#{This man was set up! Elektra set this man up!}

[shiftingmuse]

Victor Zokas aka Renard - The World Is Not Enough

[eric-coldfire]

Almost finished with Iron Snakes army...

Girlfriend: "Don't get into another expensive hobby."

Like I would do that.

[applepiewinchesters]

Every Universe (Logan Howlett x fem!Reader)

A/N: This was written while I was slightly intoxicated, I regret nothing though and hope you guys enjoy it. It was proofread but I cannot say there will be no grammatical errors. Regardless, please enjoy!! :) Also, takes place in the Deadpool and Wolverine universe.

Word Count: 4,158 (this bitch is long, for me at least)

Warnings: None really unless you count angst and fluff as well as the mention of butt stuff

Finding out that not falling in love with a man being the sole reason you were sent to the void seemed like a pretty patriarchal reason to essentially be damned but who were you to question the TVA.

The day you were sent to the void you’d seen the news, MULTIPLE CASUALTIES AFTER ATTACK AT XAVIER’S SCHOOL FOR GIFTED YOUNGSTERS, names such as Jean Grey, Marie D’Ancanto, Scott Summers, Hank McCoy, and Logan Howlett were read out by the heartbroken looking anchor.

Being a mutant yourself, the news stung and left a pit of anxiety in your stomach. It was an attack by an anti-mutant terrorist group, if they were bold enough to attack the home of Charles Xavier, why not a shopping mall next, or another school full of mutant and non-mutant children alike.

Only minutes after the newscast on the tragedy started four rectangular, orange portals opened in front of and behind you. Four men dressed in odd looking military uniforms stalked towards you. You didn’t even have time to attempt to fend them off before they grabbed you, holding you down while you attempted to break free but even with your mutation, they were too strong.

All you remembered was one of them placing some weird stick against your stomach and you screamed as you essentially dissolved into nothing.

When you woke you were found by who you now knew as Blade, and were told you were in the Void, where you would stay until you died or were killed by a fellow member of said Void.

You’d been there for a what you thought was probably a few years when a couple of Deadpool and Wolverine variants were found by Laura in an absolutely fucked Honda Odyssey. She brought them there and Gambit and Blade brought them inside and laid them down. They appeared as if they’d just had a horrific fight or the most violent sexual encounter ever.

The Wolverine variant was the first to wake up, quite literally shooting up into a sitting position while breathing heavily. His claws extended quickly from his knuckles, and he made an almost animalistic sound.

“Easy there killer,” you almost teased, holding up your hands, you’d been the one unfortunate enough to be closest to him when he woke up, so his eyes immediately fixed on you.

Several emotions seemed to flash across his face at once, his look of anger changing to one of shock. His claws disappeared just as quickly as they’d appeared just moments ago as you slowly put your hands down, now a little concerned for the man.

“Y/N?”, he asked, his head tilting slightly.

It was your turn to look confused, “Did we know each other?”, you asked.

Sure, you’d heard of Wolverine, of Logan, but you’d never met him personally, you had originally been set to attend Charles Xavier’s school when you were 18 but after an attack on the school the same year your parents had decided against it.

The Logan before you’ s face fell slightly; he seemed almost hurt. It took him a second to respond, “I, uh, I guess not.”

That was when Elektra cut in, explaining to Logan where he was and how she’d found him and Deadpool. While he seemed to only half listen, he got up and found the nearest bottle of Gambit’s booze and started drinking it.

When Deadpool woke up it was a completely different side of weird, you hadn’t had the pleasure of coming across a Deadpool variant, but you’d heard how odd they were, and unfortunately for you, you thought they were exaggerating.

After annoying literally everyone in the room, the Deadpool variant all got you to somehow agree to help him and Wolverine get back to the TVA to save his timeline, as well as a sneak attack on Cassandra Nova. The whole time Logan watched you from the corner of his eye.

He couldn’t completely convince himself it was you. The last time he’d seen you, you were lying dead on the front lawn of the school, killed by a large group of humans, along with almost everyone at the mansion. You were covered in blood and cold by the time he’d gotten there. He’d held onto you until the coroner was nearly begging to take you away.

Logan remembered almost everything about you. Your favorite movie, what food you hated, and even the feel of your hand in his. But when you looked at him with little to no recognition in your eyes, his heart could’ve broken all over again.

You had no idea the conflicting feelings he’d had while you sat only a few feet away. You looked practically the same, maybe older than you were when you’d died in his world, he was older too, maybe you just didn’t want to be with an old man and were pretending not to know him. He was the worst Wolverine after all, he wouldn’t blame you.

But then there were some things you did that reminded him of his version of you, the way your laugh sounded exactly the same, how you sat the same way in your chair, and you even made the same face when you’d taken a drink of Gambit’s whiskey as when you’d sip his occasionally while the two of you sat on the couch in the mansion watching some movie one of the others had put on.

It was you, just, one that apparently hadn’t fallen in love with Logan Howlett. Logan himself couldn’t help but wonder if that had been your reason for being sent here, but thought better of it, deciding he'd probably never have that kind of impact on any kind of world.

After a successful attack on Cassandra and her small army, Deadpool and Wolverine were gone, and you hadn’t expected to ever see them again. Then Cassandra almost destroyed every timeline to exist, and you’d thought for sure those two variants had gotten themselves killed.

But then the TVA came for you and brought you to said Deadpool variants world, which he had successfully and somehow saved with Wolverine’s help. You couldn’t help but notice Logan’s shirt missing this time around. Almost cursing yourself for not trying harder to go to Xavier’s school when you were younger, having a chance to meet your world’s Logan. A man’s abs can do that to a woman.

“Happy to not be in the void and all, but why am I here?”, you asked, eyeing the agents around you and taking in the cracked subway station.

“I thought I’d give a little gift to Wolvie here,” Deadpool replied in an overly enthusiastic manner, throwing an arm around Logan who instantly pushed him away.

“I’m not a gift to give you dumb fuck,” you replied, crossing your arms over your chest.

Deadpool ignored your obvious distain and continued, “Well I figured since he lost you in his world and you never falling in love in your world caused his death that you could stay here with us!”.

Your eyes widened and you had to think about what he’d said for a moment, “I-I got him killed? I got Logan and those other mutants killed?”.

Logan couldn’t focus on the other details once his name left your mouth; he hadn’t heard you say that in almost a decade.

You on the other hand turned to the woman beside you that looked to be in charge.

“Is that the reason I was sent there, because I didn’t fall in love with Logan Howlett and he died because of it?”, you asked, you felt like you could be sick.

The woman sighed, almost regretful, “Yes, it was,” she finally answered you. “Without your help of your mutation those mutants did not survive that attack on the school.”

“Oooooo, trauma plot twist,” Deadpool practically squealed.

“Shut the fuck up!”, you snapped back, making Deadpool whisper a bashful, “Sorry,” and take a step back.

The TVA agents left shortly after, and that was how you found yourself living in a small apartment with Wade, Logan, and the craziest old lady you’d ever met, Blind Al.

Wade and she shared a room as weird as it was, you were given the spare room Blind Al reluctantly let you use, as it was now formerly her grow room, and Logan elected to sleep on the couch.

You settled in somewhat nicely, you still felt awkward in a world that wasn’t yours living with a doofus that you'd grown somewhat fond of and a man you got killed in his other life, but you had new friends, ones that didn’t have a huge chance of dying every day so that was a plus.

Yukio and Ellie had gravitated towards you, you were somewhat close in age, with them being early twenties and you in your somewhat late twenties, they reminded you of your younger sibling’s friends from back home in your previous world.

So, when they invited you to go out a month after you settled in, you couldn’t say no, it would get you out of the house at least, you wouldn’t have to sit and listen to Wade and Logan argue or endure Logan’s kicked puppy look when he thought you weren’t looking.

You felt awful you weren’t the you he thought you were, and you knew it was nothing you could control but after Wade let it slip what had happened to you in Logan’s world you couldn’t imagine how you’d feel if the roles were reversed.

So, to hopefully be able to forget about everything for a few hours you got ready, doing some easy makeup and hair, you put on a cute outfit you’d bought earlier in the week, Yukio had begged you to go shopping after finding out you didn’t own anything for “going out” yet on this world.

You relented and picked out a skirt, top, tights, and boots, it was simple yet cute enough to not be mistaken as any old outfit.

When you’d exited your bedroom in your shared apartment shortly before Yukio and Ellie were due to come get you, Wade looked up from whatever the hell he was doing on his phone, which could be anything from porn to angry birds.

His eyes widened slightly, “Got a date?”, he asked, only slightly feigning shock.

Logan had looked up immediately at the mention of a date, he was sipping a bottle of whiskey at the kitchen table. His eyes traveled over your outfit when he thought you were busy glaring at Wade.

“Not that its your business merc but no, I’m going out with Yukio and Ellie,” you stated, tossing a lip balm you had in your hand to your small purse.

“Girls nightttt,” Wade sang, only making you sigh.

As if a divine intervention interrupted there was a knock on the door and when you opened it you found the two girls standing there waiting.

“Hi Wade!”, Yukio exclaimed waving at him.

Wade leaned back in his seat to look around you at Yukio, “Hi Yukio!”.

“Come on,” you told them, moving to leave but a hand on your shoulder made you turn around. It was Wade.

“Now honey,” he began, “don’t take drinks from strangers, don’t go off alone, and don’t hook up with anyone. You know what they say about beer goggles, you’ll be waking up next to the crypt keeper.”

While you rolled your eyes and pushed Wade’s hand off your shoulder although you knew he really did care. Logan on the other hand clenched his jaw. You weren’t his and he knew that, but Wade’s last comment set his teeth on edge.

“I’m a big girl Wade, but thanks,” you told him, turning around and leaving this time without so much as a glimpse Logan’s way.

When the door shut Wade spoke again, “She’s gonna get picked up by every hottie in the club in that outfit. Did you see her legs Peanut?”.

Wade then almost immediately flinched when he felt glass shatter on the back of his head, the alcohol in the now broken bottle staining the back of his My Little Pony shirt.

He didn’t even have to look back to imagine the look on Logan’s face, “Gotcha,” was all Wade replied, picking out a rather large glass shard from the back of his neck.

…

It was hours later when you were so drunk you couldn’t feel the cold outside, but you sure felt good on the inside. The only bad thing was that the other girls wanted to go to another club, and your social battery was just about gone.

You three stumbled out of the club, Yukio and you giggled at something Ellie had yelled at some perv leering at you when you’d walked out. Stopping the other two from turning the opposite way to another club, you spoke rather loudly despite being out of the crowd and loud music.

“I-I think I’m gonna go home! You girls go!” you told them, making Yukio frown.

“Don’t walk home by yourself, call Wade or something,” Ellie commented.

You nodded thoughtfully before gasping, “I’ll call Logan, Wade is doing butt stuff with Vanessa tonight!”.

Your loud comment sent Yukio into a giggling fit and made a guy near you wince, maybe he’d done butt stuff too.

Ellie only nodded, rolling her eyes as you pulled your phone from your purse, scrolling through the very few numbers you’d had, Wade had gotten both you and Logan phones soon after arriving, claiming he needed to be able to send you both funny videos every day. Which were no doubt ignored by Logan.

Pressing on Logan’s contact, you put the phone up to your ear, listening to it ring only once before the call was answered.

“You alright?”, was the first thing out of Logan’s mouth and you couldn’t help but laugh.

“Oh, I’m great!” you replied, “but Ellie doesn’t want me walking home alone and Wade is doing butt stuff so will you come? I’m only a few blocks from home.”

The whole sentence was sort of rushed and you thought maybe Logan hadn’t heard you correctly because the line went silent.

