Our canon event was our wedding.” Your frowned deepened. “But the universe didn’t say anything else after. It doesn’t say our canon event means we are suppose to live happily together forever I guess.”

“I’m just trying my best to be optimistic. I rooted so hard for you and Miguel when you joined the team. I know you can remember the amount of times I would force you both in rooms.” Lyla recalled.

“And I’m grateful for it… Even if this didn’t work out. I was given precious memories, not just working with you and being on this team but falling in love with Miguel. I know I’m being all depressed and hopeless but I feel like even if I move on I’ll never be able to replace him and find a relationship like this again. However he threw me away so easily and maybe he never valued me as much as I did to him.” You felt your emotions bubble. “I became who I am here. I’m going to miss everyone so much.”

“You can still stay here and work with us.” She edged on.

“I can’t just sit around here begging at his feet to return to me or moping around doing missions while watching him with someone else. I want to hate him so badly. I know he’s your boss and you’re basically hardwired to do everything for him and you’re trying your hardest to fix what you think is his right path. But think of me a little more and how miserable it’ll be. I’m the only one hurting here.”

Lyla paused and stared at you with an almost glossy-eyed look. While she worked she could see the inner term-oil Miguel was hiding and the emptiness he was turning to since trying to start new in the other universe. It just wasn’t her place to hold this conversation and he was the one who needed to get a grip of himself and really think and talk with you. She can’t be the one trying to mend the pieces for both of you together. What Miguel did was so wrong. She knew you were right and she didn’t want to see any more damage be caused to you.

“You’re right. I’m sorry.” She looked up at you sincerely. “I hate this outcome for you. Not only are you loosing your husband but your home. When was the last time you’ve even been in your universe?”

“Like a year ago for a mission…”

“Exactly! Even if things are over with Miguel, you have all of us here! I wish you could stay. I understand you leaving, I really do. I know a lot of us will try visiting you but I’m tied to Miguel…” You started to see how it clicked for her too that it’s most likely you might not see each other for a long time. “Even if a spider-person is visiting you I can’t just show up on their watch… It’ll go back to him and I know you wouldn’t want that. I know I’m an AI and I can’t hold real emotions but I mean it when I say I’m going to miss you.”

Tears poured down your cheeks as her words hit you. Going back to your universe is going to be a struggle. You have nothing there now. However nothing can compare to the pain of the outcome you’ve had with Miguel, and you needed out of here ASAP. Your mental health getting worse the longer you stay. Even the other spiders you have come to love can’t bring that spark back right now. You needed genuine time for yourself, even if it’s self destructive, instead of putting on a fake smile everyday here.

“Bye, Lyla.” You whispered. She nodded and waved her hand goodbye at you before disappearing. You took your watch off your wrist placing it on a nearby desk. With it you pulled the divorce paperwork out of your pocket neatly sealed and already signed on your half. Opening a portal you took your last glances at the place you spent so many loving memories in.

Tears blurred your vision as you stepped through the portal. Once your legs landed on a rooftop of a building in your dimension, you racked out full sobs falling to your knees.

You were always just the other woman.

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Thank you so much for reading!! I know it was a longer one ~

would anyone like a part 2? If so anyone want a angsty or happy ending? I think it’ll be more in Miguel’s perspective as well!

EDIT: You can now read PART 2 here

#miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o’hara imagine #atsv miguel #spiderman 2099 #miguel o’hara x y/n #miguel o’hara angst #spiderman imagine #across the spiderverse #miguel o'hara #x reader #spiderman #fanfiction #miguel o’hara fanfiction #spiderman x reader

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cupids-scream-queen · 5 months

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-> Brahms Heelshire x f!reader

-> Prompt: breeding

Warnings: breeding, unprotected sex (wrap it for the holiday season), blindfold, rough-ish sex, slapping, breeding kink, pregnancy kink, daddy kink, idk it's smut guys.

Summary: Planning for Christmas at the Heelshire's required a lot of patience, decorations, and money. When you asked Brahms what he wanted for Christmas, the answer he gave wasn't one you were expecting.

Christmas was coming, and there was many things to do. You decided to decorate the manor, after all, you weren't sure how much holiday cheer Brahms was used to getting.

The Christmas decorations were beautiful, the house big enough for you to get one of those ridiculously huge trees you couldn't get back at home. Decorated with beautiful, twinkling bulbs and strands of incandescent lights, it was truly a sight to behold.

"Brahms? What would you like for Christmas?" You were sitting on the couch, knitting a new cardigan to replace his old one. He was resting on your lap, the yarn occasionally touching the porcelain mask.

"I don't know," He replied, his eyes staring up at you. "What could I have?"

"Oh, like clothing, candy, toys…" You trailed off, hoping he'd take the hint and pick something usual.

"A baby," He looked at you, his gaze unwavering as you looked at him, trying to process what he just said. A baby?

"Like, a human baby? Or a puppy…?"

"Human. Yours," He touched your stomach, confirming that that was where he wanted the baby to come from. You.

"Brahms, I can't just pop out a baby…there's certain--activities--you've got to do beforehand," He shrugged, unbothered.

"I know. We'll do them." It wasn't a question, and you weren't sure how to handle the situation. Why did this man want a child?

"Are you sure that's what you want?" You asked, and he nodded, very sure of himself.

"Let's get started," He sprung out of your lap, taking you knitting out of your hands as he roughly picked you up and threw you over his shoulder, something that was becoming increasingly common in your relationship.

"Brahms, shouldn't we--"

"You said I could have anything," He threw you onto your mattress, already climbing over you to grab the black silk blindfold you kept on your nightstand for times like these. "And this is what I want."

He slipped the blindfold over you, pressing a finger to your lips, silencing whatever sentence you were trying to say. He wasn't in the mood for games, or your protests, he simply wanted to have a baby. And, to him, you were the perfect person to provide that. Your pussy was already wet, and he smirked as he slipped a large hand down, touching it, providing you with friction you so desperately craved.

"Brahms--"

"Shh," He roughly handled your pussy, his fingers rubbing up against your clit as you struggled to take your pants off. He wasn't going to let you, not this easily.

He started to take your shirt off, delicately making sure not the remove the blindfold. He delicately removed your pants, your body naked save for your undergarments. Your bra was red, your soaked panties green--it was like you were taunting him with the idea of what he wanted.

He slipped his mask off, you could tell by the noise it made as he set it down on the table. His rough hands started to trail along your body, occasionally a wet kiss would show up somewhere.

"You're taunting," He kissed you on the lips, his facial hair tickling your nose as he deepened the kiss. His hands went to unclasping your bra, throwing it over his shoulder and immediately grasping your tits with his hands. Rubbing his fingers over the nipple, he got the sensitive bud to perk up, and he started to kiss his way down to your breast.

You moaned as he licked your nipple, his left hand going to grope your other breast and his right hand circling your clit. You moaned as he slipped one finger in, and then another, as he started to scissor your pussy as he continued to lick and suck on your tits. Leaving bite marks, sucking hickies into your skin, everything he could do to mark you as his, he did.

He gave your nipple one last suck before he licked from your breast down to your pussy, enjoying you squirming underneath him. His fingers were moving faster, making you gasp and moan his name, your fingers running through his hair.

"Ready?"

"Y-Yes," You gasped out, your body aching for more than just his touch. You needed him, all of him, and you were going to get it, and you knew he'd give it to you. He needed you just as much--he needed to be inside of you.

He laughed, darkly, pulling his fingers out of you. Gathering the slick from in between your folds, he slathered it on his cock, and licked the excess off his fingers. He then shoved his fingers in your mouth, forcing you to taste yourself as he lined himself up with your cunt and pushed in, stretching you.

"Ah-Brahms," You moaned around his fingers, his cock warm and filling you up in the most wonderful way. He pet your face, his hands warm and rough and fulfilling.

He smiled to himself, his dick all the way in your soft, warm pussy. He started slowly, thrusting carefully, his dick sliding in and out tantalizingly, the head of his cock hitting your g-spot. The soft, spongy walls of your pussy clenching around his cock.

"Feel s-so good," You moaned, your cunt coated in precum, your slick all over the sheets. Brahms only grunted in response, strening himself to not break you. "N-Need m-more..."

That was what Brahms needed, and he suddenly dug his hands into your hips, leaving marks in the shape of his fingerprints. He thrusted into you roughly, his dick reaching even farther into your pussy. You arched your back, Brahms shifting his hands so that they cupped your back, forcing your legs to go on either side of his shoulders. He was balls deep, his groans every time he thrust in you were heavenly.

