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#it can be a character your other characters don't get along with
pickleluvrgirl · 2 days
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Email Questions w/ Ben Coccio
So I emailed Ben Coccio with some of my burning questions regarding Zero Day (and his work in general). I got permission to post these but aagghh I'm just so excited. I loved reading these takes and I think they're such an interesting perspective. It's pretty long so I put the rest of the questions under the cut :)
In an interview from a few years back, you'd mentioned knowing about online communities surrounding ZD. What are your thoughts on Zero Day’s legacy today as a cult classic, with such a strong fanbase 20 years on?
I think it's fascinating. I have theories, but even though I made the movie, I really have no idea. These are just complete speculation, so take them with a grain of salt: 
I wonder if part of it is because America simply refuses to address its ongoing gun problem? Back when I made ZD, I was convinced that Columbine would be the last mass shooting of its size in my lifetime. I can't believe how wrong I was, but I can also totally believe it. ZD is 22 years old, so there are at least 2 generations of Americans that have grown up with mass shootings being a frequent terror in American life. So maybe this movie just articulates a fear or anxiety that is front of mind for a lot of people?
I also think it could be that ZD functions like a dark John Hughes movie or something - where the essential quality of the movie that resonates with people is not actually the nightmare subject matter, but its buddy-teen-movie vibe. I think it was Martin Scorsese who said that you don't watch a movie more than once for the plot - you watch it more than once for the story, and to hang out with the characters. I think the sincere depiction of being a teen - even in the context of them planning something awful - has the quality of hanging out with friends as a teen. And the characters are fun to hang out with, even though they are terrifying.
I think American culture tends to romanticize killers - from serial killers to Charles Manson to Eric Harris and Dylan Klebold. At the same time, I think all cultures tend to romanticize youth - and stories of self-destructive youth is a very romantic subgenre. I think it's possible that ZD's subject being young people and ZD's willingness to depict a mass shooting without demonizing the shooters speaks to a subset of young people who are enamored with a romanticized idea of school mass shooters. Perhaps they see the sincere depiction of Cal and Andre's humanity as a confirmation of this romantic ideal? Along these lines, Cal and Andre are good looking, charismatic kids, so there's that! 
My last theory is that the movie came along as video on the internet was getting more and more widespread - I just checked and youtube came along in 2005. The movie was built on the idea of what my friends and I did in high school, pre internet, with VHS cameras. And that only got more and more common amongst middle class teens as the 90s wore on. So ZD is kind of tailor-made to be discovered on youtube at that time - it's actually kind of a great way to watch it, too, as opposed to other movies where that context would be a distraction. I remember that the shooting scene was put up by someone on 'liveleak' as actual footage from Columbine, which was both gross and a fascinating media ecosystem phenomenon. 
With The Beginner specifically, was it strange working with Cal as an actor in such a different role compared to Zero Day?
Not strange, just different. Cal is a really good actor and we got to know one another so well doing Zero Day that we're practically like family. I think what was interesting was that it was a different kind of movie - it had a lot of improv, like Zero Day, but it had a different tone and had a different relationship with depicting a 'movie world'. I was going for a subtle surreal quality, I suppose. Zero Day was designed to be aggressively 'realistic' (maybe naturalistic is the better word?) and the beginner was meant to be built like a parable or fable. 
So there were things I wanted Cal to do that were not realistic, or maybe odd. I was not experienced enough at the time as a director to articulate what I was going for, and too insecure as a person to accept that what I thought was right didn't work for a close collaborator of mine. A good example is when Cal comes home, after his parents thought he might be dead, he hugs them, and then excuses himself to go alone up to his room.  Cal really had issues with this moment - he just didn't buy it. I was trying to be efficient in the scene, and not have a 'time passing' cut, or some other device. But I couldn't persuade Cal, and instead I just kind of tried to pull rank on him, which, considering how we make work together, was a total failure. Sometimes, when you're anxious or insecure, it's easy to get controlling or pushy - you just want to bypass the process and simply get what you want.
Would you change anything if you made Zero Day today? Not necessarily on a technical level, but in response to how much the culture surrounding guns and mass shootings in the US has changed over recent years.
I think if I made it today, I'd have to build it in a radically different way. 
First, I think I would be more aware of choosing to tell the story of two male, white, middle class teens (as opposed to how I did it at the time - by unthinkingly defaulting to two, white, male, middle class teens because I grew up as a white, male, middle class teen). But I would still likely make it about two, white, male, middle class teens, because it's just easier to 'write what you know.'
Second, the changes in tech are such that white middle class american kids probably have a 16x9, 4k video cam on their phone, one which those kids use way more than if they lived in a time of miniDV camcorders -- not to mention the fact that they would be commonly framing video in a vertical format. So right off the bat, the images that made the movie would be totally different in a fundamental way. 
Third, their phones are connected to the internet, social media, et al, and so are they. Does the phone service their parents use upload everyone's videos and pics to a family cloud account? If so, does that change what they shoot and how? Does the way the kids use social media scratch the itch that would have made them get out the camcorder in 2002?
Fourth, mass shootings and our reactions to them/motives for committing them have changed so much as they have gotten more frequent. They are no longer national events like Columbine was. Or, if they are, they don't last as national events in shared memory like Columbine did. Paradoxically, mass shootings like Uvalde and Sandy Hook - which warranted less overall coverage in the current media landscape than Columbine did in 1999 - make Columbine look almost quaint in comparison. For white middle class people in rich countries, mass shootings have become a fairly common tool for political violence in the name of a broad ideological project of intolerance - from homophobia to incel misogyny to racism to hatred of other religions.
When Columbine happened, I was not thinking in those terms culturally. Eric Harris and Dylan Klebold were enigmas to me. Their shooting an explosion of nihilistic violence that I was both drawn to with morbid fascination and repelled by. The Eric Harrises and Dylan Klebolds of today are Eliot Roger or the Tree of Life shooter or the Pulse nightclub shooter or the guy that shot up the sikh temple or the mosque mass shooting in new zealand or the guy that shot up the supermarket in Buffalo (and on and on). Many of these shooters' entire social lives consisted of participating in online communities dedicated to hate and cruelty which, although similar to the way Cal and Andre egg each other on in ZD, is not maybe a story easily told well with cinema.
Mass shootings were, long before Columbine, a tactic of political violence, from the Puerto Rico separatist attack on the house of reps in the 1950s to the Japanese Red Army attacking an Israeli airport in 1972 to the guy that attacked the congressional baseball game back in 2017 hoping to kill a bunch of republicans. It seems to me that a lot of the mass shootings we see in America today are a continuation of a long-standing trend of right-wing political violnce in America, and maybe now part of a kind of low-simmer civil war - maybe even at the same time that they are externalized suicides committed by severely alienated people with easy access to ridiculously powerful weapons . This has changed how we interrogate these events after they happen - we look quickly for political or ideological motivations. We also have new things we blame mass shootings on now - just recently, a jury convicted the parents of a mass shooter with involuntary man-slaughter because they did not stop their kid from shooting up their school.
Fifth, mass shootings have become such a part of our cultural life in America, that people deciding to enact a shooting are engaging with a much deeper meta-cultural narrative than the characters in ZD were. Where do these characters fit into that meta-narrative?
Do you find that your influences have changed majorly since you first started making films? Are there any themes, concepts or artists that you find you've pulled away from that used to influence you heavily?
When I was a kid, I was a picky eater. Now I like all kinds of food, even though I still have my favorite meals. When I was a kid, I would eat the same thing over and over again. Now, I go out of my way to try new kinds of food. I still really care about the taste and presentation of what I eat, but the most important thing now is what's behind the meal - who I'm eating it with.
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Cannot stop thinking about an au where Turnabout Trump doesn't happen/happens but Olga is convicted instead so Apollo is still working at the Gavin law offices for his first few cases. He meets Trucy at one of the crime scenes and she tags along on his investigations, but she doesn't tell him about her connection to Phoenix until after their first case together. Ema likes Apollo less at first bc she doesn't like the fop and you work for his brother, who she also hates bc he's very condescending when he cross examines her in court.
When you meet Klavier in the second case you can ask Kristoph about him and vice versa. They don't interact with each other but you get to learn some more things about the brothers, their opinions on each other and their backstory. You also find out that Klavier was the one who got Phoenix disbarred and Kristoph is apologetic about it, given that Phoenix is his "friend" (though they haven't interacted at all since phoenix was found not guilty).
At one point Trucy is visiting Apollo at the Gavin Law Offices when Kristoph returns and "politely" kicks her out. She then reveals to Apollo who the daddy she keeps talking about actually is. You get to meet Phoenix again in the next case and find out more about the incident 7 years ago.
Over the course of the game you/Apollo starts to grow more suspicious of Kristoph and his intentions, alongside a growing sense of horror that you got an innocent person convicted in your first case. It all comes to a head in Succession when Drew Misham finally uses the stamp, which turns up fixed to a letter in the Gavin Law Offices postbox that Apollo collects on his way in one morning. You hand it to Kristoph and he promptly disappears with it, feigning excuses. Phoenix uses this case to finally spring his trap and test the jurist system. Kristoph gets the double whammy of his brother and mentee turning on him at once and the murder of Shadi Enigmar is properly resolved. It's also revealed that Trucy started tagging along on Apollo's investigations to collect intel for Phoenix.
At the end of Succession, Apollo is offered a role at the newly-renamed Wright Anything Agency and there's a final rise from the ashes-style case that serves as Apollo's first proper case as an official WAA employee and helps tie up some loose threads/lets the characters deal with the fallout of Succession.
Idk I just think it'd be fun/satisfying to realise slowly that there's more to everything than meets the eye.
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scarletwinterxx · 10 hours
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fool for you - mark lee dad scenario
a bit late to this but OH MY GOD MARK LEE GIRL DAD😭🥺😭🥺 we already know he's going to be the best dad to his kids in the future🤍🤍
you already know my feels went through the roof after seeing that cli[ so here's another mark dad scenario and can you believe this is the 10th one OMGGGGGG anyways i hope you like it!
part1: day with dad mark lee
part2: another day with dad mark lee
part3: a day with the lee's
part4: (prologue) i don't know how to make eggs
part5: glitter pens and goodnight kisses with the Lee's
part6: first love and kisses
part7: naps and baby kicks
part8: then there was three
part9: just like you
For my other works you can check them out here, and for my other story series’ you can check them out here.
and if you want, u can buy me coffee(totally optional but any donation is very much appreciated!) thank you🥺💛
All works are copyrighted ©scarletwinterxx 2024 . Do not repost, re-write without the permission of author.
(gif not mine, credits to rightful owner)
"in my next life, I think I'll become a fool for my daughter"
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"Lovie, can you stay with Minjee? I'm just going to the mall with Minjung to get new shoes and a few other stuff for the baby" you tell your husband who is currently on the sofa resting.
It's around that time again when you're counting down the days until the new baby comes, this time the two of you choose to keep the gender a surprise. You won't find out until you give birth. There's an on going bet in your household whether it'll be a girl or a boy.
"Why don't I come with him? You sure you okay to go out?" he asks, watching you struggle putting on your shoes. He chuckles before walking toward you, kneeling down to put it on for you even double tying the shoelaces just to be sure.
"It's okay, besides the doctor said it's healthy to walk around. And we both know it'll be easier to look after Minjung then Jee" you laugh, your husband agreeing with you
"She's the main character, we're all just living in her world" he says
You smile at Mark, giving him a kiss before getting your purse and keys.
"Call me if you need anything" he tells you
"Minjung, let's go" you shout, your son appears from the staircase ready to go
"You already know, buddy. Take care of mom, okay? Call me if something happens" he gives his son a quick hug before watching the two of you drive away
The two of you finished the errands and is now getting a quick snack before heading home. You like having one on one time with your kids. It helps you keep a closer relationship with them. And even though you know the two siblings get along very well, you still make it a point to spend time with them one by one. And so does Mark.
"Is there anything else you need, buddy?" you ask your son
He shakes his head, taking a bite of his sandwich. You smile watching him, it feels just like yesterday you were sitting in the backseat with newborn Minjung in the baby car seat on your way home from the hospital and now he's 13.
"How do you feel about getting another sibling?"
He looks at you, it's like looking at Mark's eyes. They same round, adorable chocolate eyes you love so much.
"Excited. It'll be cool if it's a boy. I'll teach him to play basketball and bike. It's okay too if it's a girl" he shrugs
"You know mommy and daddy loves you very very much"
"I know, I love you too" he smiles back at you
When you get home, Minjee welcomes you excitedly asking if you got her a cakepop which Minjung hands over to his sister
"Wah thank you, oppa! Dad look oppa got me a pink cakepop!" she screams excitedly, running to wherever Mark is. You and Minjung follow her, Mark in the kitchen getting dinner ready
"Cool, but you can have that after dinner okay? Na uh don't give me that look, missy. I ordered chicken just like you asked" the father-daughter banter continues
The two siblings help set up the table while you stay in the kitchen with Mark, "How did it go?" Mark asks you
"Good, we had fun. You sound like you had fun too" you joked
"I swear she knows how to make me says yes" he mumbles, you walk towards him, giving him a side hug
"You love her" you tell him with a chuckle and a kiss on the jaw
"That I do. I'd do anything for our kids" he says, looking down at you. He kisses you on the nose, eliciting giggles from you before breaking away
"Okay, dinner time!"
After dinner and everyone finished with their night time routines, it's finally time to call it a night.
You lay on your side of the bed, getting the pregnancy pillow ready
"Can I keep that after?" Mark asks, you watch him step out of the shower. Towel hanging on his hips while he dries his hair with another
"No" you tell him with a tight smile, Mark laughs before walking towards the dresser to get clothes
"Oh come on, let me enjoy the view some more"
"Woman, you are already pregnant" he tells you, playfully throwing the towel he was drying his hair with towards you. He puts on his sleeping shorts, leaving the shirt behind. He goes out the room to check all doors before going to bed
He turns towards you, the two of you face to face.