You were about to repeat yourself when Logan stopped you, “I’m coming,” he told you, you could hear him shuffling around and the sound of a door closing, “What’s the name?”.

Despite having been in the club for well over an hour you had to look up and squint at then brightly lit sign, “Uhhhh,” you mumbled into to the phone, before your eyes finally focused, “House of Yes!”.

You could’ve sworn Logan chuckled, “Be there soon,” was all he said before hanging up.

“Escort secured,” you told the two girls, slipping your phone back into your purse. “He’ll be here soon,” you added, attempting to replicate his gravely tone, only succeeding in making yourself cough and sending Yukio into a laughing fit.

It was only 15 minutes of standing around before Logan showed up, you spotted him first, having turned yourself that way to look for him. He was dressed in his usual jeans, button up, and undershirt, along with a leather jacket he’d picked up recently.

He looked good you had to admit, nearly every girl outside, and even some guys turned to look at him when he walked past. He didn’t give them any sort of acknowledgement though, earning some disappointed looks from a few of them when he walked up to you.

What was it Wade said about beer goggles? Logan was hot without alcohol though, so you shook off the thought.

“Ready to go?”, he asked, eyes scanning over you, not to be a perv but to make sure everything was the same as when you left, and it was, save for the way you swayed slightly and the way you smiled at him like you were so happy to see him. He thought he’d never see that again, but he has to remind himself for what felt like that hundredth time that it wasn’t you, not his you at least.

You nodded, turning around to hug both of the girls, telling them to be safe, although you knew Ellie wouldn’t put up with anyone’s shit.

“Bye Y/N! Bye Logan!”, Yukio exclaimed, waving at you both before grabbing Ellie’s hand as they turned the opposite way.

“Alright, come on,” Logan said, taking a step away from you and waiting for you to follow him to keep walking, he made sure to keep you closest to the buildings, it wouldn’t be too great to have you fall in the street in front of a car.

It was silent for a couple minutes, you stumbled every so often and Logan’s hand always shot out, ready to catch you, but you always righted yourself, giggling as you did, and Logan found himself smiling at the sound.

You caught him smiling after a couple times, narrowing your eyes, “What’re you smiling at grumpy?”, you asked, voice anything but angry.

“Grumpy?”, he asked, raising an eyebrow at you.

“Yeah, it’s what I call you sometimes in my head, Mr. Grumpy is also a good one,” you told him in a very serious tone.

“Mr. Grumpy,” Logan found himself repeating, only making you laugh, which made you stumble, nearly knocking into someone walking the opposite way of you both. Logan instinctively wrapped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you away from the almost collision and into his side.

You immediately noticed he was warm, you could feel it even with his multiple layers on, it was growing colder now outside as the days went on and you yourself knew without the alcohol, you’d probably be cold but here he was, a personal heater.

“Are you actually just a werewolf?” you asked him, making him stop walking completely and turn towards you, removing his arm from your shoulders, making you pout a bit.

“I am not a werewolf,” he told you seriously.

You groaned, “Okay but you’re really warm, you have claws, you can run on all fours, and you’ve got those little…,” you trailed off, putting your pointer fingers up on each side of your head, attempting to mimic the little swishes his hair made.

Personally, you had no idea if his hair just did that (because he’s a werewolf), or if he styled it that way. You couldn’t decide which option to like more.

When Logan didn’t seem to understand what you’d said, you reached up, lightly running a finger along one of the swoops of his hair. You jumped a bit when his hand caught your wrist as you were pulling your hand back.

There was a look in his eyes you didn’t recognize but it soon disappeared as he let you go, “Sorry,” he quickly said. “Reflex.”

You shrugged, “No harm done,” you told him, and his eyes softened at the way you brushed off his behavior from years of enduring nothing even remotely close to the gentle way you’d just touched him.

Maybe you didn’t think so badly of him. You always seemed so wary, afraid to make him angry, to say something wrong, like he was a ticking time bomb. It put him on edge and made him want to steer clear of you, he didn’t want to scare you off either.  But now, standing there staring at you while you just smiled at him made him relax a bit.

“Let’s go,” you suddenly said, beginning to walk away from him. He was back at your side in moments, and you found yourself bumping into him every so often, apologizing every time you did.

Finally, he wrapped an arm around you again, pulling you back into the warmth of his side. You smiled when he did, stumbling slightly but he held you up easily, not letting you fall.

“Thanks for coming to get me,” you told him when you were only a block from home.

“No problem,” he replied, keeping his eyes on the sidewalk ahead.

There were a few moments of silence before you began to giggle suddenly, Logan’s brow furrowed as he looked down at you, “What?” he asked, hopefully not regretting asking.

“So, you’re not a werewolf?” you asked, looking up at him.

Logan groaned looking away from you, “No, and if you keep asking, you’ll regret it.”

“Ooo what are you gonna do?” you mocked, poking his side.

“Wouldn’t you like to know sweetheart,” he replied, making you stumble at the nickname.

“I would,” you challenged, after righting yourself with the help of Logan’s arm around you.

Logan regarded you for a moment before shaking his head, “You’re drunk, another time.”

“Ughhhhh,” you groaned, “Tell me!”.

“Not a chance,” Logan replied, smirking a bit. He’d been drinking since you left and was buzzed himself, he couldn’t help but smile at your behavior.

The you he’d known had always acted like this, at least when intoxicated. You were whiny, clumsy, and clingy. The way your fingers gripped the back of his jacket to stay up right made his heart ache though and his smile fell.

You noticed his attitude change and became concerned, “You okay?” you asked, attempting to stop walking, but Logan kept you going.

“Fine” he replied, his hold on you loosening slightly, you couldn’t help but notice.

So, you stopped, much to Logan’s dismay, moving to stand in front of him, swaying slightly as you very determinedly looked him in the eye.

“What’s wrong, did I do something?” you asked, genuine concern in your voice, he could almost feel his heart crack just slightly.

“No, it’s…,” Logan began, his tongue getting tied, he was never great at emotions, that’s why he drank so much. You didn’t have to feel anything then.

“I’m listening,” you reassured, resisting the urge to take his hand.

“You’re so much like…like her, like you,” Logan finally said, not really meeting your eye. “I thought I could ignore it, but I can’t, you even smell the same.”

Logan had rendered you with nothing to say, could you truly comfort him? Reassure him? You felt yourself sobering up a bit at the thought.

It was a few moments of silence before you found your words, “I know this has been shitty for you too, and I'm sorry I haven't been a better friend. Honestly sometimes I think you hate the fact that I'm not her, me her, whatever...that you hate me. But then you do things like this and it makes me think otherwise. I guess I just don't know how to...approach you, Logan."

Logan felt his heart drop at the word “friend”, and the thought he made you feel inadequate. God he really was stupid enough to think he might have a chance with this version of you.

But he found himself lifting a hand to your cheek, feeling your skin heat up beneath his fingers, “I could never hate you, not in this universe, not in any, got it? Its my fault, for pushing that onto you, making you feel like you have to be someone you’re not.”

You couldn’t help but laugh slightly, “We’re both just fucked up in our own special way, aren’t we?”.

Logan nodded, dropping his hand, but you caught it in your own, “It’s not your fault either you know, I personally blame whatever bitchass overlord of the universe did this.”

Logan had to keep himself from solely focusing on the way your hand wrapped around his, “But…,” he went to argue.

You put up a hand to stop him, “Enough with the self-pity Howlett, its unbecoming of a man of your nature.”

“My nature?” Logan asked, titling his head at you.

“Yes, the nature of being absurdly attractive,” you admitted, looking away from him as you spoke, attempting to walk away, but he pulled you back, almost into his chest, but he kept you a few inches away, still concerned with scaring you.

“Absurdly?” Logan asked, the smirk returning to his face.

You swallowed hard, “Did I say that? I meant unappealing, completely unsightly.”

Your attempt at saving your future sober self from your drunk self was failing miserably, but Logan gave in after a few seconds, shrugging as he turned, placing his arm around you once more, guiding you towards the apartment building you could finally see in the distance.

“Whatever you say kid,” he told you.

This was the most at home you two had felt in a while, and when you sat next to each other at breakfast in the morning, Logan passing you whatever you needed when you’d asked, Wade gasped dramatically.

“Did you two also engage in butt stuff last night, or is that not your cup of whiskey Wolvie?” Wade asked.

This earned him a fork to the forehead, easily tossed across the table by Logan.

The way you laughed made Logan’s heart skip a beat instead of crack again. For the first time in quite a while he felt hope, and if being here with you meant putting up with Wade’s dumbass mouth, he could make an exception just this once.

A/N: Thank you so much for reading! I felt like Tumblr was seriously lacking in Logan fluff so here ya go!

[lieutenantfloyd]

My Red Thread - Gambit x Reader

Word Count: 1.9k

Summary: After being sent to the Void alongside your chaotic companions Deadpool and Logan, the very last thing on your mind is the rarity of a soulmate bond. That is, until yours snaps into place. (Soulmate! AU)

Warnings: Fluff, mutant! Reader (undefined powers), a bit of romantic tension, attempts at humor, Wade Wilson ruining The Moment™️

Authors Note: For some reason editing this took way longer than actually writing it did. I’m still getting a feel for the characters, so I apologize if anything is kinda ooc! :)

Read on AO3

Laying with your back against a mostly broken couch, you have a view of the full room, including a set of stairs that allow streams of sunlight to cascade in. Your eyes shift lazily between Logan—who's taking the opportunity to drink himself into oblivion— and Deadpool—who's closing out his second straight hour of snooping through drawers and cabinets.

When the three of you awoke in this new location hours ago, you almost instantly flew into a fit of arguing. First about how and why you were here, then about who would be the first to go up the stairs. After a much heated debate, the consensus became that an unknown person—agreed to be either the ghost of Johnny coming back to avenge himself or the vengeful, forgotten sister from earlier—brought you here for reasons that probably didn't end with any of you walking out of here alive.

Whoever it was most likely got the drop on you first, seeing as how you decided to try your luck at hitchhiking through the void instead of sitting around and watching your two companions tear each other, along with your only ride, to shreds. As for the situation with the stairs, a rare moment of agreement was shared when you decided to stand and fight whatever possible threat was lurking. Once that was decided you all assumed the positions you currently found yourselves in.

With each tick of the dusty clock on the wall, you were growing more and more impatient, You'd been fighting for your life, quite literally, from the moment Wade got you sent to the void. Now your adrenaline had all but crashed, leaving your body to scream in agony over being brought to the brink of death more times over the last twenty four hours than you’d ever care to count. It was at the point now that you honestly began to wish that whoever had brought you here would muster up the cajones and come finish you off for good.

As if on cue, you and Logan sat upright as you sensed movement outside. You rolled off the couch and joined Wade in the middle of the room, taking up fighting stances while Logan simply sat back in his chair and continued nursing the bottle of whiskey he found without a care in the world.

Prepping for yet another fight, you were left feeling as dumbfounded as Deadpool looked when Elektra descended into the room. Your hands stayed raised but your mind began to run with possibilities. Wade began a refreshed round of incessant rambling, not missing a beat as Blade followed Elektra into the room only seconds later.

Your eyes shoot over to Logan in an effort to ensure that someone a bit less prone to hallucinations than you and Deadpool were seeing this too. His eyes flash confirmingly to yours. You swallow hard, having a brief internal battle with the childhood version of you who apparently thinks that now is the best time to start fangirling.

Tuning out Wade's awkward banter, you try and piece together the situation unfolding in front of you together. You were well aware of how people got sent to the void, but you realized then that you never thought any deeper about who exactly you could run into during your stay.