"You're mine," Brahms grunted, and you moaned his name, confirming that you were his. He pulled out of you almost completely, before slamming his dick farther into your pussy, resulting in you to scream out in a mixture of pleasure and pain. "Mine. Mine. Mine."

"Yes, Brahms, I'm y-yours," You whimpered, and Brahms slapped your tits harshly, before slamming into you again. He was rough, his thrusts no longer calculated, he was chasing his high and you knew it.

"I want you to have my babies, I need you to fucking be mine," Brahms was leaving marks all over your body--handprints, fingerprints, bruises, bite marks--all of it, marking you with a cacophony of colors, various shapes and sizes. You were his, you were to be marked as his, and you were to bare his children.

"I-I will," You gasped, and Brahms slapped your face again, marking you with a red handprint. You didn't care, his roughness was only making him come closer and closer to orgasm.

"I want to see you pregnant," Brahms groaned, pushing himself farther into you, your pussy clenching around his thick length. "I need you to have my baby."

"G-God, yes, Brahms," You called out, your hands gripping him, leaving tiny crescents of your fingernails. The pain only made him more aroused, his dick moving faster, his thrusts more sloppy as he felt himself getting closer. Your pussy clenched around him, as if to tease him.

"Call me Daddy," Brahms instructed, plowing himself farther into you, his cock creating a bulge that neither of you noticed.

"Y-Yes, Daddy," You moaned, your back arching again as you came, your pussy clenching around him, you fingers digging farther into his flesh, drawing blood. Your mouth made more obscene noises, your breathing heavier. Brahms let out one more groan, cumming in you with ferocity. He shot heavy, thick loads into you. It was warm, running out of your pussy as he filled you with his hot cum.

"You'll get pregnant, right?" Brahms moaned, shooting one last load into you.

"Yes, Daddy," You replied, your fingers letting go of his skin. Tiny dots of blood dotted his shoulders, his back a mess of scratches. Your body was equally damaged, his handprints all over you, his bite marks covering your torso. "I will."

"Good." He breathed out, collapsing on you. "I'd like that."

"I would, too," You mused, his dick still inside of you. He let out a few heavy breaths before you realized he fell asleep, his cum still inside of you.

You listened to his soft snores, and felt yourself drifting off. Perhaps, yes, you'd like to raise children with him. He was a gentle man when he wanted to be.

"Merry Christmas, Brahms."

#brahms x reader #brahms heelshire #brahms the boy #brahms heelsire x reader #slasher fucker #brahms the doll #the boy 2016 #slasher community #slasher x reader #cupids smutmas advent calendar #slashers x reader #slasher smut #slasher fandom #slashers

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farfromstrange · 1 month

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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,

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

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shakirawastaken · 1 year

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dsmp if....they fell in love with you at first sight

lowkey this sucks im so sorry but number 6 has been written dream:

- this happened before he face revealed - so he went out to the grocery store or smth with a mask and sunglasses so if anyone recognized him they wouldn't like see what he looked like - pulled a ranboo fr - anyway he entered the cat food aisle looking for the best cat food for patches our beloved - and was so enthralled in the cat food that he didn't hear you walk by with your cart trying to get past the aisle - "excuse me sir can u please move???" "*is looking at cat food*" "sir?" "OH IM SO SORRY" - moves immediately but not before he makes eye contact with you through the glasses - his eyes widen comically, he thinks ur gorgeous - takes advantage of that fact that you cant see his eyes and continue to admire your face as you laugh and wave ur wrist in the air, swatting away the awkward interaction just like that - you walk away and he forces his mind to go back to the cat food - but god ur imprinted in his brain and he knows he cant just let you leave - so he grabs whatever cat food he sees and runs around the store looking for you - sees you leaving and went "NOPE" - in his head - RUNS to you but slows down before he gets to you so u don't fucking murder him - "hey uh" "oh hi!" "i thought you were really cute...and i couldn't just let u leave the store without tryna get ur number" "oh :) thanks! but idk what u look like.." "right" - whips that shit off in the middle of walmart mask off challenge succeed - ur face: :O - "yeah u can have my number" "LETS GO" - speedran that shit basically

sapnap: - met u in highschool me thinks - in the peak of his i play minecraft everyday era - just showed up at school to be there yk - and you were there but never really interacted with him - until one day you had to sit next to him in english class - life OVER for him tbh he made eye contact with you and nodded like an idiot as you introduced yourself - “wow ur pretty im nick” *facepalmed internally* - youre like aw - u become friends - seating chart friendships and romances >>> - now he actually has a reson to go to school events like hoco and prom and stuff - “sorry dream ive got to to go homecoming” “motherfucker with who?” - you ask him to hoco as friends cause yk he hasnt been out much and he gratefully accepts - awkward dancing in the back - as the year progresses the two of you keep in contact even as you got moved apart in the class you sat next to - you met dream and george that was nice - prom came around and he new brother knew he had to do SOMETHING - so he made a prom posal that was like “will you be MINE(craft) at prom” or something like that - and u were like “finally” - fast forward some years and ur doing whatever u want and hes doing what hes doing now - he never formally asked you out but its implied youve been dating for years - this one sucked mb

george: - god the british - hate them/j - youre not british in this story okay - and if ur british irl,,,im sorry for ur ailment/j - ANYWAY - youre a tourist ur visiting the good old u of k - ur in london obv - and george never leaves his flat there - except to get groceries - so he walks to the nearest grocery store bc he literally cant drive - and bumps into you its the classic omg so sorry i bumped into you romance - except he thought that was awkward and kinda went “sorry” looked down at the ground and sprinted forward - you were like “the british are.....odd” - george then realized that was worse and turned around to apologize to you - and then fell in love with you - u were taking a picture on ur camera of just like the scenery of london - and we like “omg theyre cute and they appreciate the little things” - gets on discord and texts sapnap “im in love” and then sapnap goes “me too with ur mom” - logs off discord now - walks up to you sheepishly and was like “haha sorry for doing that it was a dare by my friend” and u were like “its ok:)” ad then hes like “yk what isnt a dare” and u were like “hmm what” and he was like “me asking for your number cause ur so cute” - and u were malfunctioning cause u didnt expect cute british man to ask you on a date while u were in the u of k - but u said yes and then he realized ur accent and was like “ar eyou not british” and u were like “no.” and he was like “thats okay! im skilled with long distance relationships ;)” - unknowingly flirts with you - you skull emojied and then joined him on his trip to the grocery store IDK this one was bad im sorry

karl: - YOURE IN A MR BEAST CHALLENGE - oh oh OH the amount of things in my brain running through - anyway u were a subscriber of Mr jimmy beast so he was like "come be in a video" - its one of those last to leave the circle loses - each cast member is paired with a participant and whoever wins gets 50,000 and the cast member gets like 10,000 or smtn - and jimmy had them all pick a name out of a hat to make it simple - and karl didn't pick u - nolan did - but when they walked out to meet the participants and karl made eye contact with you for a split second - god he fell right there - couldn't help but imagine what loving you would be like - knew he wanted to experience that - but he couldn't do that if he wasn't even paired with you - so he BEGS nolan to switch - "dude please cmon" "what do i get out of it??" "if i win ill give you the money" "oh shit ok" - now he's paired with you HE MASTERMINDED THAT SHIT LIKE TAYLOR SWIFT - anyway you were like "shit he's cute ill win now" - ur dynamic is amazing jimmy loves it for the video - the whole time u both are playfully flirting and just being yourselves around each other its amazing - he tries to cheat to help you LOL but gets caught with a sheepish smile on his face - that's when u fall i swtg - anyway - the filming for the video goes for like 2 and a half days so you spend a lotttt of time with karl dearest - you lose in the end tho bc in ur sleep u accidentally kicked ur foot outside the circle - you're a bit defeated - after thanking u all jimmy sends you off - and u smile and thank him and karl and head off - but then you hear a "PIT PAT PIT PAT" of feet slapping concrete behind you - "wait can i have ur number? :)" "i thought you wouldn't ask :)" and u give him ur number number for number - jimmy mischievously smiles in the background before returning to his beast lair

quackity: - LAW SCHOOL LAW SCHOOL LAW SCHOOL YOU MET THERE STOP STOP STOP - stop college romances kill me for real - guys - k I'm good - met at orientation i feel - or not met - he laid eyes on you from across the room and he was like oh shoot this place is better than i thought it would be - LOL - runs across the whole room to snag the seat next to you - "hey I'm alex, whats your name?" "oh I'm y/n!" - bro squealed inside - "i like ur name!" "thanks :) urs is nice too" - u both talked for the rest of the welcome ceremony thing - compared schedules and had...nothing together for the first semester - thATS OK you still exchanged numbers - and you kept talking and hanging out even if u didn't have class - but as friends. - AAAAAAAAAAAAA you fell for him somewhere in the middle but both of you were like - we need to finish law school first in your heads - so u both skated on the line between romance and friends - like the song boyfriend by ariana grande - but when the end of law school was in sight? quackity didn’t waste a single second - BAM got ur number BAM took u on a date BAM yk