"Just a few more days and it'll be five of us" he whispers. His hand resting on your belly
"I'm calling it, this one will look like you again" you tell him
"You love us"
"That I do, I love you and all versions of you. Especially the little humans we made" you smile at him. He scoots closer to kiss you. Kissing you on the lips then on your cheeks a few time until you were laughing.
"Okay, time to rest. Goodnight, baby. I love you" he tells you
"Love you"
Minjung woke up to something poking his back, groggily looking to see Minjee
"Jee? What?"
The girl hiccups, still crying. This woke Minjung up more, sitting up on his bed and turning the bedside light on,
"Why are you crying? Did you have a bad dream?" he asks
"Will mom and dad not let me live here when the baby comes?" she asks, her tiny voice breaking
"What? of course not" her brother immediately answers. He gets out from under the blanket to hug his sister, wiping a few tears running down her face
"When you were born, I was so excited. Dad took me to the hospital to meet you. You had this big bow on, you were crying a lot too" he tells her
"You were there?" she asks
Minjung smiles "Yea, dad even helped me to carry you. You were really tiny. When the new baby comes, we'll go together to meet them"
"Will you still play with me when they come?"
"Of course I will, we're bestfriends right? You gave me this" he says, showing the beaded bracelet Minjee made for him. Similar to what she's wearing.
"You promise? You'll still get me cakepops?"
"Of course, pinkypromise"
The two siblings lock pinky fingers, the younger one finally smiling.
"Wait here okay?" Minjung says before going out of his room and carefull walking towards his parents bedroom. Knocking lightly before going in.
He walks towards Mark's sleeping figure, tapping him awake
"Huh what wha huh?? Minjung? Are you okay? What's happening?" Mark asks, sitting up immediately
"What time is it?" he asks, looking for his phone to see it's 2am
"Minjee woke up crying, she's in my room now"
Mark stands up carefully, looking over at your sleeping figure before quickly putting on a shirt and walking out with Minjung
"She okay? bad dream?"
"No uh it's about the new baby"
His son didn't need to elaborate anymore, already getting a hint why his babygirl was crying.
When the two walks back to Minjung's room, Jee still sitting there.
"Hey, Jee. Come on, dad will come with you. Goodnight buddy, thank you for being a good brother" Mark tells his eldest, kissing him on the head before stepping out of the room with the younger one
"Do you want warm milk before going back to bed?" Mark asks the 6 year old girl, getting a no from her
When they get to Minjee's room, the two sat on the bed
"Are you sad right now?" Mark asks his daughter
"Will you still love Jee when the baby comes?" Jee asks and Mark crumbles
"Oh my girl, of course I will. I'll love you longer than forever and that's a long long long time. You'll always be my princess. Even after the new baby comes, mom and dad might need to spend more time with them but that doesn't mean we love you and your brother any less" he tucks her hair behind her ear, pinching her cute round cheeks she definitely got from you.
"Can dad have a hug?" he opens his arms, Minjee scooting in her father's embrace
"Always remember, dad loves you so so much. I'd give you the moon and all the stars if you want. If you ever feel sad you can come and talk to me okay?"
He feels the younger one nod. Tucking her in bed, giving her a kiss on the forehead before calling it a night (again)
When he gets back to your room, he slides under the sheets then he feels you search for him
"Min?" you mumble
"Here, baby. Go to sleep" he leans over to give your temple a kiss. He sees a sleepy smile on your lips before your heads goes down on the pillow again.
Just like that everyone was asleep again, but before he fades into dreamland he says a silently thank you to heaven for this life. Ready and excited to face tomorrow with his family.
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mwahkazu · 20 hours
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random hcs of kazuha and the other people in the gang:
scara/kuni likes playing rhythm games like colorful stage: Hatsune miku or whatever it's called but refuses to admit it. so whenever he does the poll of "what should i play" his comments are flooded with either "PLAY ANIMAL CROSSING" or "PLAY ---- rhythm game" or bonus" "PLAY STARDEW VALLEY :D"
idk why but kazuha is one of those "don't talk to me before i drink my coffee/tea". if you talk to him after he wakes up, he's probably going to insult and shake your perception of reality and then smile after drinking and say some shit like "good morning. weather's good toady" as if he didn't just cause you to rethink life
heizou likes black tea. kuni and kazuha are green tea people. xiao likes to drink coffee. ayato likes boba. i like drinking water.
tysm for reading my random brainrot!!!
-rin
RIN I LOVE THESE HCS SO MUCH !! omg idk if you or anyone here has watched the anime fruits basket but there’s this one scene with the character yuki (who’s seen as like the prince of the school and reminds me of kazuha☺️totally not because they share the same jp va COUGH)
but there’s this one episode where he’s extremely clumsy and just so out of character as he’s waking up and i just see kazuha acting the same way along with his cold-ish attitude😭really whichever attitude you get definitely depends on how much sleep he got the previous night LMAO
ahem..now allow me to feed into my scara/kuni video game brain rots because i saw the words stardew valley and something in me awoke
video games with scara/kuni:
admittedly it’s a bit of a challenge to try and get him to play some relaxing/cozy games with you
i kinda feel he’s more the type to play mmos or fps games as they’re more fast paced and actually require more action from him
also ik some people might say he’s the type to be a “rage gamer” and be aggressive which i can see happening if he’s super into the game he’s currently playing
but normally he’s just the blunt player who calls you out on your bs LMAO
“how tf did you manage to shoot everything but the player?” “can you not read?” “ykw just follow my lead. explaining this to you is pointless.”
this kind of behavior tho is more so towards his close friends
w/ you it’s a somewhat of a different picture
idk if anyone knows that one meme where it goes: “YOUR AIM IS ASS! let me chill out—your aim is…not good, okay? let me be nice.” LMAO I FEEL LIKE THAT'S HOW IT WOULD GO WITH HIM😭
but ofc aside from that he’s patient with you and willing to even teach you special tricks and techniques that he uses in the game
whenever you manage to successfully do one of the things he taught you when you’re playing together, you’ll get all happy and giddy while he’s just be softly smiling at you, secretly finding your childlike excitement adorable
gives you a head pat or ruffles your hair while saying he’s proud or “see, i knew you could it”🥺
BUT ANYWAYS BACK TO COZY GAMES
there was one instance in which scara was playing at his desk one night, as usual
just a casual gaming session with his friends
you were off to the side watching him play and do his thing but being a little bit bored out of your mind
you always did this thing where if you were wanting his attention or were bored you’d sigh and wander aimlessly around the room
which is exactly what you were doing rn and ofc he noticed
he’d excuse himself from his friends for a second, muting his mic before turning to look at you, “you know doll, instead of sighing and pouting around like that you can just tell me you need something.”
“but…you’re playing with your friends aren’t you?” he’ll roll his eyes, “i can always play with them another day. it’s not the end of the world if you want me to stop and spend some time with you.”
so once he says bye to his friends that is when you introduce him to the wonderful world of cozy video games~
“hell no.” “WHAT ;-;”
it takes you a solid 10 minutes to finally get him to try stardew valley w/ you
and for once you finally get to be the one to explain how the mechanics and such work!
“and then…oh! there’s different crops for every season so we have to make sure we plant the right ones and- kuni? are you even listening—?”
bro is already in the mines fighting mobs and getting ore😭
self indulgent hc here:
you’ll tell him about the romance aspect of the game, how you can date other npcs and such
and you’ll explain how your favorite villager npc to romance is sebastian (or any other npc) gushing about cute he (she) is and just fawning over this pixelated character
he doesn't like this. at all. but won’t admit to his jealousy. there would be signs tho…
“where are you going with that quartz?” “i’m gifting it to sebastian so i can get more hearts for him…” “no give it to me we need more refined quartz”
“ooo should i ask sebastian to be my partner for the flower dance?” “no. you’re going to be my dance partner.”
yea don’t even think about trying to marry anyone else but him in the game
without even realizing it, you both will go hours playing this quaint little farming sim game together and by the time your eyes grow tired of staring at a screen for so long, suggesting you both get some sleep for the night he’ll frown
“but we’re almost done with year one..let’s just finish it and then go to sleep.”
he ended up staying up that night to finish while you went soundly to sleep
in the morning you’d wake up to find him cuddling you in bed, arms wrapped around and just pure soft mornings
you’d try to get out of bed to get breakfast started but he’d immediately pull you closer and tighten his hold on you
nuzzling his head into your necking and mumbling for you to stay in bed with him
which you do because how can you say no him <3
i could go on and on about this but i’ll stop myself here for now! humbly brought to you by rin and yuomi’s not so daily dose of brain rotting hcs together :D
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farfromstrange · 3 hours
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Interview With The Vampire | Vampire!Matt Murdock x F!Reader
-> Main Masterlist
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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!
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The sun has long set over the Big Apple. Artificial neon, cars, and ceiling lights burning in the highrises along the riverfront cancel out the darkness that has befallen the country’s east. Noise melts into a flood that rolls over people’s senses, but most in New York City have grown numb to the city that never sleeps. 
Sirens follow cacophonies of screams. Teenagers get into clubs with their fake IDs, adults get drunk in bars or go to work the night shift at their underpaid jobs, and the other half cry themselves to sleep, knowing they will have to get up in the morning and go through the same hell all over again. 
Life has become a miserable existence, and it leaves human beings wondering, ‘How much longer do we have to endure this before we all finally drop dead?’
The system fails them. The law fails to protect them. All they can do is lie down and wait to die. And they will die sooner or later. That’s inevitable. 
In Hell’s Kitchen, in a penthouse with a view of the Hudson through colored windows that gloss over during the day and show the city throughout the night, resides someone who most of the city only knows by an alias—Daredevil. 
If anyone crosses him, he will suck them dry. It’s not a metaphor, I’m afraid; his reputation precedes him. Criminals fear the red eyes that come with fists and a sharp set of teeth that will surely run them into the ground. The rest of the city feels a little safer with him, but so far, no one has dared to question his nature. 
Fear is known to work as a paralytic. And this man living in the penthouse by the Hudson is the personification of what one might consider fear-inducing. Without the fear of others, he would not be thriving.��
An apex predator like him lives for the thrill of the kill. When the adrenaline spikes, it makes the prey start running and the blood taste so much sweeter. It is to a creature of his kind what a good glass of century-old red wine would be to a human being; he savors every last drop of it.
Two years out of your Master’s degree at Columbia University, you have become one of those hard-working adults who fall into bed later than they should, and you lie awake at night, wondering how much longer you have to exist before you can live.
You interned at the Bulletin; you ran the true crime and mystery column for over a year before the newspaper shut down. A billionaire from downtown Manhattan bought it to start his own magazine, and you were the only employee he didn’t fire. Instead of relying on your top-tier education and experience though, he has banned you to the lifestyle and beauty column. He’s a beast if you have ever seen one. 
On a Monday in June then, after the sun has risen and is now falling again, you find an envelope on your desk. You glide your fingers over the fancy paper. The letters are written in handwriting that resembles the old letters from the 18th century you had the pleasure of using as research material for your Bachelor’s thesis.
Your heart skips a beat. Could it be…
It is no secret that vampires exist.
Over two decades ago, scientists published papers on the existence of blood-sucking creatures after years of valuable research, and now governments around the world have set out to burn the inhuman species out before they can cause any more damage. Vampirism though is older than humanity itself and unless law enforcement has evidence of homicide, vampires have the right to exist amongst humans. 
They are excellent at hiding their true nature, that much is true. The lore that has been passed down since the beginning of time is only partly true. They know how to adapt and rise from the ashes like elegant phoenixes. The misconceptions surrounding their existence stem from fiction, horror, and fear, but they persist. 
And a rule has been established in society ever since the truth was revealed: don’t talk about vampires! 
Don’t talk about them unless it’s in a fictional context. Don’t put your research out there. Don’t fraternize with them. Don’t risk becoming prey. Don’t be fascinated by them, and God forbid, don’t you dare write articles about them for the public records. If you want to know about vampires, you have to dig, and you have to do so quietly or society will deem you crazy and a freak. 
The worst thing to be is not a flying android or a super soldier with a shield; the worst thing you can be, in this day and age, is a vampire. 
You were a curious child who turned into an even more curious adult. At times even a bitter one because she couldn’t get the answers she yearned for and had to do it herself. So, of course, the We Don’t Talk About Vampires rule came across as rather absurd, learning about it back when you were merely a teen. 
You started researching, and you found out more than you thought you would—more than you thought you could. You wanted to cover the issue in the Bulletin back when you still worked there, but since humans were raised to fear the very mention of vampires in the real world, no longer romanticizing the concept but rather running from it, the truth shall remain hidden. Again, that seemed absurd, but you had to accept it to get ahead. 
You kept researching to the point you convinced yourself you could be one of them if you tried. You felt like you understood them, but nothing could ever fully answer all of your questions to the point it felt truthful. Honest. Real. 
Growing up, everyone told you dead things aren’t supposed to walk. They aren’t supposed to breathe and exist among the living. They are cruel, and vampires are killers that leave trails of bodies the government is hiding from us. Greediness exceeds common sense. The human mind tends to get sick and twisted, and those who don’t fit in hardly ever stand a chance.
Hell’s Kitchen is particularly quiet on the issue. Rumor has it that the vigilante chasing criminals at night and leaving the worst of them dry at the shore of the Hudson while, at the same time, surrendering those he deems worthy of rehabilitation to the authorities, is one of those vampires. 