With fatigue setting deeper into your bones, you lean your hip onto the dusty wood table beside you. You fall halfway out of your defensive stance and let Wade command the room as usual, tuning back into the conversation just in time to hear him make an oddly pointed quip about some man named Ben Affleck.

Picking up on more movement from above, your attention shifts across the room. Your eyes lock on the stairs as if glued there. You to watch on silently as a shimmery purple card floats into the room and a man follows closely behind. You barely have enough time to register the flashes of purple dancing away from his hands before a force you have never felt before—and have absolutely no interest in feeling again—slams so solidly into your chest that it sends you flying over the table you were leaning against.

"Fuck!" "Merde!"

You yell out in unison. Instinct has you pulling yourself up off the floor as soon as you hit it, albeit slowly, as you try to call the air back into your lungs. Using the table for support, you manage to raise up on shaking feet. The once busy room has now fallen deadly silent. Quiet in a way you hadn't experienced since joining up with Deadpool several months ago. You suck in a few intentional breaths before letting your head rise up from its hanging position.

"What the hell was tha-" you start, only to fall silent as you take notice of everyone's eyes flashing between you and a man who looks just as confused and winded as you do.

Time seems to slow as your eyes lock with his. A smaller blow hits you somewhere deep beneath your ribs, though this time you only stumble.

"Ho-ly shit!" Wade gasps, bringing his gloved hands up to his face and flicking his head back and forth dramatically between the both of you, no doubt starting to pick up on what's happening.

A second thrumming blooms in your chest then. It's equal parts similar and different from your own. Your mind nearly starts to panic, but it's silenced by something buried in your chemical makeup coming alive.

Wade drops his hands from his face, only to end up pointing at you like an old Spiderman meme.

"You two are-"

"Soulmates," you breathe out.

Absentmindedly, your hand rises to your chest. The feel of your soulmates' heart beating in time with yours is oddly comforting, in a way not unlike finally coming home after a long, difficult mission.

Soulmates were a rare but well documented phenomenon back in your reality. Most people would go their entire lives without meeting someone who was lucky enough to bond, let alone experience it themselves. You silently cursed all of those articles and accounts you read as a hopeful tween for failing to mention just how sudden and violently the bond snapped into place.

"Say something! Suck each other's faces off! Maybe even-"

"That's enough," Logan hisses, slapping a large hand down onto Deadpool's shoulder.

You laugh awkwardly at the absurdity of this entire situation. Unsure of what to say or how to go about any of this. Bonded or not, you and the upsettingly handsome man in front of you were still strangers.

"I've been lookin' for you a long time, mon amour." He drawls. And fuck if his sultry cajun drawl isn't something you'd be happy to hear for the rest of your lifetime.

'Well, It's good to finally meet you, um..." you stammer out, only to remember that you hadn't even learned his name yet.

"Remy!" Elektra whispers to you excitedly.

You repeat his name under your breath, somehow feeling like you miss it as the syllables roll off of your tongue.

"It's lovely to finally meet you, Remy," you try again.

Logan takes the opportunity to introduce you like Elektra did for Remy. He sends you a soft smile as he learns your name, though it shines so bright and warm that you can't decide if you want to fall back against the table or leap into his arms.

You step towards him, happy to feel both of your heartbeats pumping in your chest as you both move to close the distance between you. When you're only a mere inches away from each other, his hand rises into view, silently asking permission to caress your cheek. You wait with bated breath to feel his touch, only for it to fall short when a certain red and black clad anti-hero steps between you—acting as if your entire world wasn't just flipped on its axis.

"Sorry to interrupt this precious little love session you two have going on, but I feel that I must remind you of the very pressing matters still at hand," Wade says with a look that is anything but sorry.

You look to Remy, whose face says only that he's ready to explode Deadpool with his mind and reach around Wade to place a gentle hand on his shoulder. You smile up at Remy, and watch as an unmistakable look of complete adoration flashes across his eyes.

You use your powers to send the mercenary flying backward through the air, leaving him screaming as you finally close the gap between you and Remy.

He brings you into his arms without hesitation. A stray tear slips from your eye as you realize just how right his touch feels against your skin. His nimble fingers wipe away the tear that fell onto your cheek, already coming into tune with the thousands of different emotions flowing through you.

"Don't cry chéri, Gambit's gotcha."

His words bring a fresh new crop of tears to your eyes. You savor the contact for several long moments before reluctantly pulling away. You waste no time in reaching over to interlock your hands, pulling him back a few steps.

A chorus of stifled laughter sounds throughout the room as you spot Wade stumbling back onto his feet. You squeeze Remy's hand when you hear him mutter "couyon," disapprovingly, something that earns another round of poorly dampened laughter from the group.

"Wade,” You call over to him, "Are you done being an asshole for the time being?"

"Never!”

"Can you idiots focus for five seconds?" Logan asks from the corner while taking a swig of whiskey. The rebuttal you’d prepared for Wade does in your throat, but you still give him a disapproving eye roll. Deadpool, unable to have someone speak up before him, pushes his way past Logan.

"Yeah, like I know the writer needs to hit their word count and all, but we've still got a baldheaded bitch to kill."

Getting out of the void has always been your top priority, but with your newfound bond, it felt all the more pressing.

Stepping aside to let Wade through, he begins to command the room as always. Ideas intertwine with his usual self deprecating jokes. You and Remy stand next to each other on the sidelines, as tensions begin to lower.

As the night drug on, the conversation began to buzz with urgent anticipation. Everyone takes a shot at pitching an idea or strategy that plays to some of their strengths. Logan had retreated outside while Blade, Electra, and Wade stood and paced around the room, focused on the task at hand.

With guards lowered and tensions gone, you and Remy retreated to a nearby couch. You both gave out the occasional opinion or bit of intel, but your minds never strayed far from each other.

The conversation slows, and you felt Gambit's hand brush against yours. You reach out and intertwine your fingers with his before he can back away. His fingers tighten against yours gently before letting up. You mirror his squeeze instantly, a thousand words passing in the silence hanging between you. You lift your eyes and meet his gaze, giving him a soft, barely perceptible nod. You can the low kinetic current coursing through his touch. It serves as yet another reminder of how strong your bond already feels.

Your head drops onto his shoulder, earning a low hum. Just above a whisper, and with a smile playing on your lips, you both promise that no matter what lies ahead, you are ready to face it—simply because you now have each other.

[male-readerwriter]

Johnny Storm x Male Reader

Title: BURNING LOVE!!

WARNING'S: Language, FLUFF, brief sexual thoughts, headcanons for Johnny Storm falling in love with male reader in the void, Romance

M/N= Male Reader Name/ Male Name.

First and third person POV

🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥

You were sent to the void after being caught stealing a rare diamond from a museum worth 35 million dollars, it wasn't the first time you've gotten in trouble for stealing- this was more like the 100th or 200th.

You were an international thief, you alone were able to pull off some of the most infamous and greatest robbery's ever. You were constantly in and out of prison but after this well- turns out they were sick of you breaking into places and stealing things so they ended up sending you to the void leaving you to rot with everything else they deemed trash.

You had heard of this place while in prison so you kinda knew it was only sooner or later until you were sent here but you never expected it to be this bad , things were constantly after you as if it wasn't bad enough that there was basically no food in this shit hole you had to deal with monsters, people, and animals chasing you trying to either kill or kidnap you to take you to some women named Cassandra Nova - who the fuck was that?

After a rough day of being chased by people and monsters alike you were getting exhausted and STARVING and you were suddenly getting very dizzy and you could have sworn you saw a man covered in flames flying through the sky fighting off the things chasing you, next thing you know you passed out.

You woke up to the smell of food and when you looked around and it was suddenly night time and you were in a place you didn't recognize, it looked like some type of hideout but nobody was their at least you thought. After rushing over to the food scarfing it down almost immediately a man's voice from behind you laughed saying "look's like someone's hungry".

Who the hell could that be? And what did he want, did he want to hurt me? Dropping the food out of my hand I turned around to see a muscular man in a blue shirt with a 4 on it, my heart skipped a beat. I was still terrified thinking of what he could do to me but damn was he sexy. He took a few steps towards me with his hand outstretched and a warm smile on his face- he seems friendly.

"Hey, I'm johnny. Nice to meet you" I allow him to take my hand, shaking it in a greeting manner "I'm M/N, sorry I was hungry" I respond. Something about this guy intimidated him in a good way.

"No, help yourself we got plenty" he giggles as he lets go of my hand, the smile this guy has is so warming it's lighting up my heart. My heart is beating out of my chest "how did I get here?" I ask taking a bite out of a big turkey leg.

He tells me how he found me and fought off the things after me then took me to his hideout, he says he stays here with a few friends he met who I soon meet named Elektra, Blade, X-23, and Gambit who was my personal favorite other than Johnny. After introducing themselves they all went off doing their own thing not wanting to overwhelm me, I continue eating more food still starving but Johnny stays by my side the entire time still chatting away. There's something about this guy that I immediately wanna cling to and he's not bad looking he can definitely manhandle me any time he pleases the- sorry got off track there, he's just that good looking.

We end up talking for 3 hours straight and I realize my dumb ass has already fallen in love with this man (even though I just met him) there was something about him and he was hot literally. I found out he was able to set his entire body in flames and he could fly all he had to do was say two little words "flame on".

He ended up showing me at a later time, he and his friends explained pretty much everything I need to know about the void then they told me I could stay with them but there was one little problem...

I had to share a bed with Mr. Johnny Storm.

I had no problem with that in any way shape or form neither did Johnny it seemed, though he had kept blushing the first couple of nights I shared a bed with him, after that he started acting a little awkward he'd start smiling everytime I came around, and he started playfully flirting I assumed. After a little while I started flirting back and every time I did he'd start blushing like crazy, which was really confusing considering the way he usually acted before he started flirting with me.

His behavior screamed fuckboy yet he wasn't a bad guy, he never acted like a pig he - seemed like a typical straight guy fuck boy. But he was the most perfect guy you'd ever met and it only made you fall for him more and more.

You assumed he was straight at least but one day when you were walking back into the hideout you heard everyone talking about you so you decided to stay hidden and listen. Somehow they figured out you had feelings for Johnny and before you could even be shocked by that Elektra commented how she knew Johnny had feelings for you as well.

You were flabbergasted, he felt the same way you did and yet he never knew the things you did, everytime he asked how you got sent to the void you changed the subject.

That's when you decided to tell him the truth, you were expecting judgment but surprisingly he was completely fine with it and he didn't care what you did saying you were still a good person at heart. After telling him that you found that it was much easier to open up to him and in no time you both confessed you have feelings for one another.

You were outside going for a walk with him playfully flirting with each other as usually when suddenly Johnny became quite. "Hey, what's on your mind?" You asked and before he could come up with some lame excuse he found himself saying "I have something important to tell you". That's when he told you he had feelings for you, he didn't just have feelings for you, he loved you.

"I'm in love with you M/N, I've been in love with you since the moment I first saw you're fine ass" he said giving your ass a nice smack, and that was the fuckboy part of him coming out but you still couldn't have been happier.

He asked you to be his boyfriend and you said yes, jumping at the opportunity to be in a relationship with Johnny. You were never this kind of guy to rush into some relationship all willy nilly but Johnny was different from any guy you'd ever met before, it was hard to explain -

He was just special, he was Johnny.

The others pretty much ended up finding out we were in a relationship immediately, even though we discussed not telling them at first but it was apparently way to hard for Johnny to keep his hands off me and keep his dirty jokes to himself. So everyone found out awkwardly standing around because Johnny was bad at keep secrets.

It happened I the morning-

He was the last to wake up and the first thing he did was wrap his arms around my waist and shove his head in the crook of my neck mumbling "Mornin babe" just loud enough for everyone to hear it and look over at us shocked we actually got together.

