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sugarcoatedstarkey · 2 years ago

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Tear stained pillow case

Pairings- Drew Starkey x Fem!reader

Summary- reader is in a long distance relationship with Drew and the constant shipping of him with his cast mate (Odessa) and hate get to her.

Warnings- Angst, yelling, swearing, a smidge of domestic abuse, cheating.

A/n: to the anon who requested a sad Drew fic, I’m sorry this isn’t the best. I hope I kind of got what you were looking for but I need to work on my angst! Please send me a message when you read this xxx

“YOU, you can’t keep going on like this?!” You shouted; anger bled through your veins. You felt sick, the bile rising in your throat. “You’ve got to be fucking joking me!”.

The nerve of your boyfriend, he spends months away from home. Spends every waking minute with his co-star Odessa, he kisses his co-star off screen and he’s the one who can’t keep going on?!

“Yes Y/N” Drew begins to argue, you cut him off by throwing his pillow at him. He doesn't even flinch, his face screwed up in anger. “No Drew, I’m not fucking done” you yell, you look crazy.

You look like the crazy jealous girlfriend his fans had painted you out to be, and you had every right to be.

“You don’t get to put this shit on me Drew, YOU KISSED HER!”.

-Previously-

You couldn’t take it anymore; his face was all over your FYP. You were stupid enough to create a TikTok account, scrolling endlessly and searching the tags for your boyfriend Drew.

You knew what you would see, thirst traps and edits of him and his cast mate Odessa. Edits of the sex scenes they had to film, everyone shipping them together. You were trying to make yourself hurt, you sat there reading the comments. Reading the hateful things they said about you, the words cutting you like tiny knives.

Ugly

Not good enough for Drew

She’s not even famous

Fat

You were ugly crying at this point, unsure why you put yourself through the pain day in day out. Drew had told you a handful of times not to go searching for these things, to pretend like the fans didn’t exist.

But how could he expect you to pretend? He was famous and there was no hiding it. He had been away for 3 months now; you had a routine of face timing every night around 6pm, but tonight was different. He had an event. An event with Odessa.

“GOD Y/N! What are you doing?!” You shouted, staring up at the ceiling. You roughly rubbed your face, your mascara smearing under your eyes. The tears didn’t stop falling down your cheeks. “STOP!” You ordered yourself, but it only made it worse.

Hyperventilating at this stage, gripping the blankets under you. Pressing your face into the white pillowcase, you were pathetic. A pathetic mess. You were so glad Drew was 12 hours away, there was no chance he’d walk through the doors and see you right now.

You hated that you were being so jealous, you knew he loved you. He adored you. Whenever someone tries to hint at him and Odessa in interviews, he always mentions you, you’re all over his Instagram.

You had never met Odessa; you never had the opportunity to. You did think that meeting her might make you feel less jealous, seeing how they act together in person and not from stupid TikTok clips that were edited purely to make people think they were together.

Your phone ringing cuts your crying short, you sit up quickly and reached for your phone. Seeing his face flash on the screen had you nervous, your skin clammy and heart racing.

You wiped away as much mascara as possible and dimmed the bedside lamp, pressing answer on the screen. His smile appearing on your screen moments later, he was in dark room with a small yellow overhead light.

“Hi baby” he grinned; you could see the glimmer in his eyes. You wanted to burst out crying again but instead you dig your fingernails in your thigh and gave him a fake smile. “Hey baby” you whispered, worried your voice would be husky from all the screaming and crying.

“Why is it so dark?” He questioned, his eyes darting around the screen as though he was trying to look over your shoulder. You shrugged and moved to lay on your stomach. “Going to bed early” your voice cracked, and you quickly hid it behind a cough, you could see a shift in his face.

“What’s wrong babe?” He questions, his eyebrows crease together. He looks over his phone for a second and mouths ‘hold on’ and his eyes dart back to you on the screen. “Nothing, I’m okay. You need to go babe, we can talk later” you smile, brushing him off, you wanted to go back to your sob fess.