wilbur: - fell in love with you at first sight except you didnt see him he just saw you - here’s the thing right hes the biggest hamilton fan - so when he went to see hamilton with tommy and all them - YOU WERE THERE you were in the cast you played angelica/eliza/peggy literally one of the three female main characters - ANYWAY you were screaming the lyrics to one of the songs and wilbur kinda just went “woah” - didnt see anyone else on the stage but you when you walked out - tommy was like “did u see the bullet wil” and he wa slike “no” - forced tommy to stage door after the show - prayed to all the theater gods that you came outside - when you did? game over for him - he stood there stawstruck awstruck jawstruck - aND the same happened for you!!! bc u knew who he was ofc - u had a lovejoy poster in ur dressing room duh - so by the time you came round to him and tommy you were like “heheheh” and giggling “hi omg im a big fan of your music and stuff :)” and he was like “mIne?” - his voice cracked - you giggled and you both took pictures with each other on your phones - then u invited him backstage - and he wa slike LHJSKHFSDFKGHJERT - LEFT TOMMY AT STAGE DOOR - you showed him around including on stage - and this went on for a while hed just show up a stage door and youd let him in - one day you were both on the stage and he started humming helpless and you both started dancing - and then he was like “i rlly am helpless for you, id like to try and make this something more if ur up for it” - and you were like WOOOOOO yk

#dreamwastaken x reader #sapnap x reader #georgenotfound x reader #karl jacobs x reader #quackity x reader #wilbur soor x reader #dream x reader #mcyt x reader #dsmp x reader #x reader #shakira shakira writes #dsmp imagines #mcyt imagines

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spidernuggets · 4 months

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I commented this and realized you said to put it in the ask box😭 I feel like "animal I have become" by three days grace fits jason for the lyrical prompt list

Jason Todd x Reader

"Animal I Have Become"

You stared at your old vigilante suit. Ever since the Joker killed Jason, putting on the suit always made you want to throw up.

It wasn't just because you two were dating, but the two of you made the perfect duo while crime fighting. He was always so determined to kick ass head first while you were there to hold him back and let him think before making any sudden actions.

You were the first one to find Jason's body. His face was disfigured, and his suit was drenched in his blood. And soon after, it was your suit drenched in his blood.

When Bruce arrived at the warehouse, he saw you there from a distance, wailing and screaming while cradling Jason's limp body.

"Why.. Why is there so much blood, Bruce? He's not waking up... Bruce, he's not waking up!" You cried at Bruce, and all he could do was stand there. "Bruce, please! We need to get him home! He-" You hiccup. "He has training tomorrow... And.. And he said he'd teach me how to ride his motorbike.. Bruce, c'mon, we need to bring him home..." It pains Bruce to see you this way. You were in denial. You believed Jason was still alive.

It took many attempts, so much repetition of Bruce telling you Jason is dead, and he's not coming back. You punched Bruce in the chest so many times. You kept telling him it wasn't funny or that Jason is alive and that he is coming home.

But your adrenaline slowly died down. You became too tired. So when you got back to the manor, you left yourself to rot away in Jason's room. You instantly ripped the suit off. It was making you sick. You replaced it with Jason's red hoodie and a pair of sweatpants. You buried yourself in Jason's sheets on his bed, holding his scented pillow impossibly closer to you.

When Alfred heard the news, he couldn't believe it either. He didn't want to admit it, but Jason was his favourite batboy, even though he told the two sons many times he doesn't have favourites. But having shared a birthday with Jason, teaching him how to cook and introducing Jason to the world of literature, his death took a hard toll on him.

But Alfred is selfless. He sucks it up and heads towards Jason's room. He knows that you're grieving, too. He knows how much you loved him. So, he knocks before entering. And his heart breaks when he sees you in a foetal position in Jason's bed.

"I'm so sorry, Y/n," he quietly says. "If you ever need someone to grieve to, I hope that you'll know that I can be of any assistance," he offered before bending down to grab you blood stained suit and was about to walk out beford you spoke up.

"What about you, Alfie?" Alfred turns back around.

"I'm not quite sure I understand what you-"

"You loved Jason too. What if you need someone to grieve to?" You sniffle as you sat up, looking at Alfred with concerned eyes.

He sighs. "I assure you, Y/n, I'm fine."

You scoffed and got out of bed, walked towards Alfred and took your suit out of his hands, and tossed it to the floor. Alfred eyes widened when you wrapped your arms around his torso, bringing him into a soft hug.

"No. You're not. Not now, at least. You do so much for us, Alfie. Being here for you is the least I can do," you mutter. And this is where Alfred breaks. You hear a light sniffle from him, and you don't notice it, but a single tear escapes from Alfred's eyes. You're right. He's not fine. But he knows he will be. And hopefully, you'd be fine soon, too.

So, after your lover's death, you gave up your mask. You hung up the vigilante life and told Bruce and Alfred that you'd be staying away from Wayne Manor for a while, in which they understood, and wished you luck on the mundane life you are trudging towards.

You were able to live a stable life, got a job, and rented an apartment. You didn't go looking for another relationship because you were devoted to Jason. You knew you'd find love again at some point, but for some reason, your love for Jason still burns so lively.

Bruce called every now and then, but it was only for asking you to come back fod a quick mission, which made your eyes roll.

Luckily, Alfred always called you, checking up, seeing if you need any help with anything or if you need someone to talk to. You appreciated his concerns but politely declined, saying that if you need anything, he's the first person you'd call.

Lately, you heard there's a new crime lord going around. According to Dick, he's only targeting high-grade criminals and other villains. Since he's technically saving civilians by sweeping the streets of Gotham from any harm, you'd assume he wouldn't be a top priority to Batman. You were wrong.

Because of Bruce's strong morals of no playing jury, judge, or executioner, this new criminal going by the name of Red Hood is now on Batman's radar. And Bruce is not happy.

You didn't really care, though. If Red Hood wasn't hurting any innocents, then you can still sleep peacefully. Speaking of, you have seen a glimpse of the crime lord here and there, lurking around your neighbourhood. Which was weird since not much crime happened around your parts anyway. Maybe he was just patrolling?

You were coming home late at night, and you were on a phone call with Bruce. Like always, he called to ask if you were able to swing by and help with this Red Hood case.

"Bruce, I told you already. Unless this Red Hood guy is Joker level dangerous, I'm not coming back. Yeah. Yeah, whatever. I know he's breaking morals. Your morals, but it's not like he's- No, I know! But- ugh whatever. Yeah, see ya," you scoffed. Bruce was always so stubborn and refused to listen to anyone you went against his morals.

"Morals, schmorals," you mutter to yourself, stuffing your phone back into your bag. As you see your apartment complex from the horizon, you try to fish out your keys located at the bottom of your bag.

"Hey there, S/n," you heard a gruff voice. You swiftly turned around and saw some big, bulky men behind you.

"I'm sorry, who?" You try play dumb. But the man just scoffed.

"We're not stupid, sugar. We know you work with Batman. Well. Used to," he spit while the others started laughing. "Y'know. You put our boss in an impossible situation. Burning up his lounge, taking his money. So we're here to avenge all that. You know... an eye for an eye..." he says ominously.

You roll your eyes and drop your bag and crack your knuckles, shifting to a fighting stance. "And who's your boss exactly?"

"Penguin." He states, lunging towards you.

You effortlessly dodged his attack, and you were able to fight for yourself well, but you being outnumbered, you quickly grew tired. Little did you know, a certain anti-hero was perched on a roof, smirking under his mask.

"Haven't lost your touch," he mutters to himself. He saw that you were growing tired. What kind of gentleman would he be if he didn't swoop down and help.

Just as one of Penguin's goons pulled out a pistol, a bullet was shot in between his eyes. You yelped, turning to see the imfamous Red Hood behind him as the man dropped dead.

"Penguin accusing civilians now? Pathetic," the masked man spits as he shot two more of the men.

As the others were distracted by the falling bodies, Red Hood swiftly made his way to you, grappling the two of you into a nearby alley.

"What the fuck, I had that!" You yelled at him. You couldn't see it, but Red Hood was smiling under his mask. You always were so determined to take a bunch of bad guys by yourself.