They call him Daredevil; the savior of innocents and the downfall of the vile. Only a handful of people know who he is. The truth is caught in a spider web of lies, unable to come out unless someone were to tell his story for the world to hear. 
That Monday in June when you open the mysterious envelope on your desk, everything changes. 
He addressed you personally. Your name resembles a masterpiece, the letters swirling at the edges. 
You don’t know me, but I know you.
It’s strange to read your name out of the mouth of a stranger.
I must admit, Miss, I’m a big fan of your writing. And I’m not talking about the lifestyle and beauty column Mr. Doherty of the ‘Silver Lining’ has confined you to.
No, I am a big fan of the work you used to do for the New York Bulletin. I remember your name headlining many articles on crime here in Hell’s Kitchen—a column my late friend Ben Urich used to call his home.  
It’s a shame that the paper was shut down. I tried to prevent it, but the disappearance of half of humanity and Wilson Fisk’s irreparable damage to the city’s foundation tied my hands. 
The token female journalist reporting on unsolicited beauty advice and lifestyle choices no one is going to follow in the days of social media and fake marketing. It must be frustrating, right? Not having a story to tell. Not getting recognized for your impeccable talent. The Bulletin gave you a platform, but Mr. Doherty and his goons took that away from you.
What I’m asking myself is, are you satisfied? You were probably imagining a different future for yourself. A woman of your caliber must want to be more than a mere object used to make a bottomless magazine look better on the market. 
Excuse my overstepping. I read one of your essays on the magical and the mythic—lore versus reality—the other day, and it inspired me. My life has been taking quite a few turns lately, so I required some new… let’s call it insight. 
You don’t know me, but I am one of those creatures you are fascinated by. I’m the kind of creature people have been telling you not to write about because the weak minds of the public would not receive it well. The Catholics, the church, the fragile and fearful human beings that can’t imagine anything in fiction being real and want to remain the superior species—trust me, I know what it feels like to be backed into a corner. To be abandoned. To be underestimated. Not quite like you, I admit, but I have a few years of experience in and with this world to show for myself. 
I imagine you’re tired of your position. I imagine you’re dissatisfied with human idiocy. You crave answers to your questions. Questions you have been asking yourself ever since college failed to answer them. My kind is being censored—partly for good reason—but that doesn’t sit right with you, does it? To live life in a monotone line with no clear way out of this boring rhythm you have had to fall into? 
I can offer you a different path. A story. Answers to your questions. And the unfiltered truth of a 242-year-old man. 
You are going to find a card with my address attached to this letter. I can assure you, sweetheart, we both want the same thing. I will wash your hands if you wash mine. Think about it, and come find me when you have made your decision. Preferably after the sun has set. 
Yours sincerely,
M.
The paper crumbles in your hands, but only at the corners. Your eyes are glued to the lost drops of ink, the blue blood of an old fountain pen caving under too much pressure. 
He chose his words carefully. Every paragraph circles around your head. You breathe in, and it suddenly feels as though the whiff of the unknown is an inhalable drug, twisting your brain inside out. 
The pull threatens to submerge you in a stormy ocean. You’re flailing your arms around helplessly, but there is nothing for you to hold onto. All buoys have drifted into oblivion, leaving a sea of utter emptiness behind, and in the midst of it, there you are, drowning.
In a moment of clarity, you fold the letter back down on the desk. It lands with a thud, and you look around frantically, checking if anyone is watching you. They aren’t. 
M. That’s all he’s giving you. And the fact he is over two hundred years old proves the rumors to be true. He’s standing by it, but only to you. He wants to reveal himself to you, show you his true face for a story, but he’s a vampire. 
You’re alone. You can wash his hands, but is just showing up enough for him? You don’t even know him. 
You’re in trouble. This time though, you didn’t even do anything. You did your job, and he caught an interest in you. How does that work? 
Your heart skips another beat. It should not, but it does. The danger is exciting. It shouldn't be exciting. You hate what your body is doing, but how can you make it stop? You can’t. You can’t do anything but take it.
This stranger has got you in a chokehold, but in his hands, you might as well surrender to your certain demise. You don’t consider vampires inherently evil, but there is a reason people warn you not to walk alone at night in Hell’s Kitchen. He’s dangerous, no matter his nature, and he is not supposed to lure you in the way he does.
But you’re a curious kitten, and he is offering you the holy grail of answers to questions you have been grappling with for years. He hit the nail right on the head. And it doesn’t even scare you how well he knows you. 
This is a gold mine. Realistically speaking, telling a vampire’s story could make or break your career as a journalist. If you do it for the magazine, you’re done before you can even bring your words to print, but if you do it individually and you do it well, people will certainly eat it up. The question is just, are you going to play your entire life safe, conforming to your boss’s view of you until you get the freedom you crave, or are you going to take the risk and fly? 
The answer is as clear as day, but it takes you a moment to process. It’s as though someone is in your head, steering you in the direction of whoever this M is. Daredevil. This vampire who wants you to interview him, and for what? That’s still an open question you don’t have the answer to. But you do know what to do.
You scramble for your laptop, your notepad, and the letter in the envelope. The clock strikes four. You have another two hours on the clock, but you can’t be bothered to stay. 
Upon hearing the sound of your shoes hurriedly scraping against the linoleum floors, one of your colleagues turns in her chair. “Where are you going?” she asks.
“I, uh, have somewhere to be,” you tell her as you brush past her.
“What, now?”
“Yeah. I forgot I had an appointment.”
“What about Mr. Doherty?”
You stop on your way out, looking back over your shoulder. “If everything works out,” you say, glancing through the window to his office at the other end of the hall, “He’ll have my letter of resignation by the end of the week.”
She gasps softly. “You’re quitting?” her voice is barely above a whisper.
Almost sinisterly, you chuckle. “That’s the plan, yeah.”
“But—”
“Tell your daughter Happy Birthday from me. I gotta go.”
Your steps echo for minutes still, but you are long gone with the wind.
Silver linings are considered an advantage that comes from an unpleasant situation. The name has proven to be entirely unfit for the magazine that replaced a big piece of Hell’s Kitchen’s history. The Bulletin had cultural value as much as it was laden with decades of the city’s stories told to the average person. 
Wilson Fisk was the dynamite that sent New York alight. The Bulletin’s destruction was mere collateral damage in the fight to get the city back on track. You have had so many reasons to leave presented to you, yet you never took them. If you had, maybe you wouldn’t be here, making bad decisions on what started as just another Monday in June. 
The fact is though, you didn’t leave, and you are here now. Facts are what matter. They count. Your hypothetical past, present, and future have no place in this reality because you can’t travel back or forward in time. Vampires may exist, and the Avengers time-traveled to save the world, but things aren’t quite as easy once you look at the bigger picture. You are not a superhero, you’re just a journalist chasing the kind of story that will finally make her voice be heard. 
You know that Ben Urich, at least, would be proud of you.
His address weighs heavy on the small card you pulled out of the envelope earlier that evening. You passed it on to the cab driver, and he began to navigate the dark streets of Hell’s Kitchen. The luxury condominiums in this part of the city can be counted on one hand. You know exactly when you’re there. 
The sun has once again set over New York City. You’re wide awake, not quite sure though if you’re ready to face what you are walking blindly into. Even your driver refuses to take you past a certain point, and that is how you know that you’re not dreaming. This is real, and it’s supposed to be terrifying. 
How come you’re not scared then?
You slip twenty dollars to the cab driver, then climb out of the backseat. The salty air from the Hudson River a few blocks down wafts around your sensitive nose. In the distance, you can hear waves crashing into the docks as the wind picks up in speed. The boats must be moving wildly by now, swaying from side to side and possibly even making the fish in the depths of the water seasick. You would be if you were them. 
With every step, you grow closer to your target. On second thought, maybe you should have brought more than just a pathetic bottle of pepper spray and your precious laptop. You could have brought your grandfather’s cassette recorder, at least that would leave a mark if you hit someone over the head with it. 
Do vampires get concussions? That is another question you can add to the seemingly endless list in your mind. It’s a confusing place as of late, and the weird sense that someone is playing with the controls won’t leave you alone. Either you are overthinking, or you are worse off than you originally thought. 
The apartment complex the card directs you to stretches high above you. You look up, seeing not a single light on. That’s odd, you think, but then again, you are meeting with the city’s most notorious man. If he is who everyone says he is, and if the rumors are even true, that is. 
As you are about to approach the entrance, your fingertips start to burn. A gasp escapes past your lips. Staring down, the cubical piece of paper goes up in flames. You are mere feet from the door, nowhere near close to an open source of fire, and the card starts to burn like a wildfire. 
You pull back, your heart hammering against your ribcage. The ashes fall to the ground, but before they can hit the asphalt, they vanish.
“What the–” before you can finish, the doors before you swing open toward the inside. The lights turn on. Someone even has called the elevator for you. 
Another step forward, and a voice stops you. “Fourth floor, down the hallway, first door to your right,” the voice says through the speaker. Only then do you notice the lack of a doorbell. 
Everything in you is screaming for you to run, but you are rooted in the spot. He dragged you here with a mere letter, and you were more than ready to jump. Desperation was the only thing that drove you here. Your brain seems incapable of rational thought.
What if that is what he wanted all along? To get you complicit by playing on what you so desperately need, which is a story and a way out of this boring everyday life that is threatening to slowly kill you.
He’s like a siren, luring you into his deadly trap, but even knowing all of this, you still can’t find it in yourself to run. 
The second you enter the building, the door shuts behind you, and your only way out is officially locked. You made the decision; you have dug your own grave, possibly quite literally, and now you have to lie in it. It’s better to die chasing a good story than dying at a desk in an office that doesn’t respect you.
You are a disgrace, you can hear your father’s voice in the back of your mind. He always warned you not to be too reckless or your bad decisions will eventually catch up with you. He always taught you not to trust strangers, and to stay the hell away from those who disgrace God, but you have never cared much about being a good girl. 
Your thoughts are as morbid as your obsession with the walking undead. It is time you embrace what people are already saying about you.
The elevator ride feels like an eternity. It goes up and up and up until it finally stops on the fourth floor. The walls smell like nothing but a faint hint of bleach. It’s clean, parquette not carpet, and the walls are kept in a shade resembling a mixture between crimson and maroon, and it is blending into a sort of marble.
The metal doors slide open. Again, you hesitate. A sweet whisper echoes in your ear, dragging you toward the edge. You breach the border between the elevator and the hallway that waits behind it. The voice is distant, and it doesn’t sound human—it reminds you of a siren’s song, calling for you. He is calling for you, and a fog settles over your mind. You’re not in control anymore, he is. 
You imagine him to be an old man, possibly middle-aged. Vampires stop aging when they’re turned. Their mind doesn’t. You’ve read the research plenty. They are wise beings, more intelligent than human beings could ever fathom. That makes them dangerous. 
Their venom rivals the intoxicating feeling of heroin, you’ve heard, and it heightens your senses to the point all you can feel is the one who bit you. Research suggests it’s a million times stronger than an orgasm, for both the vampire and the human being. 
Part of you has always wanted to try it. Part of you wants to know what it feels like to be sucked dry. You want to know what it feels like to be carried into a new dimension by someone who knows how to play the human body like a fucking piano, eliciting the sweetest melody through your very essence and the symphony of your moans.  
This M—Daredevil—is inherently dangerous. He’s as mysterious as they come; a man in a mask lurking in the dark corners of Hell’s Kitchen every night, turning the fight for justice into his hunting ground. 
It’s as though he curled his fingers, and you followed. 
You walk the dark hallway down to the door on the right. Paintings litter the walls. Masterpieces, blotches of white, red, and color. You recognize the red marble as a decorative theme on the wallpaper. Tracing your fingers over it, the rough drywall scratches at your skin. 
You reach out a shaky hand toward the golden knob. Before you can turn it though, the door already flings open. It must be witchcraft. 
Red appears to be his favorite color. At least judging from the hallway, that is true. When you step into the room with a pounding heart and blood pooling in your cheeks though, the inside of the room is a lot more… human. You wouldn’t have guessed it from the gloominess surrounding you on your way there.
A leather couch and armchairs stand in the middle, facing toward the window front. Colored windows, as you have gathered from the rumors. They are see-through now though, showing the city skyline and the moon up high. The chandelier on the ceiling is the only piece of furniture you would consider old. Browns meet hues of blue and dark green, a forest at midnight, and you suck in a sharp breath. The apartment is beautiful. 
You look to your left and see a bookshelf stretching the length of the wall. You can’t help but run your hand over the backs. You would have expected original editions from the 18th or 19th century, but when your fingers trace over the bindings, you are met with the bulging of Braille underneath the elegant golden writing of the titles. None of them seem to have collected dust. It surprises you to only find a mere handful of classics that haven’t been transcribed in Braille and a realization you did not expect starts to crawl its way forward.
“I stole that one from a library in Paris.”
Your racing heart stops beating. The book you’ve been holding falls to the ground, its worn-out leather cracking further around the spine. The thud is deafening. You gasp, turning around. Your shoulders fly up as the tension ripples through every last muscle in your bone. Your bones ache just from how stiff you’re standing, but you can’t move.
The man before you moves as quietly as a mouse. You didn’t hear him coming. The moonlight reflects off his dark brown hair, making it appear almost ginger. He’s wearing a simple suit without a tie, and the white of his shirt is as pristine and clean as the cut of his beard. You can see chest hair poking out from underneath the two open buttons, as dark as the locks on his head. His jawline is irresistibly sharp, leading up to a pair of plump lips he is wrapping around the brim of a crystal glass filled with rum.
Your heart remains frozen. Not a single drop of blood pumps through your veins, yet your cheeks burn brighter than a bonfire on a pitch-black night. 