“Your lying” he states, his features have hardened. You know he doesn’t like it when you keep things from him, he likes you to be open about your feelings. But right now, you didn’t have the energy to discuss why you were spending your Saturday night crying in bed at 6pm.

“Babe, we can talk about it when your home” “No, tell me now”

“Drew!” His eyes dart over his phone again and he lets out an exasperated sigh, he runs his hand over his face and squeezes the bridge of him nose.

It’s as though you can see the tension building in his shoulder blades, you so badly wanted to be there to offer him comfort. You wanted to be the one to rub his shoulders and whisper ‘you got this’

“Okay, I’ve got to go. I’ll call you tomorrow”.

He ends the call without an I love you, that just sets you off again and you spend the next 2 hours crying your eyes out until you pass out against his pillow.

—-

When you awaken the next morning, you’ve rolled over onto Drew’s side of the bed. Squeezing his pillow tightly against your body. Breathing in his scent that barely lingered anymore.

“Such a loser” you mumble to yourself; you reach for your phone that’s hidden under the blankets.

No notifications

You let out a defeated sigh and make yourself get ready for the day; you had planned to clean the apartment. Drew would be home in a few days, and you wanted him to come home to some normality.

And that’s exactly how you spent your Sunday, cleaning and staying off your phone. It was much harder to do the latter, you were itching to call Drew.

You usually sent texts back and forth every day, sent a couple of pics and just tried not to go crazy without one another. You had hoped listening to music and keeping you busy would stop the incessant thoughts that were flying around your head.

But you found yourself battling with your thoughts more than listening to the music. By the time nightfall came you had scrubbed every corner of the apartment. You had lit a candle in the living room and taken a seat when your phone lit up, the music travelling through the empty room.

You answer, plastering a smile on your face. He gives you a soft smile, he’s dressed in a green button up. The button up you had brought him for his birthday, you loved that colour oh him.

“Hey babe” you both say at the same time, letting out a chuckle at the two of you being awkward around each other. “How are you?” You ask, eyes flickering around the screen.

You can’t see much from where he is sat, you can hear voices and assume he’s just got back from the poguelandia event. You don’t even realise he hasn’t answered, too focused on who’s voice you can hear so close to the phone.

That’s when you look back at him, he’s not even looking at the phone. He’s looking over it again, mourning something and rolling his eyes.

“Why are you acting strange?”

“I’m not?”

“Okay.. why do you keep looking over the phone?”

“Oh, just watching something”

I’m that moment you knew something was going on, Drew always gave you his undivided attention even when he was mad. You didn’t like this, it made you feel sick again.

You were so sick of feeling unwell and anxious. “I’m going to bed”

Drew nods his head and finally looks at you, you press the end call button. You didn’t want to look at his face, you didn’t want to hear his voice. You wouldn’t be able to handle not hearing I love you back. It was easier this way.

You don’t know why you do it, but you don’t go to bed. Instead, you go searching on tiktok again. And that’s where you see it, the videos from poguelandia.

How close he and Odessa are, the way she dances with him. The whispering, the walking close together. You knew it, you just needed confirmation. He liked her, he didn’t want to be with you anymore and that’s why he’s distancing himself.

The tears don’t come though, your body seems to go into denial. Your stomach still unsettled, and your mouth feels dry but you place your phone on the counter and stare at the wall.

- 2 days dater -

“Hey, babe” you’re aroused from sleep, somebody shaking your arms. You jump, gripping the blankets around your chest. “Oh, it’s you”.

“Don’t seem so happy to see me?”

You don’t answer him, instead you stare at him. He takes a seat at the edge of the bed; he smells like the cologne you had brought him for his birthday.

He showered and is dressed in jeans and an oversized white shirt, hair a little messy since he’s growing it out for a project. “I missed you” Drew smiles, it’s a fake smile. You can tell them apart now.

He moves to give you a kiss, but you press your palm to his shoulder, giving your head a small shake.

You’re not dressed for an argument, so you pull yourself to stand and grab an oversized shirt. Not really sure if it’s one of yours or Drew’s but it really didn’t matter at the time.