"I know you did. But asking for help isn't always a bad thing, darling," he says quietly before going back out there to fight them.

What the fuck? Wait. Darling? No one has called you that since...

You peek out of the alley to see Red Hood making nk effort into taking each of the men down. He was definitely skilled and had been trained before. Bjt his stances, his fightinf methods. Why are they so familiar?

This is so stupid. Are you actually thinking that Red Hood might be Jason? No, it couldn't. Because even if it were, even for the slim, crazy possibility that Jason came back from the dead, he would've gone straight to you. He would've come find you.

Right?

When you looked out once more, all men were lying on the ground. You couldn't tell if they were dead or just knocked out.

And you stepped out.

"Are they dead?" You ask.

"Most of them," he says nonchalantly. "But you should head home, Y/n," he starts mentally taking notes of to schedule a date to kill Penguin.

You shrugged and started walking towards your apartment again.

Wait. What the fuck did he say??

You swiftly turned around. "Are you stalking me??"

He laughed. "You never were the one to notice obvious information in the first try," he sighed, walking closer towards you.

"I wanted to tell you for so long, my love," he says, taking off his helmet. Even wearing the domino mask, you can make out who was standing in front of you.

You shook your head.

"No- no, no. I saw you- I was the first one to see you- You were dead! No, Jason Todd is dead!" You whined, taking a step back.

Jason winced. He never wanted you to be the one to find his dead body first.

"It's a long story. I was duf up, thrown into the Lazarus Pit and now we're here," he quickly sums up.

"How long have you been alive?"You ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

"Couple years." He shamefully answers.

And you start to cry. "Years?? And- and you never came to see me? Why- Do you know how long I've cried for you?? Fuck- I still am!"

Jason sighs. "I know, I know, sweetheart. But you couldn't possibly think that I thought you wanted to see me. Not with how I'm like now. I'm a murder. I'm killing people, shit! I tried going after Batman." Your eyes widen. "I was just so pissed off. I thought that after I died because of the Joker, Batman would've finally put every victim out of their misery by putting down the Joker. But he didn't. The Joker amy be in Arkham, but sooner or later, he'll escape and go on another psycho spree. But until then, I'm getting rid of anyone else who has the potential of becoming kf what he is."

You didn't know what to say. You stood there, tears rolling down your face. "So, what? What about us? Do I just not matter to you anymore?"

Jason grabbed his hair in frustration. "Of course you matter to me! I still love you! But I'm not the same person you knew before, okay?"

Just as he finished his sentence, one of the knocked out goons tried getting up, pulling a gun from his jacket, pointing it at Jason. But Jason just rolls his eyes, shooting him in the head.

"See?"

Your breathing became heavy, and you started to become pissed off. "You know what, fuck you, Jason! Fuck you for leaving to go try kill the Joker without me. Fuck you for dying. Fuck you coming back to life. Fuck you for not seeing me. And fuck you for thinking that I could love you any less because you're trying to fix Gotham in a way that goes against Batman."

Jason stares at you in awe. He couldn't believe it. How could you possibly still love him? Afyer everything he's done. "But Batman-"

"Screw Batman, Jason! I haven't seen him since you died! I couldn't care less about his morals! I just want you back..." You say your last statement so quietly, only for Jason to hear.

"I don't think I come back. Bot to the Manor or Bruce that is..." Jason replies.

You look at him in confusion. "The fuck does that mean?"

"I know you see me around your streets. I want to come back.. to you," he shakes his head at the thought. "But it's too dangerous. I heard you gave up the mask. Now that you're living such a mundane life, I'm not putting you in danger."

"Jason, shut the fuck up and stop making these decisions for me,' you take his large hands in yours. "I want you to come back to me... Please.." Your hand reaches up to caress his cheek. "At least drop by every once in a while. We can't go back to what we used to have. Not immediately, at least. Please come back to me. I miss you.."

Jason sighs and shakes his head. "I'm... I'm not making any promises."

You look up at him with eyes full of hope. "So you will?"

"I just said no promises," he laughs. He missed looking into your eyes. He missed you. He places a quick, soft kiss to your forhead. "But you really need to get back home."

You sniffle and wipe a rogue tear off your face. You let go of him, walking away and waving back at him. "See you later!" You call out.

Jason shakes his head and waves back. "What part of 'no promises' do they not understand?" He mutters to himself.

It annoys him how much you know Jason because no matter how many times he tells you and himself, 'no promises,' he always comes through your fire escape window anyway.

And slowly, day by day, moment by moment, the two of you start to reconstruct your loving relationship.

You haven't told Bruce and Alfred, and you know Bruce will see red when he finds out Jason is alive and that you knew. And you know Alfred would be disappointed because of the close bond he had with Jason, but soon understand why you didn't tell him.

But right now, it didn't matter. Right now, Jason was in your arms, on your couch, watching Little Women on the TV. That's all that matters.

No matter how many times Jason would claim that he has changed, he hasn't to you. He'll always be your Jason Todd.

I've only listened to the song once or twice for when you requested it, so sorry if the fic doesn't really match up with the song!! I tried to make Jason seem more violent but I just didn't know how to put it in words, plus I wanted some fluff at the end 😭 Hope you enjoy though, thanks for the request!

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pixiemage · 2 months

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So do you ever, like - accidentally get inspired to create a whole AU based on an old Tumblr text post, and you know you can't add it to your actual fic list because your existing WIP's are waiting for you, but you end up writing a snippet of it anyway? Yeah. Yeah, me too.

Jimmy knows he's not fully with it when he walks into the villains’ bar this time. He has a new name on his list from Make-a-Wish - Supreme this time - and he's only halfheartedly searching the by-now-familiar faces for the person he needs to talk to. He's not registering much of anything though, and it becomes apparent when two people step in his path and he doesn't notice until he's almost running into them. It's Joel, and it's Tango - Trickster and Phoenix - and the expressions on their faces are different flavors of the same thing. Anger, maybe, but not at Jimmy, simmering below the surface in Tango's case and being held back by a tense jaw in Joel's. And concern too, he thinks, concern and sympathy and- "Hey Songbird," Tango greets him, sounding just to the left of the normal fond tone he uses when he sees Jimmy. "How're you holding up?" "I...sorry?" Jimmy blinks, not quite understanding, and Joel casts a glance around the bar before settling back on Jimmy. "We heard about Mercy." Mercy - oh. Mercy Children's Hospital. Susie. Jimmy's chest goes tight and he swallows past a lump in his throat. A warm hand settles on his shoulder and he's steered over to a booth in the corner, Tango sandwiching him in on one side and Joel taking a seat across the table. Jimmy sucks down a shuddering breath. "...you heard?"