But after about a minute they got over the shock and congratulated us saying things like "about time" or Gambit trying to be sexual and make dirty jokes about the relationship but Johnny is always able to match his freak and make the same type of jokes back. Their banter is always fun to watch.

We all stuck together when we went out incase we had a run in with Cassandra Nova and her gang (I learned she was someone not to be messed with- she's professor X's brother and she's incredibly powerful so I'm the void that basically made her the HBIC and everyone feared her) Johnny liked to act like he wasn't scared of her and he had no problem voicing his hatred for her but I know him- if he had a one on one run in with her he'd most likely end up pissing himself.

There was never much to do in the void but he still tried to do special things for you, like date nights or a walking hand in hand at night when not many people were around to bother you both.

He seems like some typical fuck boy but you knew he was so much more, he was romantic and loved the attention you gave him literally any type of attention you gave him put a big smile on his face and a pink tint to his cheeks, he's such a dork.

He loves cuddles and so do you, it's both of your favorite thing to do to pass the time, well that and sex! you both are pretty wild in the bedroom, and luckily Johnny has a lot of stamina.

Whenever your together it's like time just stops and the only thing either of you care about is each other (you're so wrapped up in each other's little bubble, it's like you were made for each other) he never judged you for who you were even tho you were pretty much polar opposites and he's a hero and you used to be a villain -kinda- but that all changed after going to the void.

In this place you never know how much time you have like you can literally all die at any second, but it doesn't matter as long as you have him by your side you'd happily live in the moment and don't even think about what tomorrow could possibly bring.

He is my world, my human torch....

🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥

Oop.

Literally had no idea how to end this so that's why the ending is so abrupt sorry- also sorry for any spelling errors I didn't proof read.

Hope it was at least a little enjoyable, I'll be better in the future I haven't written in a bit sorry- 🤣 FEM READERS, AND MINORS DNI! go away-

[waywardxrhea]

Matthew

Pairing: Matt Murdock x fem!reader (no use of y/n)

Word count: 2.5k

In the midst of your mourning of Matt after the events of Midland Circle, you decide to visit Clinton Church to feel closer to him. 

Content: angst and lots of it, canon typical violence, guns, language (in a church, whoops), mental breakdown. 

Now playing: Matthew by Hey Violet

“Matt… He didn’t make it out before the building collapsed. I’m sorry…”

Those words had haunted you every day for months now. You remembered feeling your whole world crashing down around you as your heart shattered into a million little pieces. Your knees had gone numb and you collapsed into Karen’s arms as she told you the horrible news. You had felt pain before, sure, but the worst of it didn’t even touch that of what you felt when you were faced with the fact that Matt had been in the middle of a building collapse and they hadn’t even been able to recover his body. 

The cloud of insurmountable grief hung low around you ever since, and today its burden felt heavier than normal. So you decided to go to the one place you felt you could be close to Matt: Clinton Church. You hadn’t been there since the funeral and as you walked from the train station, you were tormented with the memory of the night Matt left. 

You were in the middle of cooking dinner for you and Matt when he entered the apartment in a rush, tossing his glasses and cane away quickly before following them with his suit jacket and tie. Sensing the urgency in the way he moved toward the closet to grab his Daredevil suit, you placed the spoon on its rest and asked tentatively, “Everything okay?” 

Matt shook his head as he began haphazardly stripping out of his court clothes, telling you, “The Hand. We’re taking them down tonight.”

Closing your eyes and letting out a quiet sigh, you said, “Matt, please. Please don’t go, I… I just don’t have a good feeling about this. Ever since you told me about what’s been going on with them I’ve been having these nightmares and-”

You were cut off by Matt placing a gentle kiss to your lips, one of his hands holding your chin in place as he did. When he pulled away and released his grip on you, he kissed your cheek before saying, “I know, sweetheart. And I’m sorry, but I really have to go. This could be the only opportunity we get to take them down and I’ll be damned if they keep on ruining lives because I didn’t step in to stop them. I can get through to Elektra. And when I do, this will all be over with.”

You opened your mouth to protest once more, but knew that it would fall upon deaf ears because once Matt had his mind set on something there was no stopping him. It was something you both admired and were terrified of. So you shut your mouth once more and nodded, trying desperately to hold back the sob building in your chest as your emotions began to well up in your eyes. 

Matt was suited up in record time and gave you a quick hug before heading up the stairs that would take him to the rooftop access. He was nearly at the door before you could even clear your throat and calm your shallow breathing enough to whisper, “I love you. Be safe.” You weren’t even sure he heard it as he threw open the door and flew out of it, not acknowledging the statement in his state of hypervigilance on the sounds of the city. 

Walking into the church felt odd and you offered your best tight-lipped smile to a kind looking man who held the door open for you on his way out. As you walked into the beautiful sanctuary, a new wave of emotions hit you and as your breathing became shallow, you felt light headed and nauseous. Your mind was bombarded with flashes of that night. Of screaming your throat raw in both anger and sadness. Of the funeral. Of the image from your nightmares that had plagued you ever since: Matt’s bloodied and lifeless body. 

A sharp gasp left your chest as a hand was placed on your shoulder and startled you back into reality where you realized you were now leaning most of your body weight onto the back of a pew, trying not to collapse. Through a feeling of cotton in your ears, you heard your name being called softly and you looked up to see the kind eyes of Father Lantom looking back at you. “Are you okay?” he asked, worry evident in his voice. 

Are you okay? 

The stupid question everyone kept asking you. Of course you weren’t okay. In what version of reality would you be okay after losing Matt? You couldn’t tell most people what really happened, your story always landing on the lie that he had been in the financial building on late night business for the firm when it collapsed. It felt like a disservice to Matt’s memory to lie about what he was really doing in there trying to save lives, but it was what you had promised him when he first revealed to you that he was Daredevil: you weren’t to tell a soul. So you didn’t. It was a secret you would take to the grave with you. 

Are you okay? 

As stupid as the question was, and as obvious as the answer was, you were never able to answer because every time someone asked you ended up crying and unable to speak. So just as it had happened every time before, you choked on a sob before the floodgates opened and your vision became blurred by tears, your knees becoming too weak to hold your body weight. You were barely even aware of Father Lantom and a nun guiding you around the edge of the pew and into the plush seat as you slipped off into the depths of a breakdown. 

When you came back to your senses, a small water bottle was being coaxed into your hand and you glanced up to see a stern looking nun gesture for you to take a drink before she got up and left you with the Father. He patted you on the back before telling you, “I have a feeling you’re here to be close to him. Take the time you need. I’ll be nearby if you need me.” You nodded as he got up, watching as he wandered over to someone else to offer his presence in their own time of need. 

Praying had never been your strong suit, so instead of doing that, once you found your voice, you just began talking aloud to the ceiling as if Matt were there. “Hey Matty… I uh… I came here because I’m really struggling right now. I miss you a lot.” You quietly cleared your throat as fresh tears rolled down your cheeks. “I don’t really know what I’m doing so I guess I’ll just tell you what’s been going on.” 

Feeling your keys poking into your thigh reminded you of a little keychain you had on there, so you sighed and said, “They decided to close down Fogwell’s… Not enough members coming anymore.” A quiet huff of laughter left your lips before you added, “Sometimes I feel like you were the only one keeping them in business, but now…” 

Your voice broke again, so you changed course, telling him, “Oh and that piss-beer you drink is more expensive now. It tastes like shit and you know I hate beer, but I keep buying it because it reminds me of you… Dad likes it enough so it doesn’t go to waste.” Sighing, you chewed on your lip before adding, “That reminds me. I moved out of the apartment and back to Hamilton Heights with my parents. I just… I couldn’t stand the quiet of you not being there. God, I would take a million changes though if it meant that you’d still be here…”

The metallic taste of blood suddenly flooded your mouth and only then did you realize that in your minutes of regaining your composure after that statement you had bit into your cheek to keep from completely losing it again. Cringing at the taste, you swallowed it down before telling Matt, “I’ve been really lonely since everything happened… I had to get a new job closer to Mom and Dad’s and it’s hard opening up to anyone so I haven’t really made any friends there. I… I haven’t talked to Karen or Foggy since the funeral either. They remind me too much of you. I know it sounds selfish but…” 

More tears began falling from your eyes and a quiet sob escaped before you said, “I miss your voice so much. It’s been so long since I’ve heard it and I regret ever deleting your voicemails because now it’s getting harder to remember what you sounded like…” Taking a shaking breath, you added, “And I regret stopping my daily journaling. Every time I think of you I just get bombarded by horrible flashbacks and it’s hard to remember the little things. The good things. Those entries from the start of our relationship are all I have left of you and I and it kills me that I don’t have more…”

With your breathing beginning to become shallow again, you opted to finish up before you ended up in another breakdown. “And I know I couldn’t save you from yourself Matthew, but I’ll hold you inside.” Your throat was tight with emotion and you had to swallow hard to even get out your last question to Matt, “Will you haunt me until the day I die?”

“The bastard isn’t gonna have to haunt you for long,” came a deep voice from behind. You froze in fear as you suddenly felt the cold metal of the barrel of a gun pressed against the back of your head. There was a momentary battle in your head between logic and your nagging hopelessness before the latter won out and you let out a slow breath as you accepted what was about to happen, closing your eyes and readying yourself for the Reaper to come get you. 

The shot never came though. Instead, your eyes sprung open when you heard someone near the front of the sanctuary scream. There was a scuffle behind you and you heard fists pounding into flesh and the voice of the man with the gun pleading for mercy before he stopped and you assumed he passed out. You turned around and blinked hard at the sight in front of you. You held tight to the back of the pew, your knuckles turning white as you tried to steady yourself and your spinning head to concentrate on the sight in front of you. Your mind had to be playing tricks on you because there was no way you were looking at Matt Murdock with a piece of fabric haphazardly tied over the top half of his face to hide his identity from the parishioners in the church. 

“Matt?” you asked in disbelief. 

“Get her to safety, I’ll deal with him,” he said, directing his immediate attention to the stern-looking nun who made a reappearance after ushering terrified church-goers out of the building. 

“Follow me, please,” she said as helped you up from the pew. 

Your head was spinning as you were forced up to your feet and into the basement of the church where you were placed on a messily made bed and told that you would be safe there. A flurry of confusion, fear, sadness, and betrayal swirled around in your mind as you tried to make sense of what was happening. Clearly it was real because the nun responded to what Matt had said and the man wasn’t able to kill you. But how? How did he-

“Are you okay?” came Matt’s gravelly voice as he entered the basement, ripping the fabric from his head as he approached and kneeled on the ground in front of you. 

Are you okay? 

This time you weren’t sure if you should be upset or happy or angry in response to the question because there he was, kneeling right in front of you. Alive. Matt wasn’t dead. 

You decided on throwing your arms around him in the tightest embrace you could muster as you shook your head and whispered, “How could you? You bastard…”

“I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry,” he replied, voice breaking as he returned your hug, his fists clutching onto the fabric of your top. “I messed up. I thought that you would all be better off without me. Without the danger of being close to me. So when that building collapsed and I somehow made it out alive I decided that Matt Murdock was dead.”

“You slipped like sand right through my fingers, did I not love you enough? If you didn’t want to live as you anymore?” you asked, your voice muffled by his shirt.

“No. Never,” he told you firmly. “I did this to protect you.”

“That isn’t your decision to make for me,” you said, your voice breaking again. 

“I know that now and I’m sorry. I just… I thought that you’d be safer without me. But now Fisk is sending his men after you and you still aren’t safe.” Matt finally pulled away from your embrace and tentatively caressed your cheek with a small smile on his lips. “I missed you. And I love you. And I’m going to do everything in my power to make sure you’re safe.”