“What’s wrong babe?” He questions, pulling himself to stand. He towers over you, making you feel small. The tough exterior you had been working on, crumbling slowly.

“Stop calling me babe... just, tell me the truth Drew”.

You don’t even need to clarify what you’re talking about; he runs a palm down his face. He begins to pace the bedroom floor; you had hoped he would deny it.

“I knew it”.

“It was a kiss” Drew states, your heart breaks. You feel as though you can physically hear the cracking of your heart, the bile rises in your throat and the tears pierce your tear ducts begging to be released.

“W-what?” You whisper, your voice wobbles. Your hands shaking as you move to hold yourself against the desk chair. You needed stability or you’d fall to your knees.

“I kissed Odessa, the night of poguelandia”

Your nails carve deep crescent moons into the wooden chair, your chest rising and falling heavier as you try to calm yourself down.

You can’t let yourself fall apart in front of him, he didn’t deserve to see you crumble.

“What the fuck Drew?” You yell, but your voice cracks and you slam your palm over your mouth to stop the hysterics from starting.

Turning your body so you’re not looking at him as the tears cascade down the apples of your cheeks, biting harshly on the skin of your lip. The familiar metallic taste fill your senses.

“It meant nothing”

“FUCK OFF with it meant nothing, why did you do it then?!”

This just seems to set him off, igniting something inside of him that he’s been holding onto for a long time. He’s stepping towards you and you’re taking steps back.

You’re back meeting the wall as he towers over you once more, making you feel smaller than you were. “Because Y/N, you’ve been acting weird. You’ve been distant and quiet; you’ve been making me feel bad for having a career”.

His voice is low and threatening, his hand hits at the wall behind you. You push on his chest, making him stumble back slightly.

“No Drew, I would NEVER make you feel bad for your career choice. However, I would distance myself so that I wasn’t sitting at home crying over you every night, missing you. Wishing I was with you, do you know how hard it is for me?!” You cry, you poke at his chest with your pointer finger. His larger hand grabbing yours to stop you from doing it.

You fight against him until he drops your hand, and you step away from him, your cheeks burnt red with frustration.

“How hard you’ve got it? What about me Y/N? Why is it always about you? I’m the one having to leave, do you know how hard that is on me?”

You shake your head, of course he was turning this all back around to the two of your issues. Acting as though kissing Odessa was okay, that it was just something he needed to do to forget about the issue at home.

“Don’t, don’t bring up all this. You kissed another woman; this is on you. Yea we have problems, every couple does. Yeah, we all have it hard, doesn’t make it okay for you to kiss your co-star” you shout.

You grab your phone; you don’t know why you want to add fuel to the fire. You’re on tiktok before you can rationalise with your brain, the second you’re on the app. The videos are there waiting.

“You see the shit that I have to deal with, go on, watch it”.

You throw the phone across the bed, his eyes falling to the screen of the iPhone. The video loops over the two of them dancing and whispering at the event, you can see him swallow harshly.

“This is a fan editing videos- “Drew begins to argue, and you let out a grunt of frustration, running your hands through your messy bed head.

“I can’t keep going on like this”

“YOU, you can’t keep going on like this?!” You shouted; anger bled through your veins. You felt sick, the bile rising in your throat. “You’ve got to be fucking joking me!”.

The nerve of your boyfriend, he spends months away from home. Spends every waking minute with his co-star Odessa, he kisses his co-star off screen and he’s the one who can’t keep going on?!

You knew you looked like the crazy jealous girlfriend his fans had painted you out to be, and you had every right to be. Your boyfriend of three years had kissed someone who wasn’t you and it wasn’t for a movie.

“You don’t get to put this shit on me Drew, YOU KISSED HER!” You cry, you can’t stop the tears now. You’re hyperventilating again, pressing the palms of your hands into your eyes.

He’s stepping around the bed and pulling you against his chest, you want to fight against him. You want to tell him to get out of the apartment.

But you also want to beg him to stay, beg him to stop seeing Odessa. Beg him to start fresh with you, move on and be happy.

“This is the end, isn’t it?” He questions, you pull away from him slightly. Mascara pooling in your lower lashes, you probably should have washed that off before you went to bed.