Joel scoffs. "We've been trying to find that bastard since the news broke this morning," he bites out. "The minute the Count gets back we'll know where he is." "You - what?" Jimmy stares, surprised. "You're trying to find him?" "Absolutely." Tango, this time, his arm around Jimmy's shoulders emanating a warmth that he hadn't realized was helping to calm him down. "We're going after that jerk the second we have the chance. The guy crossed a line, big time." Oh. Oh, gosh. Jimmy's vision just barely begins to blur with tears, and he feels Tango's arm tighten around him. There's quiet murmuring around him but he can't bring himself to listen. They're going after Vortex. Jimmy's biggest mistake in his life, and here Tango and Joel are ready to help fix it the second they have the chance. And Grian always said villains weren't to be trusted... "There's a bunch of others who signed up for the mission," Tango is saying, and Jimmy tunes back in. "Supreme and Iris and Worm Man and some o' the others. They were pretty pissed when they found out-" "And we'll keep your name out of it, o' course," Joel goes on, and Jimmy blinks away tears to focus on him better. Joel rakes a hand back through his green-streaked hair and shrugs. "You're not involved. Keep your record clean, all that-" "No."#Jimmy is almost surprised to hear himself say it, and Joel looks surprised too, his eyebrows flying high. "What, you want us to leave him alone? Dunno if I can do that, Jim-" "No, I mean I want to be involved," Jimmy insists. "I want in." This time it's Tango who's surprised, ducked forward to catch Jimmy's eye. "You sure, sweetheart?" he murmurs, his hair licking with tiny flames. Concerned, probably. "It's not gonna be pretty." "I'm sure." And he is. He's seen fights before, and he's been in even more. He's fought criminals on the streets who were going to hurt people, and he's not about to balk at going after someone who already has. "I can handle it." "You're gonna need to hide your identity," Joel drawls, his voice low. "Wouldn't want our favorite civilian going to jail on our account." "I know," Jimmy nods. "I've got something I can wear." He's already picturing the yellow-and-black costume currently hanging at the back of his closet, of the feather-trimmed mask in his top dresser drawer. The suit and the mask that even Tango doesn’t know exists, not yet. Jimmy ponders for a moment before making a decision. His eyes catch Joel and Tango's in turn. "Actually...I think there's something I need to show you."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The arrest had gone far smoother than expected, in Grian’s opinion. It’s not often that a high-priority villain is found bruised and bloody and practically gift-wrapped right where an anonymous tipper said he would be. Sure, vigilantes were kind enough to help them take down bad guy when they were able, but this time was different. This time there was no masked wannabe hero trying to take credit for a takedown, no signature calling card or note beyond the unsigned “He’s all yours, boys” that had been scribbled on cardboard hanging around Vortex’s neck. It had felt odd, is all, though Grian had agreed with his partner when Scar had said he was just grateful to have the guy off the streets. As Grian slips into his apartment through the bedroom window and shoulders open the door to grab some food, he has to force himself to brush the buzzing thoughts aside. He can ponder oddities later. It was a long shift, and he’s about ready to crash the second he gets some fuel in him. It's only when Grian is tugging off his mask and setting it on the table by the bedroom door that he realizes he's not alone. Familiar yellow wings catch his eye, and when he turns, he spots Jimmy sitting on the couch in the middle of the room. He looks exhausted, his Canary costume on and his mask hanging around his neck, and his hair is a wreck - like when he's anxious and has been running his hands through it constantly. "...heya Tim," Grian greets him slowly, not sure what his brother's presence here means just yet. He drops his crossbow on the table and crosses the room, sinking onto the coffee table in from of Jimmy so he can see him better. His expression is one of a man worn and run down, something shadowed in his eyes that has a frown tugging at Grian's lips. He almost opens his mouth to ask what he's doing here - but then he spots the dark stains on Jimmy's fingerless gloves, and the patch of red that's barely splattered across the yellow parts of his suit's design. It clicks, then. The timing of it all, the villain - Vortex - that Grian and Scar had been called in to take care of tonight. The man who Grian also knew had been spotted at the Mercy Children's Hospital a few days ago, where that little girl had- "You were there," Grian says, not a question, just a fact. "Tonight. You went after him." Jimmy sucks down a shaking breath and nods. Grian would almost say he looks guilty, but he doesn't think Jimmy would feel guilty about going after the person who hurt one of his kids. Perhaps he feels guilty that a kid got hurt at all. "They helped," he says shakily. "All of - you know, the ones who said yes to visits with the kids. They've been trying to do better, and when Vortex-" He trails off, and Grian shifts over to the couch, tucking his brother under one of his wings and letting Jimmy slump sideways against him. "He's locked away, Jimmy," Grian tells him. "I promise. You did good."

¯\_(ツ)_/¯

#Pixiemage Writes #Jimmy Solidarity #Joel Smallishbeans #Tangotek #Grian #SolidarityGaming #Smallishbeans #Solidaritek #if you squint #Supervillain Wrangler AU #Superheroes AU

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random-thot-generator · 10 months

Text

Love Thy Frenemy (Frenemies/Tenderness AU)

ONE: It’s a Start

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x Frenemy!Reader

Summary: There’s a new customer that’s been coming into the White Dog Pub, where you tend bar. He’s stoic, gruff and difficult to engage, but you’re a bartender. You know how to get the most deadpan of customers to talk, and this aloof mountain of a man is no exception. You’ll win him over, one way or another.

Tags/Warnings: Alcohol consumption, Eventual smut- but not in this chapter. That’s really the only warning I got. I don’t even think I used profanity. Weird, right???

(Notes: Sooo... I decided to attempt my first series. *(nervous twitching)* Not gonna lie, I’m freakin’ out a little bit, y’all. Is it gonna suck?! I don’t know! I hope it doesn’t, for everyone’s sake.

Anyway...

This is set in the Frenemies/Tenderness AU, same as ‘Try a Little Tenderness’, with Simon and his frienemy ‘Doll’ (or ‘Dee’ for short), which can be found here.

We’re just establishing the relationship between Simon and Reader at this point, along with a little world building. Sorry, horn-dogs. No smut this round, but we’ll get there... eventually. Hope you enjoy.)

Word Count: 1576

‘Fate leads the willing; the unwilling it drags’ —— Seneca

🖤💀🖤

He was a quiet one. A silent giant.

He came into the pub every night, mumbled out his order in a low gravel and took the same seat at the end of the bar. He’d been doing this for more than a month, some nights staying until last orders, other nights only long enough for one drink. He never speaks, at least not to you.

He’s close with your boss, the owner of the White Dog, Ollie Turnbull. Ollie’s always pleased to see him, giving him a familiar pat on the back as he growls out, “How ya doin’, Riley?”

The two men will sit for hours, sometimes, leaning their heads together as they talk in low murmurs. You suspect Riley’s a soldier in the military, like Ollie once was. He just has that look about him. He holds himself the same way your father used to, like a coiled spring wound too tight, even when seemingly relaxed. You’re certain if anything ever went down inside the pub, he would be the first to react, Ollie a close second.

You’re curious about him. He’s an ‘odd duck’, as your nan was fond of saying. He has his little quirks, odd little idiosyncrasies that set him apart. For one thing, you’ve never seen the man without a hoodie. He wears different styles and colors, but they’re all dark in hue with a deep hood he keeps pulled up over his head at all times. He never pushes it back, always keeping his face half-hidden in shadow.

And then there’s the mask.

Sometimes it’s a fitted hood with only his eyes exposed, other times it’s a neck gaiter or a black surgical mask. When he takes a drink, he always lifts his mask from the bottom, never revealing his entire face. You’ve seen the hint of various scars around the edges of his masks, jagged lines turned silver with age, but they don’t seem severe enough to be horribly disfiguring. He’s hiding, you realize, but from what you’re not sure.

Riley’s sitting in his usual spot again tonight, every now and then his eyes shifting left or right, always on alert. He casts his gaze over you every now and then, too, lingering for a moment before looking away. You can’t help but wonder what he thinks of you.

It’s been a slow evening, just a handful of regulars showing up for a pint, but not staying long. There’s only one other customer at the bar, dear old Ned, and you’re pretty sure he fell asleep half an hour ago. You’ve already restocked and finished all your prep work for the night, so you’ve pulled out an old paperback of short stories to read, but you’d much rather be getting a head start on your cleaning. The sooner you’re done, the sooner you can leave.

Heaving a sigh, you walk down to the end of the bar, waiting for Riley to acknowledge you before you speak. When his dark eyes peer up at you, you give him a little smile. “Sorry to bother you, but do you mind if I start cleaning? I can top up your drink first.”

His gaze darts over your face before he glances down at his glass and shrugs. “’S fine wif me. ‘M good.” His voice is gruff, but not unkind.

You nod, offering him a grateful smile and lay your book face down on the bar. “Thanks,” you call over your shoulder, already heading for the supply closet.

You gather your cleaning supplies and get to work, wiping down tables and turning up chairs. Every now and then you glance up to check on your two customers. Ned, bless him, is still snoring. Riley, however, is leaning slightly forward, torso stretched so that he can look at the book you’ve left in front of him. You watch as he turns the book around to get a better look at it. It makes you smile.

Finished with the tables, you head back towards the bar, noticing how Riley stiffens and quickly turns the book back to its previous position. Pretending not to see, you grab your bottle of water, taking a sip as you lean your hips against the back counter, facing him. When he inevitably lifts his eyes, you meet them and motion to the book.

“You like to read?”

He shrugs. “Some.”

You nod and take another sip. “What genres?”

His brows knit together. “Depends.”

“On what?”

He heaves a sigh and leans back to cross his arms. “On what ’m in the mood t’read.”

“Oh. Yeah, I get that. I’m the same.” You take another sip then recap the bottle, pushing yourself off the counter. You fiddle with the ties of your serving apron as you scramble for something to say. “You, uh, need a top-up before I get back to work?”

He stares down at his glass and then slides it forward. “Yeah.” Again, he sounds gruff, but his tone has softened the tiniest bit.

He watches you pour the drink, eyeing you with an almost cautious expression. When you slide the glass back to him, his eyes flicker down to the book. “I’ve read tha’ one before. Which story’s yer fav’rite?”

You tilt your head and give him a considering look. “’Sticks’ by Robert Wagner.”

He nods, a gleam of approval in his sharp gaze. “Good choice.”

You give a slight nod at the compliment. “And yours?”

His eyes blink down at the book then back to you. “Same.”