“Thank you,” you whispered, wiping away a stray tear that escaped your eye. 

Matt made his way onto the bed beside you and the two of you just held each other for a few minutes before he cleared his throat and said cautiously, “Right…right before I stopped that man from shooting you, your whole body relaxed and your stress levels dropped… What was that about?”

You stopped breathing for a moment when he asked this. After taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly, you replied truthfully, “I…I was ready to die. At least then I would have been with you instead of here suffering without.”

Matt had never pulled you into his embrace faster than he did when you admitted that. As he held you close, you could feel him shaking as he cried and you ran a hand up and down his back, trying to calm him down in turn. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart,” he managed to get out between broken breaths. 

You too were overcome with emotions, so you did what you could and held Matt impossibly closer until you were able to come back to yourself. “I meant everything I said up there by the way. Those were the most miserable months of my life.” You pulled away slightly and hesitantly kissed his cheek before telling him, “Please don’t leave me again.”

“I won’t,” he promised. “We’re going to make sure you’re safe and I’m going to take care of Fisk then everything can go back to normal.”

A huff of laughter left your lips before you told him, “Matthew. Your life is anything but normal.”

“Well as normal as it can be. And when the dust clears I hope you’ll still be willing to be by my side,” he said. 

“Forever and always,” you told him, leaning in for a kiss which he reciprocated in the most tender way he could. When the kiss ended, you rested your forehead on his and mumbled, “I love you.”

“I love you too.” 

And somehow in that moment, even after everything that had happened, you felt okay.

dividers by @firefly-graphics

a/n: okay ngl y’all i cried when i wrote this whoops 😅

anywho! likes and comments are always appreciated! xo, brooke <3

oh also shoutout to those who beta read this! 🫶🏻🐠

taglist: @reidmarieprentiss

[farfromstrange]

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

-> Main Masterlist

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

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

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

Word Count: 12.2k (this is a beast)

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

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

Read Me On AO3!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your heart skips a beat. Could it be…

It is no secret that vampires exist.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You don’t know me, but I know you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yours sincerely,

M.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What, now?”

“Yeah. I forgot I had an appointment.”

“What about Mr. Doherty?”

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

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

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

“But—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

How come you’re not scared then?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Another minute it is then.”

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

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

“How?”

“Accident when I was a kid.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh, my God,” you curse.

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

“I was considering not to.” 

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

“How would you know?” you counter. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Here you are.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You flinch. “What?”

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

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

“No.”

“Good.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes, it would.”

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

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

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

Matthew scoffs. “My parents were both Catholic.”

“I suppose you’re not?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You still came,” he says. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I didn’t, my secretary did.”

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

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

“Wouldn’t it be a suicide mission?” 

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

“I’m not on the record yet.”

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

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

He’s amused. You’re amusing him. 

“Don’t call me that,” you growl. 

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

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

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

“That’s not… Answer my question!”

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

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

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

“My investigative journalism essay,” you breathe out. 

“Published by Columbia University.” 

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

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

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

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

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

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

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

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

Session 1.

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

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

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

“And what happened the year you died?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You swallow. “That sounds… overstimulating.”

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

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

“Like I am the demon.”

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

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

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

“Are you?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re not,” you cut in. 

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

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

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

“It’s what you deserved,” you say.

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

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

“And where is she now?” you ask.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And what’s that?” he asks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do it,” you beg. “Taste me.”

He utters your name again. “Stop.”

“Please.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You cease to exist in all solar systems but his. 

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

“I shouldn’t have—” he begins. 

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

“I couldn’t stop.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Matthew,” you moan. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thinking about you,” you murmur. 

“Me?”

“You.”

“Why?”

“Because I want to be your salvation.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Bite me again,” you beg.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You choke out, “Yours.”

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

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

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

“Session two tomorrow?” you ask.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[shiorimakibawrites]

Hi Shiori!! Can I request a “Grab Your Tissues” for either Matt or Frank? Whoever you’re feeling more for the prompt: “I can’t sleep”

Hi Sapph! I hope you enjoy this (as well as your trip!)

Tags/Warnings: Insomnia, Low self-esteem, Mention of Stick, Referenced child abandonment Taglist: @loves0phelia, @nowheredreamer, @beezusvreeland, @yarrystyleeza

Can’t Sleep

Matt couldn’t sleep.

Not an unusual occurrence for him. His sleep schedule was terrible. Had been for years. Ever since the accident. Even with Stick’s training, he couldn’t seem to shut out the world enough to sleep sometimes. Tonight was one of those nights.

It seemed like every little sound in this building kept drilling into his ears. Foggy’s snores. People talking in the rec room. Other students in their dorms having sex or arguing. Or in the case of Jimmy and Amanda two floors up, both at the same time. People watching a movie or listening to music. The buzz of the lights, the rattling of the pipes, the flushing of toilets. The list went on and on. All perfectly normal sounds, typical for the student hall at night. No one was being particularly loud but for some reason Matt just couldn’t tune it out.

It didn’t help that his bed was uncomfortable. The laundry service had gotten backed up. So when Matt had accidentally spilled dinner all over his sheets, he didn’t have any fresh ones to put on. Foggy immediately offered his spare set so Matt wouldn’t have to sleep on a bare mattress until he got his spare sheets back. Or dirty ones got washed. Whichever came first.

Matt appreciated it. Really he did. Foggy was a good friend. A better friend that someone like him deserved. But all the gratitude in the world wouldn’t change that these cotton-poly blend sheets felt like sandpaper on his skin.

He was out of practice ignoring the sensation. He had gotten used to silk. He could hear Stick calling him a pussy for allowing himself to become so dependent on something like silk sheets. And maybe he was right. But it had been so nice, being comfortable while he slept, for the first time since the accident. He had thanked God for leading him to that girl’s bed during his first semester. Her silk sheets had been a revelation. So much of one that Matt had taken some of his precious cash and immediately bought two sets.

Foggy had teased him about it a little, joking that he was turning their dorm room into a brothel. They ended up pondering the logistics of such a venture, one of those bizarre yet thoroughly entertaining conversations he often had with Foggy. Sometimes it felt like he could tell Foggy anything.

Matt rolled over, trying to find a less uncomfortable spot. Another reason he couldn’t sleep. A debate weighed heavily on his mind. An argument he had been having with himself for months. Should he tell Foggy about his senses? His training? What really happened the night Elektra dumped him?

He wanted to. Sometimes it was all he could do to keep it behind his teeth. To only give the barest of hints, hoping that Foggy would pick up them. Put two and two together. It was possible. Foggy was a smart guy. Far smarter than he liked to give himself credit for. Sometimes it seemed like he had, from some of his questions.

But another, equally powerful part of his mind, dreaded Foggy learning those things. That Hey buddy would transform into Get away from me freak.

No matter how many times Matt tried to tell himself that Foggy wasn’t like that. He wasn’t cruel. Convince himself that Foggy wouldn’t reject him for his abilities. Remember how Foggy had gotten in people’s faces for being homophobic or racist or any number of things. He had protested bills targeting mutants. Every logical part of his brain said telling Foggy was safe.

And yet the terror remained. The knowledge that he was so awful that even as a baby, his own mother couldn’t stand him. The phantom sound of Stick’s retreating footstep clogged his ears. The ghost of Elektra’s perfume and that man’s blood filled his nose. All of it froze his tongue in his mouth. Seized his jaw in crushing grip.

He couldn’t do it. Couldn’t risk it. Couldn’t risk losing his friend. Matt was too weak. He needed that connection, craved the easy affection Foggy gave him as easy as breathing. He couldn’t lose it. He couldn’t . . .

“Matt?”

Matt started. He had been so caught up in his own thoughts that he hadn’t even heard Foggy wake up. Or sit up for that matter.

“Hey Foggy,” he said. “What are you doing up?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” Foggy said. “It’s 3 AM.”

Matt shifted so he was facing the direction of Foggy’s bed. “I can’t sleep.”

“Why? Bad dreams?”

“Nah . . . just worried about that final in Dr. White’s class,” Matt answered. It wasn’t entirely a lie.

“Buddy, you shouldn’t be worried about that. You got that philosophy junk backwards and forwards.”

“It’s not junk,” Matt retorted automatically, sitting up himself when he heard Foggy moving. Getting up. “What are you doing?”

“Grabbing my laptop,” Foggy said. “Since neither of us can sleep, we’re watching a movie.”

“You were sleeping just fine.”

“Oh contraire mon ami, I was as restless as you were. You ain’t the only one worried about finals.” Foggy said. It was a lie. Matt didn’t need to hear the little skip in his heart to know that. And yet . . .

“What movie?”

“Do you really have to ask? The Princess Bride.”

“Haven’t you seen it a million times?”

“And I’ll see it a million and one.”

Matt let it go. It wasn’t worth arguing with Foggy about it. He recognized that tone. Besides he liked The Princess Bride. Listening to it one more time wouldn’t hurt.

[sydsaint]

Damian who? Santos is my only valid Lantino papi <3

Summary: After defecting from the LWO and reuniting with his Legado family, Santos finds himself faced with a decision regarding the reader and Elektra who are both vying for his affection.

You arrive to the LFI lockeroom early so you've got plenty of time to get ready for the show. Angel and Humberto are already there hanging out when you arrive, but Santos and Elektra haven't shown up just yet.

"Hey, Berto, Angel." You wave at the pair as you come through the door.

"Hey, YN." Humberto waves back at you, looking up from his phone.

Angel nods at you as well, but doesn't say anything. You shut the locker room door and head over to the vanity sitting in the corner. You set your duffel bag down and fish your makeup bag out of it so you can get started on dolling up your face.

"Who are you getting all prettied up for, YN?" Angel saunters over to you after a few minutes.

"Not you, Angel, that's for sure." You tease him.

Angel chuckles and rolls his eyes playfully. "You hear that, cousin?" He turns back to Humberto. "YN here's got a thing for our fearless leader."

"Mhm." You hum while applying your mascara carefully. "Jealous?" You continue to joke around with Angel.

"Maybe a little." Angel grins at you. "Any man would be lucky to have your attention, Mi Amore." He winks at you.

You giggle and Angel finally leaves you alone for the time being. You finish up your makeup and are putting things away when Elektra and Santos finally arrive. You watch the pair in the mirror as they come through the door. Your jaw clenches in jealousy when you spot the way Elektra hangs on Santos as they come inside the locker room.

"Afternoon, Santos." You swivel around in your chair and greet Santos, also making a point to ignore Elektra.

"YN! Punctual as always, I see, Mi Corazon." Santos walks over to you. "How long have you been here?" He asks you.

You shrug like your earliness is no big deal. "Oh around half an hour is all." You assure him. "Angel and Humberto were already here when I arrived." You add.

"Well, those two don't have anything special going on anyway." Santos replies. "But you, Mi Corazon. I's expect you to have plenty going on." He smirks at you.

You drop your head and smile to yourself for replying. "Oh? And what kinds of things do you expect me to be doing in my free time, Santos?" You ask him.

"Well, I imagine that you've got droves of men dying to meet you in whatever city we're in." Santos explains. "I know I'd pay a high price to get a photo with such a beautiful woman." He adds with a wink.

"Santos!" You giggle playfully.

A few feet away, Elektra scoffs quietly to herself before making her way over to the two of you. "Santos! You're going to come out with me for my match against Tiffany Straton, right?" She asks him, batting her eyelashes gently.

"Yes, I said I would come out with you earlier." Santos reminds Elektra, turning away from you.

"Thank you, Santos." Elektra cooes. "It's nice to have support from our fearless leader." She grins and bats her eyelashes again.