But his flawless appearance is not what catches your attention the most. Looking up into his eyes, wanting to know whether they are as red as those set into the devil’s mask, you find nothing but your terrified reflection staring back at you. It’s as blurry as the picture of your face in a still ocean’s water, your wide eyes staring back at yourself. 
The red glasses are all you can see. Round with a black rim. Silver would have looked better on him, or maybe even gold. The black reminds you of an endless pit, a sinister embrace of vampire stereotypes, but you can’t look away from the maroon that won’t allow you even a glimpse into his eyes. They are shielding him from the world, and his eyes from curious, stupid humans like you.
He nods toward the ground. “You gonna pick that up?” he asks. His voice reminds you of rumbling gravel. 
He looks like a man. He talks like a man. If you didn’t know better, you would say he is human. There seems to be blood in his cheeks and air in his lungs. 
You have to pull yourself together. Clearing your throat, you bend down and pick the book back up.
“Thank you,” he utters your name. “It’s been a while since I’ve received visitors that don’t work for me.”
You put the book back on the shelf. Your lips are sewn shut; you can’t find the words. Every time you open your mouth like a fish on dry land, you close it again, and it is embarrassing to be standing in front of him with your guard down. 
“Welcome to my home,” he says. You wish you could see his eyes to know if he’s mocking you. “Do you want a drink, or do you need another minute to process?”
He is mocking you. His tone is gentle, as is his voice, but he smirks like a smug motherfucker, and your anger boils to a tipping point. The candle is about to burn out. 
“I–” you stammer. Internally, you curse yourself for being such a fool. 
“Another minute it is then.”
You don’t need a minute though. “You’re blind,” you blurt out. 
The beautiful—deadly—stranger nods. “Yeah.“
“How?”
“Accident when I was a kid.”
“But you’re…” you leave the missing part of that sentence hanging in the air like a noose. 
“Say it,” he murmurs. You want to say it sounds like a growl, but you’re not sure. He isn’t asserting dominance or trying to force you into submission by scaring you away, but he is toying with you regardless. 
You take a deep breath. The word, the truth, numbers your tongue and your lips with its weight. “A vampire,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper, matching his. 
His smirk broadens. He pushes his tongue against the inside of his cheek for a moment, then releases it as it darts out to wet his bottom lip. “I’m a blind vampire, yes,” he answers. “We’re rare, but we do exist.”
Blind vampires. In all of your years of fascination, that has never crossed your mind. You used to believe that they had healing abilities that far exceeded your own. You were wrong. He lost his eyesight before he got turned into a vampire. He lived as a blind human being and didn’t regain his most crucial sense when he died. 
He came back to life, but he died. It is surreal to stand across from him. He’s not just letters on a piece of paper, he is very much real. And he’s blind. 
“Oh, my God,” you curse.
That elicits a soft chuckle from him. “I was starting to think you wouldn’t come,” he says. 
“I was considering not to.” 
He sees right through you with those empty glasses. “That’s a lie.”
“How would you know?” you counter. 
“I can hear your heartbeat. The blood pumping in your veins…” His head tilts ever so slightly in your direction. You take a step back. It’s an instinct. “Your pulse picks up when you lie, or when you’re nervous, or both,” he states. “When you first saw me, your heart skipped a beat. It did again when you lied to me.”
Your eyes trail down to his thick thighs perfectly fitted in his tailored trousers. His thick digits pat the rhythm with his fingers on the fabric. Thud-thudthudthud-thud. You place a hand on your chest. He wasn’t wrong; your heart is racing. 
His smirk turns into a smile, but only briefly again. It’s a glimpse of humanity he doesn’t want you to see. “I like that sound,” he says. “Has anyone ever told you that you smell good? Sweet, sour, and a little salty. Natural. You don’t use a lot of artificial perfume, but you like cherry chapstick.”
You swallow, taking a whiff of your arm. Besides your deodorant masking the scent of your nervous sweat, you smell nothing. How good must his nose be? His hearing? His sense of taste? 
“Right now, sweat is dripping down your back, and your muscles are tense enough to strain against your bones every time you breathe. Your heart just skipped a beat again. You find it weird,” he muses. “I can’t turn it off, but I get it must be strange for you.” 
“You–” The blood has collected in your head, pushing the temperature in the room to an all-time high. “Get out of my body!” you snap. 
He laughs. “That’s a sentence I never thought I’d hear.”
“And I never thought you would ask for an audience with me, but here we are.”
“Here you are.” 
You want nothing more than to wipe that smirk off his face. He looks so smug, standing there with his drink, wearing a suit too fancy for his own home. He’s fully in his element. It’s scary how alluring he is, too. You don’t want to think that way, but as soon as your eyes gaze upon him again, your chest contracts, and you forget how to breathe. 
He’s a wolf, and you’re a lonely little sheep that doesn’t know any better. That lonely little sheep just wants to be a part of something bigger, even if that means surrendering herself to the big bad wolf. He wants a taste of her, and the sheep would give him that in a heartbeat if he just asked. 
You blink. There is a voice in your head, and it isn’t your own. Far from it. You don’t want to be associated with this stranger. She thinks she knows you. She thinks she knows what you want—the sheep in the eyes of her natural enemy. This voice is the most irrational you could be, and you need to stop letting her win.
And yet you—not just the voice of the lonely sheep you appear to be—would follow this man anywhere, even to hell if he asked you to. 
Your eyes drill knives into his skull, but they are also full of curiosity. Can he hear your thoughts? Your heart beats in your throat. You can taste it on your tongue. If you bit your lip, you would bleed, and he would probably fall into a frenzy. Still, your teeth dig into your bottom lip. What if he can hear your thoughts—hear how fucking needy you are? You’re pathetic. What he must think of you, standing across from him, smaller than human life itself. 
You want to read him, but he is far from an open book. He’s not Braille you can run your fingers over, and even if he was, you don’t know how to read it. He’s an enigma. His face is set in stone; an iron mask you can’t penetrate. 
His chest heaves with another chuckle. He sets the crystal glass down on the coffee table, taking a step forward. “No, I can’t read your mind,” he says. 
You flinch. “What?”
“Your breathing pattern. The way you look at me. I can sense that you’re thinking about something.” He adjusts his glasses. “It’s just… Most humans ask me if I can read their minds, you know. I can’t. Some vampires can, but my senses are the only heightened ability I have.” This time, when he chuckles, a hint of bitterness dances in his voice. 
“At least you’re not in my head then,” you say. 
“No.”
“Good.”
A pregnant pause follows. You clutch your bag to your chest, your fingers digging into the frame of your hidden laptop. 
“Can I offer you a drink?” he asks, pointing to his empty glass.
You wave him off. That’s the last thing on your mind. “No, thank you.”
Sometimes at night, you fantasize about diving into the abyss of darkness. It looks and sounds a terrifying lot like him. You want to know him. You need to know him. When it comes to him and this—whatever this is—the lines between want and need are blurring into an unidentifiable mess. It’s an ocean of emotions with no land in sight. A total eclipse of the heart, if you will. You’re losing your mind.
“What you can do–” You straighten your shoulder, hoping it will add height to your beaten confidence. “You can tell me your name. Sir,” you say. 
He nods. “I suppose it would only be fair, wouldn’t it?”
“Yes, it would.”
“Matthew. My name’s Matthew.” The softness of his features as his lips move to the rhythm of his words takes you back anew. His eyebrows raise slightly, and you catch a glimpse of a pair of beautiful, unfocused hazel eyes that steal your breath away. 
Matthew. It is a name that easily rolls off the tongue. It suits him.
You repeat his name aloud. “That’s an odd name for a 200-something-year-old man,” you point out. 
Matthew scoffs. “My parents were both Catholic.”
“I suppose you’re not?”
You hit a sore spot. His head dips, fingers running over his nails and tongue tracing his teeth. “Not anymore,” he says.
God died for him a long time ago, and all churches burned down.
Your grip on your bag loosens. “Then why Daredevil?” you ask. 
His lips part. “I, uh, have the Bulletin to thank for that one. After centuries of existing in this world, and being despised for no matter what I do, I’ve decided to embrace it. I am Daredevil, not even God can stop that now.”
Matt grabs his glass, turning away from you. He doesn’t use a cane to navigate from the couch to the mini bar on the other end of the room. You carefully follow his movements. One of his hands remains at his side, snapping his fingers as he navigates the familiar terrain of his home. 
He uncaps a half-empty bottle of Whiskey to pour himself another glass. 
“You know, Matthew,” you prompt, daring to step forward an inch, “as big as your reputation is in this part of the city, Silver Lining is not the kind of magazine that would cover your story.”
“You still came,” he says. 
“I could lose my job if anyone knew I came here.”
“And yet you’re here and not where you should be.” He turns his head over his shoulder. “You wouldn’t risk losing your job if it wasn’t important to you, would you?”
You stammer, “I–” He’s got you. You’re a fish with a hook in her mouth. 
“If Silver Lining Magazine won’t cover my story, why are you here?” Matt turns back to you, leaning back against the shiny Mahagoni of his minibar. It offers a beautiful contrast to his strong physique and the slight paleness of his skin. “Could it be because you’re fascinated by the mythic?” he asks, teasing. “By werewolves and witches and vampires?”
It’s your turn to scoff. “I won’t confirm or deny. My boss wouldn’t let me write a vampire vigilante exposé even if I begged him to.”
“And that’s why Mr. Doherty doesn’t deserve you.” Your body visibly recoils when he pushes forward, moving just an inch toward you. “Your curiosity is a virtue,” he purrs. The moonlight sets your reflection in his glasses alight. 
“Is that why you lured me here?” you ask him. “Because my curiosity is a virtue and you consider yourself better than the people in my life?”
“I didn’t lure you here, and I think you know that. That’s not what this is.” The distance between you starts to shrink, backing you into a corner. “I believe you came here because the thought of interviewing a vampire and sharing your findings with the world on your account excites you,” he says. “You want to be heard. You want to be taken seriously as a journalist, and you want to make people happy.”
The only way for you to come out of this with your pride and dignity still intact is to put up walls before the already existent labyrinth of walls keeping your heart guarded and your soul safe. “Again,” you ask, “why me?”
“Why not you? As I stated in my letter, I’m a fan of your work.”
You roll your eyes. “Yeah, about that. How did you write that if you’re blind?”
“I didn’t, my secretary did.”
“Of course.” Of course, he has a secretary. “I… I just don’t get it,” you say. “You’ve been hiding for so long–” 
Matt cuts you off with an urgency you didn’t expect, “Things have changed. Circumstances…” he trails off. 
“Wouldn’t it be a suicide mission?” 
His answer is silence. You let out an exasperated sigh. “If you want me to interview you, you have to be honest with me.”
“I’m not on the record yet.”
“Right. Maybe you can answer this though—off the record, of course—how can you be certain I didn’t call the cops or the FBI before I came here?”
His eyes crinkle. “I’m not stupid, sweetheart,” he says. 
He’s amused. You’re amusing him. 
“Don’t call me that,” you growl. 
He’s spreading you open, holding up a mirror for you to look into. It’s your miserable self in all its glory, and he knows you better than you know yourself. 
You ignore the sharp pain in your left ribcage as you pull the arrow out of your heart. “Unless someone holds up a sign that they are pro-vampirism, how would you even know I’d listen to you and not just refer you to the Journal of Psychiatry?” 
“Are you telling me you don’t believe in vampires?” Matt quips.
“That’s not… Answer my question!”
The sound of your heartbeat must sound almost like the rapid firing of a machine gun, that’s how fast your pulse is racing. Your veins threaten to burst with the excess blood. It’s a heat like no other. You’re a witch at the stake, and Matt is holding the torch to your gasoline-doused body. 
He clears his throat. Your face falls at the words that tumble out of his parted lips, and the rapid firing turns into a deafening silence and a monotone line on a heart monitor. 
“After what I’ve learned from reading Dr. Rice’s research on the phenomena of vampirism, I can confidently say this species is no different than an animal like the great white shark or the Homo sapiens sapiens—our kind,” he recites. “Vampires are a medium of fiction and propaganda to induce fear, but they are also a widely misunderstood species that is being silenced rather than heard. Our species, the human species, likes to consider themselves superior, even when we’re in a position of being someone’s natural food source. Dr. Rice’s research is based on a comprehensible set of facts, and isn’t that what we have been relying on ever since the beginning? Our psychology makes it possible for us to change the narrative in our favor, and more often than not, we ignore the very facts deemed by humans as an intellectual importance to spread the message of an entirely different agenda. Dr. Rice’s research only proves that egotism and humans themselves will be humankind's certain downfall.”
“My investigative journalism essay,” you breathe out. 
“Published by Columbia University.” 
Your heart restarts with a rush of adrenaline. “How… how do you know all of this?”
“I may be blind,” Matt says, “but I know how to read between the lines.”
“That doesn’t answer my question.”
The alcohol in his drink seems to have little effect on him. “I know you have questions, and I’m willing to answer them if you promise to publish a detailed report somewhere other than Silver Lining Magazine.”
You look down at your bag, then back at him. “Ben Urich could have told your story in a way that would’ve made people listen,” you murmur. “I don’t have an impressive career like him.”
“Yeah,” he smiles, “but you could have easily written ‘Attack on NYC’. Ben was a good man, an even better journalist, but he could not have written your college essay. And he could never have been you.” 
Your name rolls off his tongue—not a pretentious nickname that makes you want to vomit but your name, and it flicks a switch within you. 
You glance around the spacious living, pulling your laptop out of its confines, and you bridge the distance between you, finally. You notice he smells of sandalwood cologne and scentless soap. “Okay,” you cave. “Where do you want me to set up?”
Session 1.