“Good choice,” you say with a crooked smile, returning the compliment. You replace the bottle of Dewar’s on the shelf, then turn back and nod at the book. “You can borrow it, if you like. I just brought it in case I got bored. I’ve got plenty more at home.”

“’M good. No thanks.” he mutters. He leans forward again, shoulders hunched, and drops his gaze.

You deflate inside. Damn, I lost him.

Not wanting the situation to get any more awkward, you try to soothe him with a casual, friendly tone and an easy smile. “That’s okay. Offer still stands. If you change your mind, feel free to take it with you.”

His eyes slant towards you and he gives a curt nod. Good enough.

You go back to work, sweeping around the tables in silence until you see him stand and lean over the bar to slip his glass into the dish water. He snags a towel and wipes down his area, before pushing his seat back into place. It’s a thoughtful gesture, something you wouldn’t have expected from him. Picking up his overcoat, he shrugs it on, then adjusts his mask as he walks towards the entrance. When he opens the door, he pauses, and his head turns in your direction. “Left some tenners on the bar for m’tab.” Another short pause. “’Night.”

You smile and give him a little wave. “Good night, Riley. Drive safe.”

His head snaps up and his posture goes rigid at the use of his name, caught off guard by the familiarity, but he quickly recovers. Relaxing his stance, he nods and takes a step out the door, uttering just loud enough for you to hear, “You, too, doll.”

He then slips out the door into the night, leaving just you and snoring Ned in the building. You stare at the entrance a moment longer, then go back to your sweeping. Your brain slowly sifts through the conversation as you work, picking over the words he spoke, digging for any hidden nuances you might have missed. He’s a hard one to read, but you think you did okay. At least he spoke to you without being prompted. It’s a start.

Right?

When you finish cleaning, you go wake Ned and call his wife to come pick up her husband. He smiles at you, bleary-eyed, and pats your hand. “I was awake, luv. Jus’ restin’ m’eyes.” You smile and nod, but don’t really believe him until he grins and adds, “Never heard tha’ big fella speak a’fore. He must’ve taken a fancy to ya.”

A slow smile spreads across your face. “Think so, Ned?”

“Oh, aye. Never seen ‘im go out o’ his way to talk to anyone else. Well, ‘cept for Ollie, o’ course. Don’t think the lad keeps many friends. Bit of a loner, tha’ one.”

A horn beeps twice outside, so you help Ned to his feet and walk him out to his wife’s car. Waving goodbye, you head back inside the pub to turn out the lights and lock up for the night. Grabbing your coat and bag, you make a beeline for the entrance, thrilled to be leaving early, but then realize you forgot your book on the bar. Huffing out a sigh, you turn around and go back to get it, only to discover that...

It’s gone.

He took the book.

A pleased little smile lights up your face and you bite your lip.

He even told you good night... sort of.

You shrug. It’s a start.

That pleased little smile is still on your face when you lock the door and head for home.

>> Next

@stillinracooncity

@cumikering

@cutiecusp

@glitterypirateduck

#simon ghost riley s fem reader #cod ghost x fem reader #ghost x fem reader #simon riley x fem reader #simon ghost riley x frenemy reader #Frenemies/Tenderness AU

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rosemaryblossoms · 9 months

Text

Prowling

Quick author’s note: the characters are probably out of character, it’s my first time writing bat family let alone a yandere platonic batfam. Also a part of this took inspiration from the movie Spiderman Across the Spiderverse. It’s been awhile since I did different point of views so I’m a bit rusty, and my grammar sucks. Also point of views will change.

Warnings: poorly written story and shit grammar.

Before the batfam incident, you had made a new friend, The Prowler. He was like a older brother to you and despite being grumpy most of the time, he would always be kind to you and would always give you respect. He would knock on your window, even though there’s a door and open his arms and ask for a hug if he is in a cuddling mood. You missed him so much, he’s probably worried about you, looking for you everywhere worried sick, fearing that either something terrible happened to you or you had abandoned him like his father did during the incident.

You sat in the living room, the batfam are in the other room discussing what to do, you see you have made an escape the eighteenth time and well they were furious. You were so close to getting to freedom but Jason found you and dragged you back, kicking and screaming. Now, you sat there on the couch just waiting for them to come back. When they got back they sat before you, from Bruce to Duke. You feel your heart beat quicken as their eyes pierce through you, you took deep breaths, trying not to have a panic attack.

At last I found them. I stand before the Wayne manor. I went to the side and went to go find a window that was unlocked, when I do I sneaked in my cape trailing behind me. After a few minutes I heard voices, y/n being one of them, I peeked through the door and saw them.They were in the corner of the couch hugging their knees and crying for them to let them leave. My fist clenched. Fuck this I’m going in. Don’t worry, big brother is going to save you.

“No! I don’t want to, I don’t want to stay here, I want to leave” “you are all crazy, you’re not my family!” Dick got up about to pounce on you but Jason clenched his teeth and dragged him back down. Bruce tried to calm everyone down while you sat there with your blood pumping. After everyone but you settled down, they got back to discussing. “Y/n how many times am I going to tell you, you are a part of our family and here you will stay.” Bruce says standing up and walking towards you. He then puts his hand on your face and cupped your cheek rubbing it gently. “Hey old man, if they said no it means no.” A familiar voice scowled. They look towards the door and saw him, The Prowler.

The all stood up and blocked your view of him. Their weapons are out, preparing for attack on this masked stranger. “Hey, who the hell are you and how did you get in the manor.” Seethed Jason and the man chuckled as he walked closer, he then reached for his mask and pulled it off. Their hearts dropped, it’s you. Your face was more masculine, a few scars and a burn mark decorated your face. With a grin “you” tilt your head to the side. “Me? Well I’m y/n l/n, but you. . .”

“You can call me the Prowler.”

#Spotify #yandere #yandere platonic #yandere platonic batfam x reader #yandere platonic bat family #yandere batfam #yandere batboys #yandere batgirls #yandere batfamily x reader

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dapper-zappa · 9 months

Text

A Gwen-Tastic Gift | Gwen Stacy

Pairing: Gwen Stacy x Fem!Civilian!Reader

Summary: Gwen comes over into your place and gives you a little gift.

Word count: 690

Warnings: Fluff, established relationships, Gwen NOT putting her shoes on bed (/lh), just some cute cheesy shit going on here, pretend Earth-65 has Netflix lmao

A/N: Inspired by various Tiktok vids HCing Gwen as someone who makes loom band bracelets and bc I used to love making them, hey, why don't we make this a full fic?

Sorry if it sucks but PLEASE MAKE LOOM BANDS A TREND AGAIN INSTEAD OF PPL ON THE INTERNET (ESP TIKTOK) BEING TOXIC TO EACH OTHER !!

Hours had passed in your apartment and you didn’t even realize it because of how this particular movie you’ve been watching on Netflix got you really hooked. You didn’t want boredom to consume you so to prevent that, you chose to just watch a new movie this time because you wanted to try something new. Netflix and the various snacks you’ve eaten - including a bag of Cheetos you decided to eat with chopsticks to avoid getting Cheeto crumbs on your laptop - had been the main thing that’s grabbing your attention for the last 2 hours, until you heard a few knocks coming from your window.

When you turned your head, you were faced with the familiar white, pink, and black suit of Spider-Woman, also known as your girlfriend Gwen Stacy. She waved her hand at you, and you waved back at her before walking over to the window and opening it to allow her access inside.

“I missed the movie, didn’t I?” Gwen breathed out right as she removed her mask.

“Kinda, but we can now watch another movie, right? You’d definitely love this one I’ve been wanting to recommend to you for so long.” you ruffled her already tousled blonde locks.

She playfully swatted your hand off her hair. “Oh stop it, you’re messing up my hair!”

“Technically it’s already messed up before I messed it up even more, sweet thing.” you pecked her cheek.

“Hey but can I borrow your hairbrush, though?”

“Of course you can.”

As you returned to your bed, Gwen took off her bright blue Converse sneakers and set them aside, just to not get dirt on your bed. She then picked up the hairbrush from your desk and combed her hair with it. Soon she joined you after tidying her hair up from its formerly messy state, immediately slumping to your side and looping her arm into yours.

“You could’ve told me that you’re binge watching on Netflix, you know?” she murmured, discreetly taking off one of the bracelets in her free hand. “But I brought you a gift.”