You roll your eyes, regonizing the game that Elektra is attempting to play with you. "I've got that match against Zelina as well, tonight." You get Santos' attention back on you. "But since you're going out with Elektra, I think that I'll go it alone tonight."

"Nonsense." Santos protests. "You should take Humberto and Angel with you." He insists. "Joaquin and Cruz will most likely be out there, and I don't want you to be alone."

"I can handle myself, Santos." You remind him. "I don't need a man looking out for me." You add, making sure to glance over at Elektra at the same time.

Santos nods, a small smile playing on his lips. "I know, Mi Amore." He assures you. "But please, take Angel and Humberto with you." He asks you. "It'd put my mind at ease knowing that you weren't left all alone out there."

"Okay." You nod. "But only because you asked, Santos." You touch his arm gently.

"Thank you, YN." Santos smiles in releif.

You step off into the other room to get changed into your ring gear. While you're in the middle of changing, Elektra comes into the room to do the same.

"YN." Elektra looks at you with a stoic expression.

"Elektra." You greet her with the same dry tone and look on your face.

Silence falls over the room as the two of you get changed. But Elektra can't help but speak up after a while of the rwo of you ignoring one another.

"This little game you're playing with Santos isn't funny, puta." Elektra turns toward you with fire in her eyes and a sour tone.

"Oh?" You reply with a sly smile. "And what game is that?" You dare ask her.

Elektra scoffs and moves toward you. "He's never going to be into you." She sneers. "Not when he can have me. So you'd be smart to end the game right here and now." Elektra glares at you.

You laugh and pull on your cropped jacket. "See, the thing is, Elektra." You grin, not giving her the satisfaction of stopping what you're doing. "You claim that this is a game. But it's not. See, a game implies that more than one person is playing." You laugh to yourself. "But the truth is, there was only ever one. Because you were never a player to begin with, Elektra." You wink at her and step toward the door.

"Excuse me!" Elektra fumes, but you swing open the door and step back into the main locker room before she can get a word out.

Your match with Zelina is scheduled first, so you pick up Angel and Humberto and head out with them. Your match with Zelina is around 10 minutes long, and you manage to pick up the win against her before heading backstage again.

Elektra's match against Tiffany is right after yours, so she and Santos are waiting behind the curtain when you get backstage.

"YN! Wonderful job out there!" Santos praises you. "You looked fantastic."

"Thanks, boss." You match his grin. "And, hey, I told you that I didn't need the pretty boy squad." You add and nod to Angel and Humberto. "Joaquin and Cruz were hardly any trouble."

Santos nods, aknoledging that you were right. "Of course." He smiles at you. "I should have listened to you." He jokes.

You and Santos linger near each other for a moment before Elektra drags him off for her match. You head back to the locker room with Angel and Humberto so you can change again.

Once you're back in your normal clothes, you head back out to the main locker room just as Elektra and Santos are returning from the ring.

"Hey, guys." You wave at them both. "How'd the match go?" You ask casually.

"Ugh!" Elektra groans and stomps past you.

You watch Elektra slam the door before you turn back to Santos. "She lost. Escobar explains.

"Oh." You nod. "Too bad. Tiffany is really good, though." You shrug.

Santos nods in agreement, and the two of you chat for a few minutes before Elektra comes back from her tantrum.

"Santos!" Elektra whines and walks up to him. "Buy me drinks after the show?" She asks him. "To make me feel better about losing?" She frowns.

"Elektra, come on." Santos shakes his head, putting a few inches of distance between the two of them. "What has been going on with you these past few weeks?" He confronts her.

Elektra's frown deepens. "What do you mean?" She asks him.

"You've been clinging to me like some desperate teenage girl." Santos explains. "And I'm getting tired of it." He admits.

"Are you kidding me?" Elektra scoffs. "YN's been dropping hints to you same as me!" She points a finger at you. "What's the difference?"

Santos scoffs and glances at you. "There's a big difference, Elektra." He insists. "YN hasn't been acting like childish. She flirts with me, yes. But she hasn't been acting desperate. Which is exactly what you're doing."

"Ugh! Whatever!" Elektra sneers and turns to you. "You can have him, YN!" She scoffs before storming off.

You watch Elektra slam the door once again and laugh once she's gone. "Well, that was dramatic." You giggle.

"Got that right." Angel chimes in. "So, drinks for everyone after the show?" He suggests.

"I'm game." You nod. "As long as Santos is buying the first round." You tease Esobar.

Santos chuckles and walks back over to you. "Happy to buy if it's for you, Mi Corazon." He grins at you.

[delilahcalicocat]

Hi Delilah, could you do a Cody Rhodes x Reader x Jey Uso poly fic where reader reunites with her 2 boys at a WWE house show in the UK after being away from them doing Nxt and Smackdown.

Info-Reader is 1/2 of the WWE Women's Tag Team Champions along with Zelina Vega, and they get called in to do a a few house shows. So reader doesn't tell Cody and Jey that she's coming.

A/N: Of Course, But I think my little backstory here is that Y/N and Zelina were fighting Chelsea Green and Tegan Nox on Smackdown the Month prior and won le titles while the boys were busy, and Y/N surprised them on Jey's Birthday by appearing at the House Show!

♥︎~Surprise!~♥︎

{Rating: Fluff}

{Warnings: Swearing, Kissing, Hugging}

{Pairing: Cody Rhodes x Fem!Reader x Jey Uso}

You won the tag titles with Zelina a few months ago, so you and her were always on Smackdown or NXT. But Never RAW where your boys waited.

So while you were at the store, picking up things for your dinner that night. You'd gotten a call from HHH, asking if you were free to compete in a singles match against Lyra, the newest call up from the draft.

You were super excited, but decided not to tell Jey and Cody you'd be there for the show.

It was in London England, so you decided to get a head start because Cody and Jey were probably also on the road despite it being 8:30pm at night.

And the reason you and Zelina weren't fighting as a team is because Zelina was set to fight in a match against Elektra Lopez and Santos Escobar with Rey Mysterio

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~❤️~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As soon as you sat down in your locker room, your eyes felt heavy.. you drove the entire night to make it to London. But you couldn't fall asleep now... it was literally 6:00am, you might have to make a appearance at the meet and greet.

But you still ended up falling asleep, you woke up to your 3:30pm alarm on your phone.

And you fixed your hair and ran towards the general area in the backstage.

Cody and Jey were nowhere to be seen. So you had sometime to sit and relax

Until you heard Cody's Voice. You scampered away back to your locker room not to ruin the surprise.

And you couldn't hide all day..

That was until... it was 6:51pm, you'd been hiding for 3 hours...

The show was about to start, and you had to come out from hiding.

"Man, I wish Y/N could've made it, what about you Cody?" Jey said

"Yeah, I hate being on RAW sometimes because I miss her." Cody Said

You suddenly jumped and grabbed their shoulders spooking them a bit

"Surprise!!' You smiled

"Y/N?! Ya made it!" Jey Smiled hugging you

"What's this about Y/N?" Cody Asked

"Couldn't let my Birthday Boy's day be ruined, and I got a match against Lyra" You said with a small smile

They both kissed you and after your matches of the night, you all group hugged

[pixelsandpins]

Venom Team-ups and Throwdowns

I feel compelled to make Venom educational posts to aid the fandom with art and fanfiction fodder.

A non-exhaustive list of dual appearances and fights. Excluding Spider-Man and Carnage because...duh...

I don't know why I've made this.

Team-ups

Morbius-Venom: The Enemy Within

Vengeance-Venom: Nights of Vengeance

Wolverine-Venom: Tooth and Claw

Daredevil/Matt Murdock-Venom: On Trial

1st Thunderbolts team (Ellis, '07-'08): Moonstone, Songbird, Radioactive Man, Swordsman, Speedball/Penance, led by Norman Osbourn/Green Goblin

Dark Avengers team (Bendis, '08-'09): Sentry, Ares, Noh-Varr, Moonstone (disguised as Ms. Marvel), Bullseye (disguised as Hawkeye), Daken as Wolverine

(Dark Avengers is FUCKING WEIRD. This is Mac!Venom...pretending to be Spider-Man. Just...let that one...sink it. But it also has one of the sexiest set of panels in existence.)

Secret Avengers (Remender, '12-'13): Giant-Man, Captain Britain, Human Torch, Black Widow, Beast, Valkyrie, Ant-Man, led by Hawkeye

2nd Thunderbolts team (Thunderbolts Red, Daniel Way, '13-'14): Electra, Punisher, Deadpool, led by Red Hulk

Guardians of the Galaxy, 2 different times

Moongirl and Devil Dinosaur-Vol. 3 (Costa '16-'18) #151-153

ADDED

X-Men Blue (Bunn, 2018) #121-122 and Vol. 3 162-163: Iceman, Beast, Cyclops, Angel, Jean

1st Savage Avengers team: Eddie!Venom, Conan, Wolverine, Punisher, Elektra

2nd Savage Avengers team: Agent Anti-Venom, Conan, Black Knight, Cloak and Dagger, Elektra!Daredevil, Weapon H

Notable Conflicts

Punisher-Venom: Funeral Pyre

Juggernaut-Venom: The Madness

The Hulk-Incredible Hulk vs. Venom

The Xenophage-Venom: The Hunted

Nova -Nova 6-7 ('99)

Wolverine-Vol. 1 by Daniel Way

New Jack O'Lantern- Venom Vol. 2 by Rick Remender

Stegron-Vol. 3 (Costa '16-'18) #151-153

The Poisons-Venomverse/Venomized

Knull-Vol. 4 (Cates)

His fucking self from another damn timeline-Vol. 5 (Ewing)

Killgrave/The Purple Man-Venom: Separation Anxiety '24

Deathlok: 2nd Savage Avengers

Other

Beyond! ('06-07)-also features Henry Pym, Wasp, Gravity, Medusa, Firebird, Kraven, The Hood, Deathlok; dropped on Battleworld and told to FIGHT

New Avengers Annual '11 & Avengers Annual '12-Eddie!Anti-Venom joins The Revengers and fights The Avengers

Venom Vol 2 #7-Flash!Venom and Eddie FIGHT the first of a few times going forward.

[pastafossa]

pasta who do you see as matt's endgame in the mcu? do you think he'd ever settle down?

Ooooh this is an interesting one.

Ok, so I have a feeling that in Netflix!Era DD, endgame was likely Karen, or that's the vibe I got based on S3, although Elektra was still a possibility. But the MCU entrance has obviously thrown that into the air and added a TON of possibilities, including some we haven't seen yet, and a few established comic characters that are showing up in Born Again like Heather Glenn and Kirsten McDuffie, so we have a TON of options here.

Required: these are all just guesses. I get ships are personal so if you ship one of the ones I'm guessing won't happen, just know I get it and I could be wrong (my favorite ship in the Netflix shows were Matt/Claire and my not-gonna-happen-but-fun-to-imagine Ship was Matt/Jessica, neither of which will happen in the MCU era, so I'm not going based on my own favorites).

Karen Page: I'm going to be honest, and this is just a guess: my intuition says their endgame won't be Karen. I don't have much to go on other than rumors that Karen may not be a permanent stick-around character, and those set photos of the Matt kiss scene with Heather, which means that even though Karen was around, Matt or Karen (or both) have seemingly moved on (Karen with Frank maybe?). So I don't think that's going to be the Matt romance endgame.

Jen Walters: I don't think it's going to be Jen, either. I get the feeling, as cute as I think they were, that that was meant to be a permanent thing and Disney's been pretty clear they won't be making another She-Hulk even if she makes some cameos elsewhere, which rules her out as a romance.