The spacebar clicks underneath the tip of your index finger. The white of your screen fills with a series of red sequences as the microphone takes in every little sound around you. Except for the two of you and the fading footsteps of one of Matthew’s assistants though, the world has fallen silent in the dead of the night. He’s sitting across from you, legs crossed, head tilted; your life is about to change.
“So, Mister Murdock,” you begin, “tell me. How long have you been dead?” 
His mouth opens in a wide grin. “242 years,” he answers. 
“And what happened the year you died?”
“Well, it was 1782. I was a good few years out of law school. I was a good lawyer, but I wasn’t successful. That year, I met a beautiful woman at a banquet. I wasn’t rich—trust me, I was beyond penniless—but she had been adopted into a wealthy family, and that made her one of the richest women in the room. Everyone wanted her, but when I sensed her across the hall, she only had eyes for me. And she was the first woman to not see me just because I was blind.” He chuckles sadly. “I thought she was the woman of my dreams, the love of my life, but a few weeks later, after letting her into my life, I realized that she didn’t look at me that night because she was interested. She was hunting me. El— Miss Elektra Natchios…”
The year 1782 becomes apparent before your inner eye. As he tells you about the night he met her, you can see the dark-haired beauty making her way across the ballroom. Red lips and a gown to die for. Her dark eyes were full of mischief, but the passion in them could have knocked a grown man off of his feet. And that is just what she did to poor Matthew. 
“I was going to marry her,” he tells you.
He went to church regularly. His knees were bloody from praying, his senses already heightened before he died. God’s soldier, that is how he puts it. He was told that the accident that left him blind happened for a reason, and he had to fight a war that went beyond the country’s fight for independence. 
That summer, Elektra drained him. He didn’t know what she was. She fooled him. He was obsessed with her. Her dark eyes he couldn’t see lured her in, and it was the venom in her blood that became his downfall after she dug her teeth into him.
Matt tried to beg his priest for forgiveness, but he didn’t even make it past the marble stairs before the doors locked. He knelt in a pool of blood—both his and that of the first human he ever sucked dry to survive as a newborn vampire—offering an eternal sacrifice to Catholicism, but God abandoned him on his doorstep. 
The church walls would have been set on fire if he had touched them from the inside. 
You look up from your notepad to find him now standing at the window. He’s not looking out, of course, but he seems so deep in thought, the memories that aren’t your own but his start to dissipate, and you’re brought back to the here and now.
Matt poured his heart out to you. You expected answers, but not this kind, and certainly not of this magnitude. You see him in an entirely different light. He’s vulnerable, fragile, and human. He has endured trauma that killed him, but he couldn’t die because the woman he loved made him immortal. It’s a bigger curse than growing up with the belief that an accident made you God’s soldier. 
He lost everything. For centuries, he has had to live with that. It’s killing you, feeling his pain, the pure agony that radiates off him. 
Your voice is quiet when you ask him, “What was it like?” You don’t have to say it out loud for him to know what you are referencing.
Matt chuckles, the sound a mere breath in the atmosphere. “Like she took my soul from my body, setting fire to my belief system and already heightened senses,” he says. 
You swallow. “That sounds… overstimulating.”
“It was. Is. My heart stopped, but when that happened, something else awoke inside me. The hunger… the hunger was the worst part. It’s insatiable. One hour passes, and you feel like you’ve been starving for weeks.”
“Like you’ve been possessed by a demon?”
“Like I am the demon.”
“But you’re not.” You should stop the recording. You’re not on track; you’re incorporating your feelings into Matt’s story, but you can’t help it. The words tumble out of your mouth without a second thought, a train that cannot be stopped. 
He raises his eyebrows, you can see it in his reflection in the windows. “Are you religious?” he asks.
You shake your head. “This isn’t about me.”
“Are you?”
The veins on the back of his hands bulge as he balls them to fists at his sides. Your throat is a desert, and your heartbeat resembles a storm that burns right through it, sending the sand flying in all directions of the horizon.
You adjust in your seat, crossing one leg over the other. He takes a whiff. He’s smelling you, and that doesn’t help the speed of your pulse to calm down. 
Tapping your pen on your notepad, you watch the red sequences fill the white space of the recording program. It moves with the sound of your voice when you finally dare to answer. “It’s a complicated question because there is a difference between believing in God and believing in the church,” you say.
“Do you believe in God then?” Matt asks. It’s as though he’s trying not to seethe at the mere mention of someone he used to worship. You make a note of that.
“There is so much bad in this world. So much cruelty. I can’t…” You take a deep breath. “I don’t know how to believe in a God that would let the things humans do to each other happen. If God existed—if he was as merciful as Christians like to claim, he wouldn’t let this happen. And I’m so sick and tired of people using their faith, and their beliefs in God and the church as justification to be disrespectful. I don’t understand it. How can anyone? Why is someone who has to drink blood to stay alive—someone who didn’t even choose this life—worth less and the devil’s breed when humans do worse things to each other? Why would God allow us to start wars that kill innocent people? Children? It’s just not fair that we treat ourselves and others as though we are already in hell, and we’re just supposed to accept that God doesn’t care—” You stop yourself, the tears burning behind your eyes. 
Matt turns back around. You can’t look away. “When I was still human,” he murmurs, “I used to believe everything that happened to me was God’s will. The accident, God’s will. Me going blind, God’s will. I went to confession, prayed until my knees were bloody and bruised. I tried convincing myself that every scream I heard from down the block, every person who lost their life or their innocence was my responsibility. God made me this way for a reason, right?” The scoff is as bitter as the liquor in his glass. “I fell apart, you know. I was a kid, so I didn’t understand. I didn’t understand what was happening to me,” he tells you. 
You hold your breath. The glasses slip from his eyes as he takes them off with shaky fingers. You are met with the most beautiful pair of hazel eyes. Emotions dance a heated tango in a tornado. If you look closer, the green specks bring life to his eyes. It’s human nature in the purest sense of the word. 
Your reflection stands in his irises, his unmoving pupils, and the tears glisten in his eyes. They’re as red as blood, watered-down crimson essence. You want to reach out and stroke his cheek, but that would be crossing a very big line that you can’t bring yourself up to touch. 
“I studied law because I thought it would change something,” he continues. You listen. It’s the only thing you can do—listen. “It wasn’t enough. Nothing I ever did felt like it was enough. I lost my father. Jack. I didn’t know my mother until it was too late. Maggie. I had no one. No money, no prospects, just me and those voices in my head, telling me I was supposed to be God’s soldier.”
“You’re not,” you cut in. 
He shakes his head. “I prayed; I crawled up the stairs of the church, and I spent hours repenting for my sins. I bled myself dry for Him. I sacrificed myself. I sacrificed my youth, my heart, and my soul, and I got nothing back. I begged for help until my voice was sore, but nothing… God, nothing was ever good enough. Until Elektra came around,” he says. 
“She changed everything for you. It makes sense. She turned you into a vampire, but she also loved you.”
“She did love me, in her own twisted way.”
“It’s what you deserved,” you say.
He isn’t yours, but the pang you feel in your chest is treacherous. Your heart cracks like a porcelain vase, jealousy creeping in like a parasite of toxic waste.
In response, Matt only chuckles bitterly. “She made me believe again, then took my soul and crushed it in her hand.” The correction makes your shoulders slump. “Instead of feeling like my world ended though, I felt at peace when she sucked the blood out of my veins and fed me her venom,” he says. “It’s sick, I know. I was aware I died that night, that she turned me into a devil who could only survive if he drank the blood of others. The Catholic in me struggled to accept it, but I had no choice but to embrace what she made me.”
“And where is she now?” you ask.
“Gone.” The light in his eyes has fully disappeared now. “I stayed with her for a while until she died in my arms. She showed me what love is, and she showed me heartbreak. She made me hungry for blood, awakening the devil I’ve been trying to tame. She taught me how to feed, how to hunt, and how to chase. But she also cursed me,” he says. “I only exist for myself now. I only bleed for myself. No God, no church, and no more religion. I’m not Jesus, I’m Judas, and I retired the cross the day I was crucified.”
You have run out of questions to ask. Too overwhelming is the sight of his walls crumbling down, this stranger you now know better than any living being seems to. You no longer see money in this, or a story to chase, you only see Matthew, and the halo above his head he still believes is a pair of horns. The world broke him. His faith in God broke him. It crushed him, and he lost everything. How broken he must be. 
“Not such a pretty story when I say it out loud, huh?” He scoffs.
The spacebar clicks again. The recording comes to a sudden halt. One hour and fifty-eight minutes, the first session of your interview with the vampire. You need to put a halt to it now because what you are about to say or do as you reach your hand out to brush his cold, dead skin is not something that should be found on a record. And you won’t ever tell.
Matt pulls away when your warm fingertips brush his. You’re standing across from him now, so close he can smell, hear, and feel all of you at once.
Your touch is the holy water that burns his skin, but the fire sustains him and shoots straight to his core the same way the blood rushes to yours.
“It’s not a pretty story, no,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper, “but it did tell me what I already knew.”
“And what’s that?” he asks.
“That you’re not evil. You’re not the Devil. You’re misunderstood. You’ve been beaten; you’ve been abandoned, hurt, and broken. That doesn’t make you a monster. Trying to make this city a better place does not make you a monster.”
“If you only knew the things I’ve done…”
“I know the rumors suggest that you were the one who fought Wilson Fisk and got this city back where it needed to be. You’ve saved countless women from the worst of fates. You are the reason the innocent people of Hell’s Kitchen feel safe. By picking up that mask, you became a hero, not a villain, and that is the story I want to tell.”
In lightspeed, he has moved you from the window to the other end of the room. Your back hits the wall. 
Matt towers over you in all of his intimidating glory. His eyes spark red, but you hold his unfocused gaze. He has such beautiful eyes. This pull between you is far from human; it’s unhealthy, and it is exactly where he wanted to get you. You’re trapped, pinned underneath him like a deer caught in headlights. 
Exhaling, your breath strokes his cheeks. He closes his eyes, savoring the taste of you. Every particle in the air, he inhales. His tongue darts out to lick his lips. Oh, what you wouldn’t do to suck that tongue into your mouth. 
Your pheromones play his head like a puppeteer pulling the strings of his marionette. He growls. “Do you have any idea how dangerous I am?” 
The moonlight catches his sparkling white teeth. This time though, you come face to face with the sharp edges of his previously concealed fangs. Your jaw drops open. He’s ethereal. 
“I could snap your neck—” Matt places his hand on your neck, “I could make that heart stop beating, take the air from your lungs. I could eat you…” He traces the vein in your throat from your jaw to your collarbone. “I could bite you and suck your blood until you’re empty. I could kill you, sweetheart. My kind is your natural enemy. You shouldn’t be here.”
You shudder. His nose brushes the sensitive skin below your ear. He’s so close you can smell him. On inhale, and his scent consumes your senses. He is all you can feel now. You reach out to hold onto his arms, his muscles tensing under your teeth. He’s big and strong, and those hands have a mind of their own as they begin to wander but never where you need him most. 
You shouldn’t be here, yet you came. He asked you to him, and you complied. Is this your fate now? Chasing after your big bad wolf like the helpless sheep that you are?
Your walls clench around an agonizing emptiness, your swollen clit brushing against your soaked underwear. Whatever he is doing to you, it’s the cruelest form of torture. 
A strangled noise breaks out of the back of his throat, rumbling in his chest. “You have no idea how badly I want to taste you,” he breathes. 
“Do it,” you beg. “Taste me.”
He utters your name again. “Stop.”
“Please.”
Your tone shatters him. When he kisses you, finally, fireworks explode in the universe around you. All the stars seem to finally align. Your heart opens, and it sucks him right into you. Your soul yearns for him. He’s so close yet so far away. 
The moon stands between you, but you cross even that ocean as you push against him, forcing your tongue into his mouth. He takes like heaven and hell; he’s the apple Eve bit into and cursed her for all eternity. But he’s also the snake, the one who compelled you to take this journey of bad decisions and jump right off the cliff’s edge. You melt into him like a broken candle. 
He pulls away. Those fangs are alluring, as sharp as a knife’s tip. You want to know what it would feel like gracing your skin, digging into your as he thrusts his cock into your tight cunt. The thought alone sends your mind into a spiral.
Your lips are swollen, but he has yet to draw blood. Matt looks as though he wouldn’t dare, his eyes darting around in a darkened conflict he feels might cost him more than your dignity. You are begging for it, as is your body, but he’s holding himself back. He’s the one who tied himself to an invisible pillar, keeping his hands locked behind his back. But that is not the Matt you want. 
You lean your head to the side, exposing the length of his neck. All control has slipped from your fingers. It’s in his hands now—you are. He cups your head gently. A mere few inches lie between your fountain and his lips.
You press a kiss to his calloused palm—a desperate and needy kiss, tracing your tongue over the lines that tell his life’s story in a way no interview can retell—and it is then he is forever done for. He’s doomed, and you are the second woman to pull him under the pits of hell. 
Saliva drips from his fangs. You hold your breath. He hisses, a weak admission of surrender; the words die miserably on your tongue when his lips close around your pulse point with all his might, and his teeth drive home. 
You moan aloud. Your fingers tangle in his hair, forcing him deeper as he sucks the dark red essence out of your vein. The sensation is more than you bargained for. It’s a drug that wrecks your system. The synapses in your brain backfire with all their might, and what follows the initial explosion of pleasure shooting white hot through your being is complete and utter silence as this God of a man feeds on you. 
The invisible string between you glows a bright crimson. It slings around you, tying you together like the roots of a tree. It’s an eternal sacrifice. You are giving your all to him, the very core of your existence that is now flowing into his mouth. You swear you can hear his thoughts mingle with yours. Yes, more, please. You taste so good. Your knees buckle, but you remain standing strong. He makes sure you don’t fall. Don’t slip away from me. I need you. 