Upon hearing it, you turned your head to the side and saw a bracelet weaved from rubber bands on Gwen’s hand. You remembered it being a trend years ago, and you were one of the girls who joined the loom band trend before it eventually faded - like most trends do. So seeing a little fishtail bracelet made from rubber bands the same color as Spider-Woman’s suit being given to you by your girlfriend reignited how much you loved making various creations out of colorful rubber bands during that time. You put the bracelet on your wrist and admired it for a short while before turning to face Gwen, with a huge grin plastered on your face from how much you loved the gift.

“I really miss this trend so yesterday when I found my old loom band kit from my room, I decided to make matching bracelets for us.''

She lifted up the sleeve of the jacket she wore over her spider suit, revealing another rubber band fishtail bracelet, this time made of your favorite colors. Your hand flew up to your mouth from the overwhelming amount of joy coursing through your body, and at this point you were suddenly unable to form words.

“Y/N, you okay? It seems like you love my little gift so-” she asked, a tiny amount of concern lacing her voice.

“No no no no, it’s just, I really miss this trend too, and the fact you made these for me is just… Gwen-tastic.” you replied shyly, earning a playful chortle from her.

“Really? ‘Gwen-tastic’? I thought you’re way better at puns, you dork.” she nudged your elbow.

You laughed. “Who cares, Gwennie, at least this is a really cute gift from you.”

“So you still wanna go on with the Netflix binge?”

“Of course,” you replied as you clicked on the movie of your choice - the one you had always wanted to recommend to Gwen for so long. “You’ll love this one, just buckle up and enjoy the movie, yeah?’

She nodded, snuggling closer to your form. “Mhm.”

#atsv fic #atsv fanfic #atsv x reader #atsv x you #smokey writes #atsv #spider man atsv #spider man across the spider verse #fluff #gwen stacy #spider gwen #gwen stacy x you #gwen stacy x reader #spider gwen x you #spider gwen x reader

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lakesbian · 6 months

Note

How do you think Alec would have handled getting the Valkyrie treatment? Being made into a puppet in the same way that he did to other people, his sacrificial suicide being subverted by another cape who uses people as tools but in a much more complete and permanent sense, coming back wrong and having his cape identity irrevocably a part of his body and self, and no longer being able to take off the mask, is this anything?

see i've rotated this extensively in my mind before because i think coming up with how a cape's design would turn out if they got glastig uained is a really fun exercise (do that shit to lisa for some Fun eyeball body horror!!) but i'm struggling to come up with what would happen to alec :( the most obvious answer is the crown becoming like. Attached. to his head. but id ont know if that's too far out there. there's also the concept of having his face frozen in a permanent smirking expression but i feel like that would go Too tragically counter to the point of a 'surprise hes back again' au wherein he would be expected to. yknow. realize and experience some of his feelings again at some point. so yeah i'd need someone else to help me figure that one out.

anyway the actual experience of being glastig uained. if i recall correctly in ward brian says it was basically just like waking up feeling like everything from before he died was just a few days ago not Years ago so i don't think alec would care that much that someone was using his ghost or whatever for shit while he was dead, relative 2 all the other problems in his life. wouldnt even notice with the type of shit hes got going on. the big reason why this au doesn't really work is that it's just Wildly Unproductively Depressing. it seems like ciara only starts bringing random people back by the time aisha is like. what. 20?

it works Fine and Actually Thematically Interesting Well that brian is like oh FUCK youve GROWN UP when he gets back because it's relevant 2 their sibling dynamics. but it does. it does not work if alec gets back and aisha is like 20. it's just depressing. from alec's PoV it would be "congrats you've been brought back into a world where your best and only friend is too old and character-developmented for you to actually have a close connection with even though for you it feels like she was still your age only a few days ago and also your fucking shit ass siblings are here too and btw the world ended so all of the nice luxuries you were enjoying previously are not options anymore. go feed the earth gimel sheep boy." and from aisha's perspective her best friend would be back but in a monkeys paw way where he did not get to grow up with her and he's still little and sad and fucked up and more like one of his siblings that she's caring for/trying to help vs the equal best friendship she Wants but Can't Have because he is Fifteen. so now everything sucks and is sad for everyone involved. :(.

i would say "on the 'up'side this is a hot new contender for scenarios wherein lisa could feasibly decide alec is her new sopping wet fixer-upper" but she already has an even more absurd and unstable option (that one cop) so as usual alec remains background. btw he would be offended on taylors behalf that lisa had replaced taylor with victoria (who he does not like because shes annoying) and entirely oblivious that taylor had ever thought or said anything about him being sucks and utterly lacking in interiority. AUs that have potential to be funny wrt alec's interactions with the other undersiders but are wildly fucking depressing when you get to his interactions with aisha.

if we fudge a bit and say ciara brings him back like riiight after gold morning aisha would only be a bit over a year older than him so that's more doable in terms of character development and eventual reconnection but it'd still be a mess. i'm not articulating my explanation of how aisha's character development works rn and i don't feel like saying something wrong so i'll just leave it here but trust me it'd still be a mess. maybe an interesting one but a mess

#ask #worm spoilers #scarf don't look

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bowiebond · 2 years

Text

Five Years Later | Harringrove | Blind!Steve

“No one told me. That you, uh…”

“Went blind?” Steve chuckled, eyes crinkling as he leaned towards his voice. “My hearings not amazing either, so don’t go getting shy.” He joked.

“Sorry, I didn’t realise.” Billy spoke louder, clearer, and Steve laughed.

“You left.” He stated a fact but it made Billy shifted, uncomfortable at the acknowledgement of his sudden departure. “For years. The only person who could contact you was Max, and she rarely spoke to us about you. We didn’t really ask either, honestly.”

“I was a dick.” Billy shrugged, rubbing at his chest. “While I was in hospital, my mother contacted me. Asked me to live with her while I recovered. I jumped at the chance to get away, talked to Max maybe twice a year. I wasn’t…I’m not as abled as I used to be either. I have to sleep with a tank every night so my body doesn’t forget how to breathe.” He said it in a joking tone, but Steve’s face fell with sympathy.

“God, that must suck.”

“Well, at least I can see.” Billy adjusted his glasses. “With help. I wear glasses now.”

“Really?” Steve grinned, not taking offence to his jab. “God, I wish I could see that. Billy Hargrove, wearing dorky frames.”

“They’re not dorky. They’re cool.” Billy insisted and Steve only laughed.

“Oh, they’re definitely dorky if you’re trying to prove otherwise. Come on, lemme feel.” Steve reached out a hand, missing Billy entirely before he backed it up until he felt Billy’s hand encase his. Billy moved the hand from in front of his nose, taking his thumb gently and guiding it along the rim of his frames, like he would do with Max.

Steve’s lips created a small ‘o’, eyes widened as his brows jumped up.

“They’re sleek. And cold.”

“Wire-frames. On the thicker side to count for the weight of the glass. My eye sight is awful without them.” He chuckled, letting go of his hand and allowing the man to skim his fingers over his features.

In the past, Steve’s face hadn’t hidden much, but now, he was an open book. He expressed himself so freely, unaware of it or perhaps making up for his empty gaze out of habit, and it was a little startling.

“You finally grew out your lame moustache?” He rubbed his finger over his upper lip and snorted.

“Shut up.” Billy knocked his hand away and shook his head. “Dick.”

“No, no, it’s nice. Feels nice.” Steve reassured with a near giggle. “This is nice.”

“What is?”

“Seeing you again. Figuratively.” He added with a chuckle before he sobered. “I know we…weren’t ever close. But I kind of wished we could have been sometimes. That maybe…if you hadn’t been alone, that night you got possessed, you wouldn’t have been. Wouldn’t have left so soon.” Steve pursed his lips and turned his head away, facing forward in his seat as he played with his hands. “You wouldn’t have gotten hurt.”

“It’s not so bad. I mean, I have nightmares sometimes still, and recovery sucked, and I can’t have the one night stands I used to because the old girl keeps ‘em up and sleeping next to a guy wearing a hospital mask is kind of…unsettling.” Billy sighed and shrugged. “But that’s life. Weirdly enough, it got better after I left. Despite everything. My mom and I had our arguments, but we’re closer now. Same with Max. We’re all a lot closer. And I’m glad. I’m not what I once was, but the new me at least is happier.”

Steve smiled softly.

“I’m glad too then. That you left.” Steve reached out, catching his bicep and running his hand down his forearm, following the line of it until he found his hand. He squeezed it once, as if to make sure he had it before simply holding his hand with a small smile. “I’m even more glad you came back.”

Billy looked down at his hand, turning his over to hold it back. He squeezed gently, looking back up at Steve’s side profile, his soft dark hair falling into his unfocused brown eyes. His moles and the stubble on his jaw, the faint scar on his cheek.

“Me too.” He said softly and Steve hummed.