Heather Glenn: They've said he's going to be involved with Heather Glenn in Born Again this upcoming season, a new character to the show/this particular variation of Daredevil. She is an established character in the comics so it's not like this doesn't have backing, but I just don't feel like it'll have the impact Disney would want when looking at endgame. Supposedly now with the rewrites, they've leaned much more heavily into making it dark like the Netflix shows and following that general mythos, and that to me means they're likely to bring back:

Elektra Nachios: now this is our big wildcard since she's not confirmed, but she's where I'm leaning towards putting my money. She's insanely popular in the comics, she's well established, her relationship with Matt is a classic and a staple of Matt's various arcs, and Mattlektra might be an easy win for Dis after some lower ratings on their stuff. I've also read a few rumors that Elodie was spotted on the Born Again set, though whether that's for a cameo or not is unclear. Still, that makes it sound like she's going to be back. If I had to guess, it will be a, 'I would have been with you if you were here', and once she is back, that's where Matt's liable to head towards even if he's with someone else. Especially if our older Born Again Matt is just a little more jaded, a little more tired and lonely when it comes to love and what seems like his failures to keep Fisk behind bars - someone like Elektra who he feels understands him so well would be very hard for him to resist. And if his relationship with Heather Glenn is anything less than super solid in the coming season, Elektra's going to be able to get in there, and it would admittedly be interesting to see an older Elektra that's grown just like Matt has.

Matt stays solo: god I don't want this to be endgame because i want this man to have someone to love on him after a hard day, but this is entirely possible and in some ways, it would be a way for them to kinda easily dodge the ship question. I could absolutely see Matt trying to pull a tragic, 'my life is too dangerous for love' but I don't think this is where they'll go. They like the romance thing more, but maybe that's wishful thinking.

Other options: various comic characters are going to show up, and again, Kirsten's a possibility although I haven't seen any noise on her being a romance in Born Again, although if they have excellent chemistry that might be something they lean into down the line. As it stands though, I'm going to put my money on the writers bringing back Elektra for a Mattlektra tragic, fated love endgame.

[hailey-murdock]

hailey baby I have a fluffy matt request

you spend the evening with him after he returns from a long day at the courthouse. eating takeout food, and hanging out. just really fluffy and wholesome, the rest is all yours <3

- with love, your dumbass counterpart💋

Ahhh okay so this is my very first fic, and I hope I did good for you my sweet dumdum ❤

(a/n: reblogs are appreciated)

The more I give to thee, the more I have

Paring: Matt Murdock x Reader

Warning: None. Just pure fluff.

Summary: based off this request from my most favorite person in the world (@little-miss-dilf-lover) Alicia ❤💋

"you spend the evening with him after he returns from a long day at the courthouse. eating takeout food, and hanging out. just really fluffy and wholesome, the rest is all yours <3"

WC: 800ish

Dating Matt has its advantages and disadvantages. You hated the nights when your boyfriend would come through the apartment window late at night all beaten up and hurt. But you loved him for who he is, a man devoted to making Hell's Kitchen a safe place for many people along with his closest friends and especially for you, hoping that one day maybe a mini you or mini Matt as well. 

A man who worshiped the ground you walked on. A man who loves you passionately and deeply. Matt isn't like any other man you've dated before. Either it was his nightly activities or his normal job as the great lawyer he is, he always came back to home, you are his home. No matter how tired he was, he always made time for you.

And especially in a moment like this, after such a long day at the courthouse working his ass off, he finally came back to the apartment. You were in the living room, laying on the couch reading one of your favorite novels, "Romeo and Juliet". Once you have heard the door open, you immediately close your book and sit up and walk to the door. 

The sight of your beautiful boyfriend made you smile, just like the first time you met back in college. Matt was exhausted after dealing with some annoying clients and lawyers. He missed the sound of your voice, your scent, your laugh. He missed every single thing about you and couldn't just wait to get home with you. 

Matt never thought he could ever have such a domestic lifestyle, but that changed until you guys started dating. The more time he spent with you, the more he fell in love with you. After everything that had happened with Elektra he swore he would never fall in love with anyone else. You, you had some kind of power over him, he thought. Nobody had made him feel more alive, loved, safe and cared for before, but you did. You gave him everything he could ever want.

When you had moved in with Matt, you both agreed to take turns in cooking. One day you would cook and the other he would. But as he made his way back after a long day, he decided to get takeout for the both of you. Not in the mood to cook dinner tonight.

"Hey sweetheart", Matt kissed you gently on the lips when you went to greet him at the door. You helped him close the door and with the bags of food and set them on the table as he followed right behind you.

"Hi Matty, how was your day?", you say as you wrapped your arms around Matt's waist and he laid his chin on top of your head and his arms around you.

He stayed silent for a bit trying to savor this moment with you. "It was tiring, so much work today hun". He pulled away to caress your cheek with one hand and kiss your forehead. 

You nodded since you didn't want to push him any more knowing that Matt was really tired and he would talk when he was ready. "Come on, let's eat, okay?"

The both of you pulled away from each other's embrace and took the takeout and sat on the couch with a few beers and ate. Matt had asked about your day at work, and you told him about how you got a new position that you've been working hard to get and a raise. He was happy for you and he praised you for working so hard to get what you wanted. "My hard-working girlfriend. Always knows what's best, does what she wants. I think you're way more badass than Daredevil." Matt said while chuckling with you. 

After a while, Matt finally told you how his day in court went. You always felt immense joy when Matt would talk about anything. It was hard for him to open up and him being able to do that with ease with you made your heart swell.

While Matt changed into something more comfortable, you cleaned up a bit. You sat down on the couch waiting for Matt to come back and you were reading once again your book. He laid down on the couch with his head on your lap. "Read to me sweetheart."

Your hand ran through his hair as you nodded. "My bounty is as boundless as the sea, my love as deep. The more I give to thee, the more I have, for both are infinite." 

Matt smiled widely as he realized when you said that it was more directly towards him then just reading it. He thought it was impossible to fall even more deeply in love with you then from what he already was.

Right now is one of the moments in which you could see the advantages of being in love with Matt Murdock. And you would never waste these moments together.

[petertingle-yipyip]

LOOKALIKE - MULTIVERSE!READER

Pairing: None directly; implied multiverse!matt x multiverse!spidergirl!reader

Word Count: 2,447

Summary: Spider Noire, a female spider themed hero, and Spider-man’s partner. Yanked from her universe and dropped into a new one, she finds someone familiar but still different. // is this great? no. is it fun? eh. am i posting it anyway? yeah. //

This wasn’t New York. You quickly realized that when you nearly collided with a skyscraper in the path you were swinging, one that had been clear less than a blink ago.

Wel, maybe it was. But it wasn’t your New York.

The blocks weren’t set up the right way. Businesses that were on 11th were now on 44th. The bodega you and Matt always went to was replaced with a shoe store. Your own apartment building was now a Target.

With no idea where you were, you ran to the only place that seemed to be familiar. It was late so the chances that anyone was there were minuscule. He was probably out doing his work as the Kitchen’s vigilante but you had nowhere else to go.

You burst through the doors to Nelson and Murdock and found Karen sitting at her desk, a light on in either office to the sides. Your sudden entrance made her jump from her seat as you yanked the mask off your face.

“Thank God.” You sighed. “Is Matt here?”

“Matt Murdock?” She asked carefully.

“Yeah.” You nodded.

“No, he’s not here. I can get Foggy for you though, but um.. Who should I tell him is here?”

“What? Karen, c’mon. You know me.” Your brows furrowed.

“I’m sorry.” She let out a nervous chuckle.

“Karen, it’s me. Y/N Osborne?” The blank expression in her eyes made you continue, almost desperate to have her recognize you. “Spider Noire? Black and gold spandex suit?” You gestured to the suit you were still wearing. “I work with Spiderman and Daredevil all the time?”

“You know Daredevil?” Her brows raised.

“What is going on?” You let out a stressed laugh and pushed your hands through your hair.

“What’s going on out here?” Foggy came out and you were relieved to see at least he was the same.

“Y/N Osborne is here.” Karen spoke carefully.

“Osborne?” His brows raised as he turned to you. “You mean Y/N Parker?”

“Parker?” You laughed. “I’m not related to Peter, I’m related to Harry. Remember? We used to joke that Oscorp got me into Columbia.”

“The Y/N I knew was Peter Parker’s older cousin. She applied to Columbia but ended up at MIT instead.”

“Knew?”

“Yeah, Y/N died a couple years ago fighting the Hand.”

“The Hand? No, it wasn’t me that died. Elektra died that night.”

“Matt said you both did.”

“This doesn’t make any sense.” You mumbled to yourself. “And that- that- that kid on the billboard? The one who killed fishbowl guy. Who is that?”

“Spiderman?”

“C’mon, guys. Peter’s like my brother. I think I'd know if he was a murderer. That’s not Spiderman.”

“Yes, it is.” He nodded and took a few steps closer. “Are you okay? Is there someone we can call for you?”

“You’re not Foggy.” You said sadly and stepped backwards, fighting back the tears. “You’re not Foggy and I can’t find Peter and something is really wrong.”

“Ms. Osborne, wait.” He tried but you were already running out the door.

You yanked your mask back down and shot a web at the roof across the street. You ignored the shouts from the streets below. Some yelled for you to go home, that they hated Spiderman. They must’ve mistaken you for Spiderman because they yelled that you were a murderer. They hated you, but you had no idea what was happening.

You didn’t know Mysterio. You didn’t know why Spiderman suddenly looked different. You didn’t know why everyone knew Peter Parker was Spiderman. While everything was spinning in your head, your body reacted to something being thrown at you.

You dove out of the way and shot a web at it so you could fling it back at whoever threw it. When you looked over, you saw the familiar silhouette. You let out a sigh of relief before yanking off your mask.

“Thank God it’s you.” You breathed.

“I’m gonna need you to answer some questions.” Matt said firmly and you felt your skin buzz when you realized Matt was ready to fight you.

“Matt?”

“Who are you?”

“Not you too.” You said sadly.

“Who do you work for?”

You groaned loudly and knocked both fists against your forehead.

“Don’t make me ask again.”

“I don’t work for anyone! Why does no one believe me?” You shouted, watching as Matt began to walk slow circles around you.

“Fisk?”

“Who?” You asked in defeat.

“Yakuza? Did the Hand do this?”

“No, I-“ You groaned and flicked a quick shot at his feet. “Your pacing is making me anxious.”

“You need to tell me who you are.”

“Oh my-“ You complained before you dropped to sit cross-legged on the floor. “Y/N Osborne. You know me.”

“Y/N…” He said your name softly, as if he hadn’t said it in so long. “But she’s..”

“Dead? Yeah, I’m just as confused as you are… Something’s not right, but I’m not smart enough to figure it out on my own. I thought you could help, but obviously you can’t.”

“You’re not Y/N. Not the one I knew, at least.” Matt said carefully, kneeling to free his foot. The tension in your body had dulled and now you just felt lost. “Your heartbeat is different.”

“How?” Your head tilted and you watched as he pulled off the helmet. Overall, he was the same Matt you knew back home, but his hair was shorter and even though it was messy from the helmet, you knew it was probably styled poorly. That was almost enough to make you laugh but you found a small comfort in seeing the same eyes you knew. The same features, same expression, same inflictions in his voice.

“It’s stronger. You're stronger.”

“You said you knew me as Y/N Parker?”

“Yeah… And you couldn’t do this.” He gave a small smile as he gestured to your webbing. “You trained with Elektra and Stick.”

“Yeah, I knew Ellie. But I met her when I met you, back in college. At Columbia.”

“You’re so different…” He said softly. “You’re telling the truth but… You’re just not my Y/N.”

“Yeah, I’m figuring that part out.” You sighed. “You’re a dead ringer for my Matt, though. Perfect lookalike.”

He gave a small laugh. “I hope that’s a good thing.”