A tear rolls down your cheek. You could sob. It feels so good—too good to be true. In that moment, you become one. There is no telling where one begins and the other ends. The coil in your stomach tightens, and the only pain you feel is the pleasure threatening to overwhelm you. He’s taking everything as you give him everything, but it is not enough. It has never been enough. 
When your body struggles to catch up with the lack of blood, he pulls away. His fangs drag out of your neck agonizingly slowly. You whimper at the sudden loss.
Matt catches you as you stumble into his arms. “You okay?” He cradles your face, brushing the hair out of your face. Your blood stains his lips. Blinking up at him, the force of your metaphysical connection slaps you awake. 
You cease to exist in all solar systems but his. 
He pokes the tip of his index finger with the sharp edge of one tooth, sliding it over the two holes that are pulsating with the work of your heartbeat.
“I shouldn’t have—” he begins. 
“No,” you say. “You did exactly what you should have.”
“I couldn’t stop.”
“But you did.” You wipe the blood from his mouth. “And I felt you. I only felt you.”
The living room passes by you. Before you know it, your back lands on something much softer than a concrete wall. He’s not a monster, that one, but he surely is an animal. 
You taste your blood on Matt’s luscious lips as he devours your tongue. It tastes of copper and a little bitter, but that is what makes him moan. That sound is the last thing you could ever grow tired of. 
His palm rests on your chest. Your heart pounds against his palm. “You’re so alive,” he says.
You cradle his face in your hands. “And you’re more human than you think.”
If he wanted to pull your heart out and hold it, you would let him in a heartbeat. 
He leans you back. He strips you bare. He kisses down your body like you are a fucking masterpiece for him to explore. That is how he sees you. 
Your head falls back. The kisses wander from your hips to the inside of your thighs. Every kiss brings his breath closer to your center. Matt pulls them apart. He opens you up to him. Your scent clouds his senses, and he groans, but he doesn’t touch. 
His fangs graze your skin. “Mine,” he growls. 
You gasp. He bites into the sensitive flesh. Hard, passionately. Your legs wrap around his head, trapping him there. He sucks, and he sucks, and he drinks, and the wetness pools out of your cunt in an obscene amount. This is foreplay to him. It drives you toward the edge leading to an abyss you are afraid you might never be able to crawl back out of. There is no bottom, it is just a pit, and he’s pushing you closer and closer, and—
Your back arches, but he pulls away before the coil can snap into a million butterflies. He pries your legs away from his head, spreading them further on the mattress, as far apart as they will go. 
Breakfast, lunch, and dinner have been served on a silver platter. He breathes in. The scent of your soaked pussy sticks to the hairs in his nose. It isn’t enough. He breathes in again, your arousal sweeter than fiction. You’re everything and more. He wants to taste that part of you more than anything, suck up the slick that is soaking the sheets—and you didn’t even think that was possible—but he waits because he needs to savor it. He doesn’t want it to be over too soon. neither for him nor for you. 
The blood is still dripping from his tongue and his fangs, and the raw inside of your thigh. He runs his finger through it. The sting runs from the wound to your folds, then back down. Still, he doesn’t touch. He plays with the blood, sucking on his fingers until they’re clean, and then he dives back in for a taste. He doesn’t bite, he kisses and sucks, but he doesn’t push it further. He doesn’t hurt you. 
You’re his saving grace; he has to worship you. Pain only has a place in pleasure. 
“Matthew,” you moan. 
He chuckles, kissing where his fangs left deep indentations. “No one will ever touch you again,” he purrs. “I’ll make sure of that.” 
You try to protest, but the words die on your tongue when he leans in, capturing your clit with his hungry mouth. The wound on your thigh closes. The blood from his lips mixes with your juices, and you cry out at the intensity of it all. 
He eats you with the ferocity of a man starved for weeks. He eats your pussy like he ate your blood, savoring every drop but still feasting for the taste to spread out in his mouth like wildfire. Sour, sweet, and copper. He sucks your sensitive clit into his mouth. His tongue drags through your folds, up and down, and then the tip slides inside, tasting your walls. He grows bolder as your moans accelerate. 
Matt cradles your thighs. He forces your hips back down to the mattress, stronger than the average human man. You have to endure his beard scratching and burning, and the pace he has set.
The orgasm creeps up on you. Before you know it, he has plunged his tongue into you, and your body convulses around him. You scream into a pillow as you come. 
You are each other’s forbidden fruit. No prayer in the world could keep you apart. 
Faintly, you can hear him say, “Good girl.” Your legs quiver. He pulls away, then comes right back like a boomerang. 
He’s warm now. He was cold before, but when he kisses you this time, he’s warm. He’s hot. You run your hands over his bare chest, the scars that lie under the dark strands of hair. You tug at it, and he moans. You can tell he is a little insecure, but by pressing your lips to one of the cuts on his shoulder, he relaxes. 
What he must have endured, what he must have lived through before he died and was resurrected in the same breath, just without a beating heart—you don’t want to think about it or you will break, but you can still feel him through the crimson tie that holds you together, and you know that he has suffered enough for more than two lifetimes. You wish you could take it all away from him. You wish you could have saved him before it was too late, loved him more than the woman who turned him, but turning back time is an impossibility. You are both acutely aware of that. 
“Hey.” Matt tilts your head toward him. “Where did you just go?” he asks. 
“Thinking about you,” you murmur. 
“Me?”
“You.”
“Why?”
“Because I want to be your salvation.”
You. His salvation. He kisses you, softly this time. He pours gratitude into his lips and bleeds them out in poetry as they slide into your mouth, and you swallow every last drop. 
If someone had told you a week ago where you would see yourself on that particular Monday, you would have laughed at them. And if someone had told you a week ago that you would be making love to the devil, you would have called them crazy. But it’s happening. 
He thrusts into you without a warning. His thick cock fills you like nothing and no one ever has before. Your cunt has been molded to fit him, you’re sure. You take him in, and you moan at the stretch. It’s a pain so delicious you could fall apart right then and there just from the feel of him inside you. 
Every thrust drags the tip of his cock along your sweet spot. Every added sensation drives you closer to your death. 
Your body tingles. He explores your face with his lips rather than his fingers, moving to your neck again. You cling to him, oh-so-desperate for him. He likes you like that, and you like him like that. 
“You’re fucking with my head,” he tells you. “Offering your pussy to a vampire. Letting me drink your blood. Begging me to fuck you. You’re in my head, baby. Can’t get you out of my system. Fuck.”
You are his downfall, his salvation, but he is all of those things to you as well—all of those things and more. If he could read your mind, you would tell him that. Words can’t do justice to how you feel. Not right now, maybe not ever. 
“Bite me again,” you beg.
His thrusts falter. He searches your body for any sign of regret. His fangs come out, and he buries them deep in your jugular vein. The floodgates open wide. Your walls clench around his cock, your clit pulsates, and the wave crashes into you. 
You come as he devours your neck and your blood. You transcend into another dimension, far away from everything and everyone but never him. Never Matthew.
The sensation of you wraps around him like a weighted blanket. His balls tighten, your blood unfolding its taste on his tongue. You are all over him, inside of him, everywhere at once. He falls head-first, dragging you down with him. 
He comes with a shout that is only muffled through his teeth buried in your flesh, his cum spurting into you and filling your cunt to the brim. Your eyes roll back. You’re flying and falling all at once. 
Oh, how good it feels to be consumed by him. To be fucked and sucked dry. You would have never expected this to come out of your week, let alone your life, but now that it has happened, you are floating on cloud nine. 
Dizziness threatens to take over, but before you can pass out, he forces himself away, allowing your heart to catch up with the lack of blood in your system. He collapses on top of you. His cock softens, but he stays inside. You need him there. You want him there. And that is the only place he wants to rest tonight. 
He heals the wounds on your neck. “You have a mark,” Matt rasps, tracing your skin with his finger. 
You choke out, “Yours.”
“Yes, you are.” He kisses you there. Once, twice, even a third time. “Mine,” he says.
You’re his. He’s yours. It doesn’t get any better than this. 
The minutes tick away on the obnoxious clock on the wall. Matt pulls out eventually, wrapping you up in a blanket. He coaxes you to drink, but you’re barely lucid. Only when he begins to stroke your hair you start coming back to yourself. You thought you might regret it, but as you look at him, his almost guilty eyes staring back at you, all you can do is reach out for him. 
“Session two tomorrow?” you ask.
He chuckles and retorts, “Have I not scared you away?” There is some truth to it though.
He’s covered in your blood. It sticks to his lips, his hands, and his chest. It’s sickeningly intimate, in a way.
You shake your head in response. “You could not possibly.”
He listens to your heartbeat. You’re as honest as they come. 
“Okay,” Matt says. “Session two tomorrow then.”
That night, you fell in love with the Devil, but he also fell in love with you, his angel in the form of a reckless journalist, and the only blood he ever wants to taste again until the end of his miserable, cursed days. 
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tswwwit · 3 hours
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(sorry, this got way long, and maybe a little sappy, but i didn't want to spam with multiple asks)
so i just finished reading the most recent chapter of the cultist reincarnation au, and i love it so so much.
my personal fave part is bills little rivalry with the mini bill plush. bill waited for so long to see his husband again, and this little plush is getting all of the affection bill wants, i love it. i hope dipper keeps it around after getting all his memories back, because it is a wonderful way to tease bill. just 'fine, i'll just go hug and kiss my new, better husband!' said as dipper walks off with mini bill just to annoy bill.
after reading that chapter i started rereading the entire familiar au (or like 95% of everything that was written for it including snippits, pov changes, and multipart stories, thanks to weirdeggi's masterpost) and its so so fun and interesting seeing bill go from a demonic jackass who barely tolerates his human, to seeing him put so much time, care, and patience into making sure the cultist reincarnation of dipper feels comfortable and relaxed around him. while seeing dipper go from timid and ignorant in the beginning to confident and knowledgeable with the ability to handle all of bills tricks easily.
it's just all so good and you write the characters so so well, i love them so much. i love seeing how much they've grown and drove each other insane/sane. the world building is so well done, especially with how the magic works and affects things. i've read these stories so many times over the years and as they come out, and each new one is always a delight. no pressure on you to rush of course, please take your time, but know that any new fic or chapter you post has at least one person eager to read and enjoy it.
(the rest of this is just going to be fun questions that popped up while rereading, no pressure on answering them, i just thought of them while reading and thought they'd be fun to ask and share)
I am curious about how bill views or thinks about his 'sickness' after the events of confessing it, and if that's different from several reincarnations later. cause i know in the bill v bill fic the other bill still calls it a sickness, and while i know our bill is happy as hell, i do wonder if he still thinks its a sickness or a curse, even if its the best thing to ever happen to him.
i'd also be interested to know if dipper ever makes friends with any demons, cause like i know in confessing it he meets pyronica and she reminds him of mabel, and he kinda got along with the spider centaur demon, but it would be neat to know if he ever makes actual friends with any demons, and if those friendships 1) make bill jealous 2) last over several reincarnations
speaking of the reincarnation, i'm curious when in their relationship that those two put that plan into action. like if it was still early into their relationship or if it was as dipper got older and his days got more numbered. i know bill thinks of it kind of early on while they're together, but that doesn't mean it's put into action right away.
it would be neat to see how all bills henchmen eventually see the whole bond too. i know in confessing it they see bill acting all weird with dipper, and how much his human affects bills mood, so im sure they know its better to have him around even if for a little while. but its fun to think that later down the line when the reincarnations pop up its viewed more as 'vacation time' when the henchmen don't have to take over reality and can relax while bills off smooching his mortal.
Thanks so much; I'm really glad you've enjoyed the fic! If it's been half as fun to read as it's been to write I'll have accomplished a ton.
Okay, onto the questions:
1: Bill likely still considers it a sort of sickness/curse, but like. Not a bad one, necessarily. While his relationship is way weird for a demon, that's actually great! He's the master of weirdness! If it weirds out other beings or confuses the hell out of them, that's proof that he's the best in the biz, baby. And he's very, very happy.
2: Dipper probably does make some demon friends/acquaintances. It's only natural after multiple lifetimes running in the same circles with eternal beings. Given a friendship in one lifetime, it's likely the demons' assumption that they'll just pick back up where they left off! Neat new body, how's it suiting you? (The familiarity weirds out Dipper incarnations until they get their memories back.)
I don't think Bill's jealous of them, though. Hanging out with buddies doesn't register as 'competition' for Dipper's affections, in the same way that Dipper's not jealous of the henchmaniacs.
3: I haven't decided exactly when they settle on the reincarnation thing, but likely it's after a near-death experience. Maybe even post-whump!
4: Speaking of those henchmen! They're eventually gonna get used to Bill being hitched. Not like they have a choice in the matter; Dipper's not going anywhere.
The new status quo is pretty weird, but they knew what they were getting into in regards to 'weird' - and frankly, Bill's in a vastly better mood whenever his husband's home. Something that puts the Boss in a cheerful Fun Times Interdimensional Crimes Party mood? When he gets pissy there's a human who deals with it, rather than Bill lashing out and picking on whoever's closest? Absolutely! They're all for it! Once those Big Upsides become apparent, they're gonna be pleased to see Dipper hanging around.
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scribbyizback · 2 days
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i have no idea what the abandoned carnival au is but I 100% support rambling so here's your opportunity to ramble about whatever you wanna say about it!
(and if you're like me and can't answer non-specific questions here's some for ya:
What are the character's worst flaws? How do they interact with other characters? Is there any specific event that stuck with them from their past? How do others treat them? Any significant traits important to the plot?)
Hope your day's goin well!