“What was that?” He blinked a few times and Billy smirked, leaning in closer.

“I said, ‘me too’.” He clarified and Steve grinned, a soft laugh escaping his lips.

“Shitty hearing.” He excused out of habit.

“I know. I’ll try to remember.” Billy’s eyes sparkled as he grinned. Not like Steve could make fun of him for his dopey expression.

He could stare at Harrington as much as he liked now, he would just have to learn to be a little louder to get his feelings across.

#billy hargrove #steve harrington #harringrove #blind steve harrington #disabled!billy hargrove

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bengiyo · 11 months

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Our Skyy 2 x Bad Buddy X A Tale of Thousand Stars Ep 4 (Finale) Stray Thoughts

Yesterday, we transitioned into the A Tale of Thousand Stars portion of this crossover, and the mood shifted to match. There’s been a lot of consternation about the episode, and whether it represents a weak outing from Aof and friends. I have decided that it doesn’t matter for me, because it mostly worked for me. I understood the intention of having these characters get lost in the woods repeatedly no matter who they were with. I’ll have more to say this weekend, I’m sure.

Not these two coming for my man Phupha’s back during their roleplay!

I’m glad Pat and Pran got to have a cute montage before they left.

We will finally be free of the Our Skyy 2 theme.

I like that Pran made a friend out of Tian on this trip. Pran has so few friends, and I’m glad he was able to make one on his own.

Pat, please never stop terrorizing Phupha.

Unsurprised that Tian broke first on the apology, but glad to see Phupha getting flirty.

You just knew he was going to sign. I’m not even worried about the conditions. He wouldn’t be himself if he didn’t force you to meet him where he is.

I really hope tourists don’t tarnish this waterfall.

It’s not time for Only Friends yet, so we can’t have someone fondling tiddies yet on GMMTV. Mark, Neo, and Book, you are to be our champions.

Ah, Oishii tea is here. We can relax now.

Okay, I’m having fun with flirty Phupha.

We’re finally acknowledging the mosquito net as foreplay!

Finally, we the people have received what we needed. I wanted them to kiss so badly the first time they were here, and I’m finally sated.

Tian is wearing the Nong Nao sleeping mask! This is not a drill!

They did the Bad Buddy score scene. Few things make me happier than seeing older gays learn something from their juniors. Good for Phupha to get flirty in the morning.

I don’t think I mind Phupha surprising Tian in Bangkok, since it’s always seemed like a long drive. I get Phupha wanting that time to collect himself and put on his best face.

“People here let their cameras eat first.” I hate this description, but he’s correct.

GAYS IN A PHOTOBOOTH! I’m just going to pass out now.

Yes, Tian. Please upgrade this man’s fit.

Phupha is being so brave about how nervous he is about new clothes and their costs.

I’m so glad we’re getting to play dress up with Phupha like he’s a Ken.

Oh, I’m crying a little bit. Asking that Pat and Pran portray them feels like the exact restriction Phupha would apply. He would want their story told by people who know them and who they can trust a bit. I think Pran definitely gets Phupha.

Mix has such an incredible way to shift his face slightly and be suddenly so smitten.

Ink and Pa are at the play!!

This play was cute. I loved this.

Not the reversal on the finger suck into a genuinely decent kiss once again interrupted by Pa!!

White cameo!! I hope he continues to pop up in BL for the next 60 years.

Phupha and his surprises. I’m okay with it for today, but I hope his next step is being more forthright.

I love that Tian’s parents led the conversation for Phupha. He needed their approval, but respects them too much to ask for it.

His errand was a ring for a proposal. I forgive him for everything.

“We finally have a thousand stars now.” Okay, gonna lie down and cry. I don’t know what it was, but something old in me just snapped.

I really like Mix and Earth as a pair. They play their dynamic differently with each couple. Tian and Jim kiss differently than Wen and Jim.

Yes, give us the same unhinged outro that Pat and Pran gave us in episode 12.

Final Verdict: 10, Highly Recommended (Primarily for Gay Reasons). I understand a lot of the complicated feelings everyone has about Pat and Pran, but I personally loved all of this. I respect Aof telling something mildly dissatisfying with Pat and Pran, because that is honestly at the core of their dynamic. They are constantly subject to outside influences that make it difficult for them to be happy the way they want to be, and that is most evident in Pran. I really liked them crossing over to meet Tian and Phupha, because we got to see both couples really face who they are.

Part of the big difference here is that we are still seeing Pat and Pran in the middle of their story, and Pran especially still has things he needs to sort. With Tian and Phupha, we’re seeing them after their show ended. We’re seeing them face themselves with the help of the Chaos Gays that showed up on their doorstep. As a result, everyone got to see themselves differently, and we the audience got some of what we needed from both shows.

For me, I just love that both of these couples are “in repair” and are trying to be present for each other. Like Uncles Cheep and Dej said, once the infatuation fades, it’s about trust and commitment. I like that we walked away from this with me feeling like that’s the goal for both of them.

Shoutouts to @shortpplfedup @lurkingshan, @ginnymoonbeam, @waitmyturtles, and @wen-kexing-apologist for talking through episode 3 yesterday.

#our skyy 2 #bad buddy #a tale of thousand stars #bad buddy meta #atots meta #Ben watches

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farfromstrange · 1 month

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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)

ACTUAL SNEAK PEEK UNDER THE CUT

[…]

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.

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.

[…]

#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

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ruthytwoshakes · 6 months

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oh good evnening my homos,, my swagggalishis peepol, my lovely little guys . idk. I drew some gi. rrrrrls !!! Some fem fort!! Wahhooooo!!! Yippepeeee!! oh oh and big thank you to everybody who voted in the poll I set up! Once winter break hits I’ll be able to work on the projects full time, until then I’ll just be putting out little wips because school is more important :]

I’ve always wanted to make a gender swap au of some sort but I really had no good ideas until now,,. . They’re all clones of the red team that Engineer and Pauling worked on!! But like kinda. really crazy and blood-thirsty.

Pauling was requested to make a better Blu team because they sucked so bad,, ,so instead of hiring new people she got lazy and asked Engineer for help to mess with the respawn machine and create these new guys. They’re also like a fourth bigger than the original mercs. They’re very scary and violent and not r,eally good at being people yet. to be fair they were born like yesterday sorta. And I think I’d be a little evil too if I was born with the memories and mannerisms and scars of a life that I had not lived. ? ,,,,oh well sucks 2 suck. They hate the other team with a burning passion because they were programmed that way I guess. Idk I just came up with it tonight so it kidna isn’t all that coherent but we bal l . If I have the time I’ll draw them all beating up the boys or just like tormenting them. heheghjshh. pyro is a bear because the original pyro is a butch,, and spy is trans masc cus the original spy is trans fem. c ool

oh if anybody has any ideas for names I’d love to hear them! I’m shit ass at names so help is appreciated B))))) )

oh. welell hello thehrer,, here is more deisntns

these are for fun and would not actually work in the au,, teehhe. Man I don’t know what the fuck happened with saxton but he just looks the exact same. he’s growing out his hair. happened with saxton rhymes kindaa also Bidwell yay! Made her look more like Ma because I think she and scout are sisters booyahhh woah. Reddy with the butch realness hell yeah ,, love her. Mister Pauling wooooooow don’t have much 2 say. Twink Pauling little scary. Administrator though fucking killed me ,,I turned a bad bitch into an old man I’m losing my minddd. Kept the earrings cus they slayy cunty cunt cunt? Idk I don’t say that stuff

PYRO FACE JUMPSCARE !!! I know I committed sin and removed a masked character’s mask buut,idk fuck it I wanted to. Got some gnarly burn scares there and a rat tail cowaaabunga. Don’t know if you can tell but Blu has a half a beard.

JUMPSACREE JUMPSCARE I ADDED MY OCS MUHAHHA it’s gliderrrs yay. Red and Blu glider are two different. guys,, uhh they’re both twins!! Fraternal I think. Red is very flamboyant and extroverted and talks with her hands while Blu kinda stares at you,, you can’t really tell if she’s angry or not? Not happy with you that’s for sure. I can’t info dump about them on this post because I have to get back to work but one day in the near future. perhaps. perchance. mayhaps. what

#tf2 #fem fortress #butch fortress #tf2 whole team #tf2 saxton hale #tf2 bidwell #tf2 reddy #tf2 miss pauling #tf2 administrator #Soldier is basically Tank Girl lmao #I love both the hair designs for scout so much hhghhgghhh what do #soldier and sniper are girlfs btw #American aviators hell yeah #tf2 glider #daffys drawings

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