“It is.” You smiled softly. “But it isn’t. Just makes me miss him more.”

“Have you tried finding Spiderman?”

“Peter? I don’t even know how I found you.” You laughed nervously.

“Technically, I found you.” He teased and you mimicked him, making him laugh.

“I don’t even know if I’d find this Peter or the Peter I know. Hell, there could be five Peter Parkers floating around now.”

“I could help you.” He offered.

You glanced around the New York skyline and felt an odd sensation. It felt like a string, tugging you and it sent a strange feeling to the pit of your stomach. It sent a tingle across your skin and almost made you shiver.

“No… I think I have an idea.” You said distantly, attention still stuck on that feeling. You felt if you turned away, it would move and you wouldn’t be able to find it again. “If you can’t get out of that-“ You offered over your shoulder as you fixed your mask back into place. “-it normally falls apart in a couple hours.”

“Couple hours?” He repeated in shock. “No. Y/N, c’mon.”

“It’s fine. You’ll be fine. I gotta go.”

“Y/N!”

“Later, Daredevil!” You called as you stepped off the roof.

After what felt like an eternity of swinging in circles, you finally let your feet hit the ground. You yanked your mask again and slammed it at your feet.

“Goddammit.” You huffed and shoved your fingers through your hair.

You stopped on that rooftop and surveyed the nearby buildings, hoping to see a familiar figure in his trademark red and blue spandex. But you seemed to be alone, despite the way your head screamed that you were right.

“Where are you, Peter?” You asked the city, hoping the streets would answer or the lights would point you in the right direction. You didn’t really expect an answer so you jumped when you heard the voice.

“If you’re looking for a fight.” A tired voice came from behind you. You spun quickly with your fists ready, only to find a boy hunched over his folded knees that he clutched to his chest. “I really don’t wanna deal with that right now.”

“A fight? No, no.” You relaxed your hands and folded them behind your back instead. “I- I didn’t realize anyone else was up here. I’m sorry. I can go.”

“Doesn’t matter… I don’t care anymore.”

“Are you-“ You said gently, moving to crouch beside him. “Are you Peter?”

“Mhmm.”

“Peter Parker?”

“Unfortunately.” He muttered. “Who are you?”

“That’s a little uh, bleak. What’s going on, little Spidey?”

“Well everyone looking for me from another universe has tried to kill me so...”

“I’m sorry, another universe?” You repeated in disbelief but that seemed to be the most fitting explanation. “That’s what this is? Huh. Oh man, Pete’s probably loving this.”

“Well this Peter isn’t because tonight has been the worst night of my life and I want it all to be over.”

“Ah.” You nodded. “That seems to be the trend with Peter Parkers, apparently. The whole always having someone trying to kill you bit. My Peter deals with that all the time… Something really bad happened tonight, didn’t it?” You asked gently once you realized just how beat up he was.

All he could do was nod while he clutched his knees a little tighter.

“People call me Spider Noire, by the way.” You sat beside him and crossed your legs. “But most of the time, it’s Y/N Osborne.”

“Osborne?” He repeated quickly. Defensively, almost. “Like- Like Norman Osborne? The Green Goblin Osborne?”

“Norman, yes. But my dad was never the Goblin.” You defended immediately, putting your hands up in surrender. “He died of some sickness. They never tell the kid the details, especially if she’s not the one getting the company… No, that honor - along with the Green Goblin title - went to my brother before he died.”

“Oh…” He replied in a small voice. “What happened to your brother?”

“He died in a fight against Spiderman. Harry - that’s my brother - tried to kill me and his best friend’s girlfriend.. Dropped us down a clock tower. I managed to save myself but Gwen wasn’t so lucky… Kind of a shitty thing to do if you ask me but hey. It is what it is.”

“Against Spiderman…”

“Yeah, but I think it’s for the best.”

“Really?”

“I don’t think I could’ve forgiven him for what he did.” You confessed. “And even if he didn’t die against my Peter, I probably would’ve killed him myself.”

“You wanted revenge on your own brother?”

“To be quite honest, I don’t think he really saw me as his sister… I think he hated me and whatever made him snap just brought it to the surface. And I don’t look like my father so I have a theory that I was adopted but the only people who would’ve known are dead.”

“I’m sorry about your friend.” He offered honestly.

You thought it was kind that he would offer his sympathy to you, despite his clear suffering. You had seen the billboards and magazine stories that criminalized him. You received a handful of the hate and threats intended for him. You saw the news report of the demolished condo building from his fight. You saw the flash of Dr. Connors in his lizard form and the blur of a modified version of the Osborne glider. You knew he was going through hell in those moments, but he still offered you - a complete stranger from an apparently different universe - his kindness.

“Who was it?” You tried. “If you’re okay with me asking.”

“Hmm?”

“Tonight.” You shifted to face him. “I saw that there was a body recovered after a massive explosion during a Spiderman fight. Who did you lose tonight?”

“My Aunt May.”

“Oh no, Peter.” You said gently, putting both hands on his forearms. “I’m so sorry… I know what she meant to my Peter so I can only assume what she meant to you.”

“She was all the family I had left.” He whispered in a pained, broken voice. “How-“ He took a deep breath to settle himself. “How am I supposed to keep doing this without her?”

“I’m afraid I can’t help with that.” You sighed.

“She died because of me.”

“No.” You said quickly. You slid over to be on your knees in front of him to ensure you had his attention. “Peter, I promise it wasn’t your fault. I don’t care how the fight went down but it wasn’t your fault.”

“But it was!” He cried. “I told her- I told her to run. But she didn’t. She stayed with me and now she’s dead! And I couldn’t save her.” His voice fell to a whisper for the last line.

“Guilt is one hell of a burden to carry. Peter, you can’t allow your grief to become guilt because it will ruin you.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I saw it happen to my Peter.”

“What happened?”

“I can’t explain to you what he was feeling because I wouldn’t be able to tell his story right but I know someone who can… Do you wanna help me find my Peter? I’m sure he’d love to talk to you.”

“I don’t wanna do anything other than…”

“Other than what?”

“I want to kill Norman Osborne.”

“I can’t say I don’t understand where you’re coming from.” You nodded. “But you’re so young, Peter. You don’t want that type of blood on your hands, do you?”

“The world already thinks I’m a murderer.” He scoffed and threw his hands forward. “What difference does it make?”

“The difference is whether or not you are. Don’t fit into the narrative that the world paints for you.”

“Peter.” A girl said from behind you. You stood and found a girl and a boy, eyes locked on Peter and near tears.

You stepped away and let them embrace their friend. Your attention turned to a feeling from slightly above you and you turned to find your Peter watching. You let out a sigh of relief as he dropped down to embrace you.

But if you only knew how upside down that night would turn, you never would’ve gone out to begin with. Maybe then you would’ve been safe in your own universe.

[fan-therapy]

Write for Matt ?!??👀🙈

anon i love you. (i needed an excuse to ramble about him)

anyways here is a headcannon dump. SFW and NSFW because i said so.

warnings: rambling, a little bit of porn (not sorry), handcuffs, rope, praise, body worship, ummm semi-public sex, teeny tiny season 3 spoilers towards the end, idk matt is kind of a shot

-first off i think matt is a great lover.

-he’s a MASSIVE romantic. in the classic hopeless romantic, roses and fancy jewelry as gifts, all that

-i think that with his wages, he’s not making insane 6 figures, but he’s making a decent amount- enough to buy you things whenever he sees something that reminds him of you

-don’t get me wrong, though. his love language is not gift giving-

-PHYSICAL TOUCH.

-obviously with his enhanced senses, matt is in love with just. you. just feeling you.

-when he’s near you, he can smell your deodorant/perfume/cologne/whatever you wear and is obsessed- when you’re visiting him or if you live together and are getting home, he always knows when you’re getting close because he can pick your smell out of a crowd.

-i think he’s very physically affectionate, he loves to run his hands over your skin- face, stomach, legs, anywhere. he can nap out every scar or bump on your body.

-and listening to you talk? jesus, don’t let me go on about this. your voice sounds like an angel to him. he doesn’t particularly care what you’re talking about- it could be the most boring thing he’s heard in his life- and your voice makes it all worth it.

-and if you sing? once again, don’t let me go on. i think he’s consistently lulled asleep by the sound of your singing

-we’ve seen it before, folks, but he’s constantly using his blindness as an excuse to be near you- “yeah i think i need you to help guide me around the apartment” and you say “matthew we’ve lived here for 2 years and you got used to it in a week”

-“oh no, i’m so sorry, i don’t know where i’m going, can you hold onto me so i don’t get lost”

-you already know he’s being dramatic about it but he still tries to use the blindness excuse

-okay and patching him up when he’s injured? he’s always injured. always. and you’re his preferred nurse!

-he doesn’t love it, not the stitches and the disinfectants, but he appreciates you more than you could ever know

-half the time, he passes out, wakes up on the couch with a blanket covering half his body, and he doesn’t even know how he got there for a few seconds. it’s the whole “woah suddenly i’m naked and my head hurts and i don’t know where i am…. oh”

NSFW NSFW NSFW.

-two words: enhanced senses.

-OH LORDY

-not a screamer i think, but more of a groaner and mumbler “fuck, fuck, god, just like that, that’s right-“

-RAMBLES. RAMBLES AND RAMBLES AND RAMBLES.

-i think he’s decently vanilla? like, the most he would go for imo is handcuffs, maybe a little bit of rope?

-generally very simple, but romantic

-typa guy to set up roses and candlwax, buy your favorite wine if you drink, things like that.

-just beautiful gestures of his love and adoration for you

-praise and body worship. you’re sooo perfect and i am insane

-i think he’s a switch, he tops or bottoms but he doesn’t dominante or submit. if that makes sense

-grabs and squeezes and holds you just because he can. tummy rolls? in his hands. no tummy rolls? still in his hands. stretch marks, scars, moles, whatever, he wants it in his hands

-okay office sex,,,,?

-mild mild mild season 3 spoilers

-also also also. have you SEEN the elektra sex scene???????? he KNOWS WHAT HE IS DOING.

-ladies man fr

-for a lot of reasons (the reasons are sex, fucking, and sex)

[riverdale-retread]

name 15 things that are sexy about hiram lodge

OK. I-

I'm now just being bullied. Why 15? HIRAM LODGE? Hiram Lodge SeXy!? To me, The Hot One In Riverdale Is Juggy! Oh wait. Is this - why- does this - sputter - gag -

Hiram's voice.

He has a literally wolfish grin, full of big shiny white bright dangerous teeth.

He extracts healing from touching the skins of other men. Nobody knows how he can do this, but he can.

Hiram achieves his goddamn goals. No cap. He achieves ALL of them. Are they worth achieving? Doubtful. But he achieves them.

He's obsessed with being impenetrable and invulnerable, which really means that he is vulnerable to wanting to be penetrated.

He went to Harvard, like all the other evil people of Riverdale, and it intensified his evil, which is the right way to use a Harvard education.

He's evil. Evil is sexy.

He's bilingual. Ditto.

He takes everything hella seriously. No humor whatsoever. He's fundamentally a dour man trapped in a colorful, comical universe, and I identify with that.

He blows shit up and sets shit on fire. Prisons, beds, houses, forests etc etc.

He gives Penelope Blossom an easy time, including a luxurious (I assume?) private berth in his private prison. Villain to villain solidarity is sexy.

Whatever it is he does in bed is apparently incredibly effective, because it makes Hermione Lodge, who is no slouch herself, tremble.

He needs a bestie and doesn't like doing things alone. This is a man who wants to partner up with someone to do anything.

He elektra-complexed his daughter so hard that she married his clone.

He's fertile and begets awesome daughters, no sons, which is very sexy.