WHAAAAG I LOVE YOU MINUTE/P !!!!! ok no one would really know much abt the carnival au because I haven't mentioned it really um haha. I did draw the moon for this au in Sundays daycare magma so yay if you need a face to the name you have one!
urm let's see here. so, for moon, I think his worst flaw is being unable to communicate properly. He struggles to keep things happy, he really does bring things down a lot and that's a flaw pushed on him by the process of his paranormal creation. what who said that.
sun's worst problem is his pride. he refuses to admit when he's wrong and he refuses to TALK about whatever he was wrong about. he's a 'drop it, I don't want to talk about this' kinda guy. he's a professional ghoster, if I do say so myself. totally not a pun linked to his paranormal creation. whaaat who keeps saying these things??? seriously this is crazy!!!
moon doesn't MEAN to push people away, he was made to operate a carousel, not make friends. But if he knows that someone is worth keeping ther, dedicated to staying with him, he can be soso clingy. he still has to rely on others though, otherwise he can't run, just like a music box. Sun has major people person energy, but he still gets so overwhelmed. He took on over 5 jobs around the entire carnival, between both entertainment and upkeep. so he has an overall energetic personality, bit when he burns out he burns out HARD. this makes him often irritable or overbearing for a lot of people, but he balanced it out between him and moon.
the fire. whenever the carnival closed down for the night. the missing kids. what happened to everybody else around here?
no, nothing much.
they really CANT get out much anymore, they've really tied down their roots since the place stopped moving from town to town way back in '47! furthermore, they cannot really talk to much of anybody but each other! and moon hasn't been wound up since the carnival wasn't needed anymore! that's why sun was SOOO happy when a human- you - showed up! can you believe it? moon enjoys your company too, but someone can only spend 60+ years in solitude for oh so long! can you imagine not aging, because you're nothing more than a puppet- a doll inside the puppet?? oh, he has so many things to show you!!! you're quite nice, probably not well suited to hang around such a guy all down in the dumps all the time! not that moon complains, having someone willing to care so much about him just the same- isn't that COOL??
Sun wasn't always supposed to take over all these other jobs. He used to be happier, calmer. I wonder what made him so tense. He's always stuck in a nervous state, no matter how happy he is around you. Moon wasn't always sad- he used to be a happy and mischievous guy that would even dance along to his music. hard to believe how broken down the tunes of the calliope have gotten.
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liesmyth · 1 day
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Okay this is weirdly specific and obvs if the answer requires doxing yourself don't answer but hjdkfg fave places to go running at? I started going on more walks and it's so fun to explore the local space!!
no worries! I'm very alright with telling people I live in Rome, a city of 3 million people. you can all have that for free etc. (actually, I'm very braggy about it. borderline obnoxious, ngl. Think the Italy equivalent of a New Yorker)
Also!!! I LOVE THIS QUESTION SO MUCH. It made me go through Strava history and dig some running pic I took.
the appia antica route!
if you (generic you) are ever in Rome, there's a lovely green area along the old Appia way that's great for running but also for picnics. My favourite local road race (coming up next month!!) is partly along that route and it's SO beautiful. It's one of those places that make you feel you're genuinely grateful you have a body to move around in and experience the wind and the sun and the mosquitoes in your teeth and the achy calves from doing a few km on cobblestones. It's a very large green area (Appia Antica / Parco degli Acquedotti / Parco di Tor Fiscale / Parco della Caffarella) and there are so many fun trails and paths.
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Lungotevere / centro storico swag
Sometimes u (me) gotta flex and be like "oh, look, I live in Rome" and just plot your long run so that you end up by the Vatican or whatever. There's a route along the Tiber river that's technically a bike lane but it's large enough to run safely, and it's really fun for Sunday runs / whenever you have a bit of time to actually get there.
There are other really great running spots in central Rome like any of the parks (Villa Borghese, Villa Ada etc. and EYE don't really do it often but it's very nice)
Here's a pic! Not mine
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Country roads take me home etc — Castelli Romani
Hilly towns just outside the city that have veeery fun trails and countryside views! You have to actually get there so it's a bit involved, and then once you're there you're like "why the fuck did I think running up a hill was a good idea?" but if you DO like running up hills, it's fun. I like going in the summer for longer runs and I don't bring any snacks just absolutely gorge myself on blackberries from the bushes.
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My beloved neighbourhood run.
I love walking out of the door and just going for it! It's very entertaining as far as "neighbourhood routes" go. It's a decently safe area, I can stay well clear of cars, there's a car park I can do sprints in (and, occasionally, will see people fucking in cars, as one does) and some green. I wish it had a bit more elevation, but there's a stretch of road that's decently hilly so I can't complain + there are some VERY interesting characters and sights. Alas, it's within sniffing distance of a bakery AND a steakhouse, so there isn't a time of the day I can run at without getting hungry along the way, but I don't mind — I have been known to plot a route so that I finish right in front of a bakery for breakfast.
no landmark photos for obvious reasons but here are some cute birdies I saw running a few weeks ago
Holiday run!
One thing I really love to do on holiday is go run around a new city / any place I've never been in, and exploring new places while I'm at it. Some of my most beloved holiday memories are of running early in the morning in new places. Sometimes it backfires horribly and you end up on a muddy path at six thirty AM with water in your shoes and frantically trying to match your phone GPS with that of the route you downloaded yesterday, but it's usually worth it. These are a few photos I had on my phone — the beach is somewhere along lake Garda, and it's been years and I still remember that run with a lot of fondness. Also, another time I got lost in the middle of nowhere in Tuscany and ended up chatting with an incredibly MILFy American tourist who was also out running and that too is a fond memory... anyway. Holiday runs my beloved
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Hi!!! How can deductions be used in day to day life, or like, usefully? And how have you made useful deductions? Sorry if that made little sense
Hi! I see you sent this question in the past two days, i'll gladly answer it, but in case you send any other questions in the future and i don't answer them as quickly i'll inform you that usually all the questions of the week are collected in my inbox and you'd get your answer on a Monday (this week i had some scheduling problems so i pushed it to Wednesday), so if you don't get as quick an answer next time just wait for Monday!
Now, regarding your question! There's many ways deduction can be used in daily life, sometimes it even depends on what you do for a living. For example i know psychologists and other healthcare profesionals have to rely on non verbal communication and information they gather from observation, along with what they're told, since patients can't be relied upon to be transparent and honest all the time, or even know what information is releant to share. In this case deduction can be massively useful.
On a more general note, it depends a lot on the type of relationships you have, i know people who use deduction to interact with their friends, it allows them to know when they're feeling upset or worried, and about what, and act accordingly, all without needing to do more than just glance at them. I know people who use deduction to navigate social situations because they're not good at interacting with people and having the extra information deduction provides helps. Personally i'm someone that introduces deduction into everything i do, from acquiring helpful knowledge when talking to superiors, to knowing what waiter is best to call over at my table cause they've gotten more hours of sleep.
I recommend you watch Sherlock, House M.D., The Mentalist, and all of these deduction heavy shows that sometimes showcase how these characters use their skills casually, it's really not much different than what you see there. If you want a blog that really goes into casual uses of dedduction i'd check out @froogboi 's blog, it's full of everyday life uses of deduction
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meriwether-fr · 29 days
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smth smth thinkin about a guardian doing the kindest thing they can do when met with a charge who would hate being guarded or tethered like a charge would & staying away despite the incessant innate urge to do the opposite
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bragganhyl · 5 months
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ngl these "which eoran god is/isn't problematic" polls make me wanna rant about Magran but I don't have the braincells rn
edit: i did end up ranting in the tags whoopsie lmao
#hablaty#I love magran as a character and as an... imperfect to say the least goddess#but I will also blow a gasket if my fire godlike watcher won't ever get the option to drive a sword through her heart#bc holy shit do i also hate her#she too is a ''god of staying in your lane'' really she only ever steps in to intervene if some god or another starts shit#thing is tho: her followers aren't like her#a lot of folks of the violent murder hobo variety is drawn to her bc god of fire and war and whatnot#but if you read the codex entries on her she doesn't actually urge people to start wars#the doctrines are actually more along the lines of ''don't start shit take no shit'' or idk#don't go out of your way to start a conflict for no reason but be always ready for war basically#she pushes people to embrace their power and strive for bettering themselves through struggle#problem is that bc like i said she ghosts her followers a lot of her followers will just take these doctrines to justify their atrocities#she doesn't want eothasians gone bc she doesn't care enough about them to want that#she doesn't want animancers gone bc she supports animancy#but she won't stop her followers bc she doesn't interfere with kith unless she has to protect them from the other gods#but also on the flip side if she does step in she will stop at nothing to win#even if that means building god killing weapons and then having her priests off themselves deploying it#even if that means wiping out her own fire giant children in a volcanic eruption (whomst you can save btw pls save the rathunn they're nice#and even if that means eating the souls of her godlike children who#magran is incredible cruel and also very cool and I have very complex feelings on her and just aaaa
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ricoka · 2 months
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sometimes I wish you could post an opinion on a fandom blog without inviting a whole witch hunt or being accused of causing drama but alas
#I've not done anything and i won't do anything#it's just something that's annoying?? that you can't say anything without someone doing a bad faith interpretation of it#or projecting it on themselves or getting offended on behalf of a fictional character#the few times i saw someone actually say something slightly controversial all hell broke loose every time#like great that you're passionate but not everything is about you#not everything needs your opinion - especially if you can only give it like a lecture#not everything has malicious intentions#people disagreeing with you have a right to their opinions as well - as long as you respect theirs they should respect yours#the thing is - i don't think I've ever been in a fandom that didn't have to deal with like ship wars or someone doing hate campaigns#of a character or ship - i guess that's just the way it is??#but here it feels especially tiring because people don't usually disagree on ships#people are literally fighting and hating each other mainly over the same two characters!!! and their different interpretations of them#people disagree over what the right and moral way is to portray and ship those characters#and it creates so much tension because you can't associate with those people because they're doing it wrong#and are acting fucking awful about it#but those people are very exclusionary and if you don't agree with all of their points they don't want to talk to you either#you just float along hoping that you'll find some people who have a similar interpretation and will actually talk to you#it's so weird??? it's so isolating too??#and it feels like you entered a political landscape in your online fandom space#i will probably delete this and I'm not even sure my thoughts make sense#my thoughts spiralled a bit from thinking how some fan interpretations annoy me into disliking a character hahaha
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Recent sky photos 
#still... I am not joking.. every time I post things like this it is so hard to narrow them down#I am almost as obsessed with the sky as I am with cats. I have a folder of just cloud pictures with like 650 photos in it right now#I don't post them all because I think it'd seem repetitive probably but just know... lol#that could be an entire blog or something.. hundreds and hundreds...#Like the same way that I cannot explain my obsession with cats or why they've imprinted into my brain so heavily - clouds are the same way#anyway.. .still have the costume photos and stuff like that I just havent edited and posted yet lol.. I will.. hoepfully have actual art#content and stuff thats not just random cat photos sometime soon. I'm just always so preoccupied at the beginning of the year with trying to#adjust to new goals and schedules.. plus.. still wokriong on that wretched little slideshow aaaaaaaaaaaa... it is going to take me...#a million yearbs.....#I just want the worldbuiling lore established so I can branch out and do other things.. aughhhh......#also have to work on game videos and a few other vidoes.. still trying to keep up wiht the youtube a little.. I just havent been productive#like since new years as I've felt sicker with my stomach symptoms and stuff.. ToT ALSO I DID MAKE THAT ENTIRE interactive fiction game which#I still have no posted anywhere lol.. Because it was kind of to accompany something that I was doing on a game site (like imagine making a g#ame to go along with one of your neopets or something) but it works totally fine as a standalone thing as well like. so detached from the#lore of the game site in general that it'd be broadly understandable and is it's own thing of course (because I dont really like writing#other people's characters/in the confine's of other worlds so I made everything original as possible with just a loose tie in to the neopets#typw thing lol) - but I figured since it works on it's own I could post it publicly other places too like 'hey look I made something' since#that is...... kind of somehting that counts as like... being creatively productive lol? like I keep talking about getting nothing done while#also forgetting about the things I actually HAVE done. alas I continuously forget. Seriously I am so bad at social media. I am never exagger#ating for comedic effect or something. I am the type of person that could legit like. write and produce and direct and complete a movie#that will be million dollars shown in theaters or something and I would forget to mention it anywherte until like 5 months later and go 'oh#uh .. oh yeah.. i should post about that online somehwere probably.. oops' . Cursed with the 'forget about everything once it's complete'#trait. Like the way my brain works is just like. once I finish something I'm immediately like 'cool! onto the next thing!!' without processi#ng what i just did. I'm just always looking forward to the next thing. I'll finish sculptures and then throw them away or forget about them.#I take photos and they sit in the drafts for 6 months before I post them. Like to me the enjoyment comes from the PROCESS of making somehtin#g but I don't care as much about the end result so it just doesnt exist in my brain anymore once I'm done? idk.. anyway ghjbhj#SORRY.. trying to be more active. I want to make and sell sculptures again. sell all of my spare clothes too. stuff. things.. aaa.. ***
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m0e-ru · 8 months
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just read the entirety of ep adachi in a spreadsheet within an hour this is exactly how kagutsuchi would've wanted it
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Did you get my ask about what you think Dick’s emotional reaction was to everything Tim did surrounding Bruce being missing? (And if you didn’t, can I send it again?)
I did; I'm just very slow!! <33 But I enjoyed it tremendously and am slowwwly writing an answer. But short version, yeah, I absolutely think Dick's angry at Tim as well as being worried.
Dick and Tim love each other, but they, uh, do get mad at each other sometimes, and this is a pretty tense time period.
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This is basically my favorite era for Dick and Tim, which I know is a little weird because they spend most of it fighting, but I am a conflict gremlin and “fight -> fight -> reconciliation” is my favorite storyline, so.  >:D
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yuujispinkhair · 8 months
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Tribe leader/Viking Sukuna headcanons
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After seeing this fanart, a sweet anon sent me this prompt: "Imagine that you are a simple girl in another tribe who attracted the leader Sukuna who at that moment came to negotiate with the leader of your tribe, he became interested in you and decided to make you his wife and cooperate with your people. So you left with him and began to live with him and give birth to his heirs."
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Thank you so much for sending me this! When I saw the art, I was thinking of something along those lines, too! The picture reminded me of the tv show Vikings, so the following headcanons take place in that time.
Pairing: Viking!Sukuna x Reader (female) Genre: Smut + fluff Word Count: 2.5k Warnings: 18+, smut, arranged/forced marriage, virginity loss, blood, breeding, pregnancy, slight lactation kink, having children, miscarriage (Sukuna comforts reader afterwards. He doesn't just want her because of the heirs she can give him), general mentions of violence and human sacrifices. All characters are of age. This story is 18+. Minors don't interact.
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+ Tribe leader Sukuna, who is feared for his ruthlessness in battle and his strength that seems almost god-like. All the other tribes try to stay on his good side and forge alliances with him instead of giving him a reason to burn down their towns.
+ Tribe leader Sukuna, who looks so intimidating when he comes to visit your settlement. Tall and broad-shouldered with all those buff muscles on display and the bones of his enemies decorating his clothes.
+ Tribe leader Sukuna, who you can't take your eyes off when you and the rest of your tribe gather in your leader's throne room and watch the negotiations. He sends shivers down your spine, but not just in a fear-inducing way, if you are honest. He is so enticing. Powerful and intelligent, and so attractive.
+ Tribe leader Sukuna, who is such a beautiful man. His face is too pretty for a warrior. Not even his scars and tribal tattoos can hide his beauty. A smug smirk lifts the corners of his lips, and his voice is calm and confident. He moves gracefully like a big cat, beautiful but deadly. He is the most stunning man you have ever seen, and you hang on every word that falls from his lips as if he carries ancient magic in his voice.
+ Tribe leader Sukuna, whose icy blue eyes scan the crowd slowly, glittering like two precious jewels in the firelight illuminating the crowded room. Your breath catches in your throat when that intense gaze lands on you. You feel like a small animal trapped in the gaze of its hunter. Should you lower your head to show him your respect? Or will he take affront if you dare to look at anything else but him?
+ Tribe leader Sukuna, who takes the decision away from you when he smirks at you and laughs softly before he turns his attention back to your leader.
+ Tribe leader Sukuna, who announces his conditions for a peace treaty in a confident, demanding tone. The voice of a man who is used to getting what he wants. A man who knows he is too powerful to get turned down.
+ Tribe leader Sukuna, who suddenly points a long tattoed finger at you and speaks the words that will flip your whole world upside down, "And I want her."
+ Tribe leader Sukuna, who makes your heart drop with his demand, but all you can do is stare at him in a mix of fear and excitement. A murmur runs through the crowd, and already, several hands are pressing against your back, shoving you towards Sukuna, making you stumble and screech as you are about to fall at his feet.
+ Tribe leader Sukuna, who catches you before you hit the ground, his muscular arms holding you easily, an amused smirk lighting up his handsome face, light blue eyes glittering in amusement as he drawls teasingly, "Aww, someone's eager to become my little wife, huh?"
+ Tribe leader Sukuna, who makes you sit on his lap that evening when a big feast is held in his honor and to seal the peace treaty with your tribe. You barely dare breathe, full of fear as you sit on his strong, muscled thighs, gasping when one of his large hands wanders under your skirt to squeeze your thigh possessively.
+ Tribe leader Sukuna, who has two of his men stand guard in front of your door so no one will attack his future wife or maybe to prevent you from sneaking away. But you aren't even sure you want to run from him. Who are you here in your current tribe anyway? Just another orphan who grew up to help on one of the farms. Isn't this new role much more important? To be the bride of Ryomen Sukuna? To be a means that allows your tribe to prosper and ensures peace and trade with Sukuna?
+ Tribe leader Sukuna, whose large hand has a firm, unrelenting grip on your arm as he leads you to his horse the next morning. But he lets you say goodbye to all your loved ones, taking their blessings and well wishes with you before your future husband helps you onto his horse.
+ Tribe leader Sukuna, who is such a rough man, but whose hands are surprisingly gentle when he lifts you onto the back of his giant horse. He sits behind you, his firm muscles pressing against your back, rippling with every move he makes. His muscular buff arms cage you in, keeping you captive or keeping you safe. You can't tell which one of the two it is.
+ Tribe leader Sukuna, who makes a conflict rage in your chest. On the one hand, you are scared of this dangerous big man who has the power to just demand to have you as if you are some cattle. On the other hand, you can't deny that small hidden part of you that feels excited that such a powerful and attractive man desires you enough to want to make you his wife.
+ Tribe leader Sukuna, who makes your pulse flutter nervously when you feel his strong arms around you and hear him order his men around with his low, velvety voice, telling them to find a good resting place for the night.
+ Tribe leader Sukuna, who kisses you roughly on that first night. His large hands that cup your face are calloused, but his lips are warm, and his tongue is soft and so skilled when he pries your mouth open and licks into it. It's nothing like the shy, clumsy kisses you shared with the boys in your settlement. Sukuna is a feared warrior, a powerful tribe leader, someone who people believe is actually the son of a god. And you can feel all that in his kiss. Deep and intense, making your head spin and your body brim with a desire you have never felt before.
+ Tribe leader Sukuna, who rides with you again the next day and trails teasing kisses down your neck to pass the time during the long ride. You are sure he is fully aware of what he is doing to you. How he makes your heart race and makes a mix of fear and arousal throb in your veins. Especially when he grabs your chin to tilt your face up and capture your lips in a heated, wet kiss, licking unashamedly into your mouth in front of his men, showing everyone that you are his.
+ Tribe leader Sukuna, who whispers in your ear, "Are you scared of me, my little wife?" and then breaks out in loud, barking laughter when you exhale shakily and tell him, "Only a fool wouldn't be scared of you... but maybe I am also flattered that you picked me, my lord."
+ Tribe leader Sukuna, who still chuckles while his tongue licks a lazy stripe up the side of your neck, and he huskily tells you, "I am not a lord. I am a god. And I saw a goddess right there in that shabby throne room. I had to take you with me. It was a sign from the gods. You will give me such strong and beautiful children. Together, we can conquer the whole world."
+ Tribe leader Sukuna, who forces himself to keep his hands off you before your wedding night as a show of respect to the gods, but who lets you feel his desire for you when he hugs you from behind and presses his hardness against you once you have moved into his house.
+ Tribe leader Sukuna, who has you dressed in the finest garments for your wedding day. A beautiful red dress lined with gorgeous white ermine fur that was specifically made for you. Your neck, wrists, and ears are decorated with glittering gold and precious gemstones.
+ Tribe leader Sukuna, who makes you squeal when he swoops you up into his muscular arms and carries you into the ceremony hall, accompanied by the loud cheers of his people. Your hand is shaking when you exchange wedding rings with him, but you stay brave, speaking your vows and taking Sukuna's heavy sword when he offers it to you as his promise to protect you.
+ Tribe leader Sukuna, who sacrifices several of his enemies to the gods to ask for their blessings for your marriage and your fertility. He looks scary with the pattern painted onto his face with fresh blood. But at the same time, it makes him look feral in a way that makes an unknown heat throb between your legs.
+ Tribe leader Sukuna, who shares his food and mead with you on the decadent feast held after the wedding ceremony, where you sit on the throne next to his. One of his strong arms stays wrapped around your waist the whole evening, and the deep glances he sends your way make your skin tingle with anticipation.
+ Tribe leader Sukuna, who takes your virginity that night, making you cry out in pain when his thick cock splits you open for the first time. But his lips silence your cry, and soon you make other noises. Loud moans of pleasure fall from your lips as your new husband moves inside you with deep and sure thrusts that hit a spot inside you that makes you scratch the broad muscles of his back and arch up against Sukuna's huge body. Your cunt throbs around his cock as you find the sweetest and most intense release you ever had.
+ Tribe leader Sukuna, who afterward pushes two of his long fingers into your used cunt to push his seed back into you, leaning down to kiss you savagely and murmuring in your ear that he wants to see your belly hard and swollen with his heirs.
+ Tribe leader Sukuna, who paints his clan symbols on your face with a mix of your virginal blood and his cum, telling you that you are his forever and that you are blessed by the gods now too after taking his seed into you.
+ Tribe leader Sukuna, who is so proud when you show the first signs of pregnancy.
+ Tribe leader Sukuna, who becomes extremely protective and possessive now that you carry his heir. Who worships your body every night, cupping and kissing your swollen breasts, licking at the drops of milk that already spill from them, telling you it tastes like the nectar of the gods.
+ Tribe leader Sukuna, whose large rough hands caress your swollen belly gently, who kisses it, and talks to your unborn child, telling his son, as he predicts, that he will be born under the blessing of the gods. That he will become a great leader and a god himself one day.
+ Tribe leader Sukuna, who is triumphant when your first child is a boy with pink hair and a strong build and loud voice. A future leader just like his father. The first heir of many more to follow.
+ Tribe leader Sukuna, who is feared by everyone but treats his wife and newborn child with a gentleness that surprises you. He asks you to let him hold your baby and carry him in his strong arms. And the way Sukuna looks at your child tells you that he doesn't just see little Yuuji as an heir but as someone who has Sukuna's heart.
+ Tribe leader Sukuna, whose hungry and proud gaze follows you for days until he has you under him again, fucking you with hard, deep thrusts, moaning loudly, and pumping you full of his seed over and over again. "You gave me such a strong heir, my love. I know you'll give me so many more."
+ Tribe leader Sukuna, who rushes to your side when you have a miscarriage during your second pregnancy. Who hugs you to his broad chest, wipes the sweat and blood off you, and cradles you in his arms.
+ Tribe leader Sukuna, who kisses your tears away and reassures you when you are scared he will kick you out if you won't give him more heirs.
+ Tribe leader Sukuna, who shakes his head and tells you, "I mourn our unborn child, but I thank the gods for not taking my beloved wife away from me too. You are more to me than just a vessel that gives birth to my heirs. You are my wife, my companion, the one who the gods sent to me as my soulmate. I love you. Even if we have no more children, I will never take a new wife."
+ Tribe leader Sukuna, who you see in a new light after the reassurance and love he gave you on that day. And suddenly, you find yourself falling in love with your husband, too. You treat him more tenderly. You caress his soft hair when the two of you cuddle in your bed to keep each other warm. You kiss the tattoos on his face and smile at him, your heart fluttering when Sukuna smiles back at you and pulls you into a slow, tender kiss. You will never forget the happiness in his eyes when you tell him you love him too.
+ Tribe leader Sukuna, who fucks you thoroughly that night until the two of you are sweating and rolling around on top of the warm furs, kissing and caressing each other needily while he fills you with his hot seed until you are overflowing from it.
+ Tribe leader Sukuna, who is delighted when you give birth to your second child, and that child looks like the perfect mix of the two of you. He grins at you and tells you that this is clearly a child of love, conceived on the night you confessed your love to him.
+ Tribe leader Sukuna, who is actually a caring husband who truly treasures you. Who likes to spend his nights with you wrapped under the warm furs, making slow love while he kisses you deeply, rolling his hips with those slow, languid moves that make you sob his name and come undone so sweetly on his cock. 
+ Tribe leader Sukuna, who likes to hold you in his strong arms afterward, with your head resting on his broad chest and your small fingers tracing the tattoos on his chest and abs. He loves to talk to you for hours every night, telling you all about his day, about his current worries and plans, about political things and battle tactics, trusting you with all his secrets.
+ Tribe leader Sukuna, whose love fills you with warmth even on the coldest winter days. Your heart is held securely in his strong hands. And you know that no one will dare lay a hand on you or your children in fear of Sukuna's wrath. His strength and power make you feel safe here in your new home.
+ Tribe leader Sukuna, who teaches you how to enjoy sex to the fullest. Who teaches you how to ride his cock and his face. Who teaches you how to take from him too. Because he is your husband, and that means he belongs to you just as much as you belong to him.
+ Tribe leader Sukuna, who trusts you with ruling in his place during his absence. Who declares that anyone who disrespects you will get sacrificed to the gods.
+ Tribe leader Sukuna, who keeps you on his thick, strong cock all night before he has to leave for one of his various exploration trips or battles, savoring you to the fullest. Making sure to fuck you so good that you will still feel him for days after he set sail.
+ Tribe leader Sukuna, who pulls you into his arms one last time before he boards the ship, kissing you deep and long. And there is this burning love in his blue gaze when he tells you, "I will do anything in my power to come back to you, my love. I have the gods on my side. But if, for whatever reason, they should decide it is my time to enter Valhalla, then I want you to know that I will wait there until you join the afterlife, too, and I will come find you, no matter where you are."
+ Tribe leader Sukuna, who luckily doesn't go to Valhalla and always comes back to you with more scars on his gorgeous body but with the same love in his eyes.
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AAAHHH I AM IN LOVE WITH HIM!!! This became much longer than I intended, but I really miss the show Vikings, and I love Viking!Sukuna to an insane amount, so it is what it is ;) This was, once again, very self-indulgent, but hopefully, some of my fellow Sukuna lovers will enjoy it too! Thank you so much to the nice anon who sent me that prompt!
Please let me know what you think. Comments and reblogs would be very sweet.
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