“It has to be” you breath, tears begin to fall from his own eyes. This only makes you hysterical, sobbing into his chest as he holds you tighter. You don’t even want him to let go.

“I’ll always love you Y/N, I’ll always think about you when I walk past a bookstore or see those fancy chocolate donuts in the bakery down town” he whispers, his lips are pressed against your hair. His grip is tight around your body, he doesn’t want to let go either.

“I was lucky enough to love you, I’ll always remember that” You whisper, tears fall harder as you look at one another.

“Oh.. if we are doing the right thing, why does it hurt so much?”

“I don’t know”

His thumb wipes away the tears on your cheek, pressing his forehead to yours. You let him kiss you one last time. His lips are soft, and they feel like they always do, they were made for you.

“I should go... I’m so sorry Y/N, truly so sorry”.

You watch him leave, you wait for the front door to close and that’s when you let yourself fall. Knees meeting the hardwood floor, the draft from under the bedroom door kiss your toes. You let out a gut-wrenching sob, praying he would come back and fight.

Taglist- @novxturient @kookypogue111

Part 2

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lulu2992 · 5 months ago

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Greg Bryk was in episode 25 of Podcast141, co-hosted by Marwen Heni, Mars Lipowski, and Jim Boeven, to talk about his acting career in general, but also and mostly his role as Joseph Seed in Far Cry 5.

Since he’s already shared a lot of anecdotes in interviews and live videos on Instagram, I thought I wouldn’t learn anything new... but I did, so here’s a summary of what he said about his experience playing the Father.

We knew that the dev team (he specifically mentioned Dan Hay and Drew Holmes) had struggled to find the “right” actor for the role, but what I don’t remember ever hearing before is that, after two years of unsuccessful search, the project was almost cancelled for this reason!

Thankfully, that was when Greg Bryk auditioned. He had already said the script they gave him (and that he thought was “amazing”) was what became Joseph’s monologue in the mission “We Must Be Strong”, but he gave more details about what was originally in it. In this early version of his backstory, Joseph was 23 years old and working two jobs to support his family. One night, exhausted, he fell asleep on the couch as his pregnant wife went out to get ice cream. He was then awoken by a knock on the door, told she had been in an accident, and taken to the hospital. The rest of the story is what he says in Far Cry 5: when he arrives, his wife is dead, their premature daughter is “stuffed with tubes”, he hears God’s calling, and understands he has to make this sacrifice.

So he got the role, and when they called him again to record a sermon (my guess is it was this one, but I’m just speculating), he saw what the game looked like and thought everything and everyone was “incredible”. Over time, as they got to know him, they even changed the character and partly rewrote the Father specifically for him.

The team was also very accommodating. For example, the scenes are usually shot in the huge performance capture studio, but for the Heralds’ eulogies, which are much more intimate, they built a small room so he felt like he actually had something around him instead of a big, empty space.

A day before the game came out, the cutscenes were already available online and he watched some of them. He was very impressed by the last eulogy (or, as he calls it, “snot monologue”) in particular because of how “vivid” and “human” it felt. It brought tears to his eyes and he recalls his wife was “blown away”; it was “special”.

As for the fans, he thinks they’ve been very supportive and welcoming. Some have told him they felt heard and seen by Joseph, and he believes it’s because he’s a character who loves people for who they are. At this point, he and the co-hosts agreed that being an actor was a gift because it gives an opportunity to make people’s lives better, especially in video games because there’s a unique connection that doesn’t really exist in movies or TV series.

Marwen Heni mentioned that, while most villains want you to hate them, Joseph, on the contrary, wanted you to reflect and think that he might be right. Greg Bryk admitted that he believed everything he said, especially about family and technology. Sometimes, people are isolated or only have online connections, so having someone tell them, “I see you and I love you for what you are” is powerful. In his opinion, this message resonated with a lot of players because it’s a simple truth and we all want to be part of a family.

Joseph doesn’t control his followers with fear, Marwen Heni commented, but with devotion, and that too makes him compelling. As he was playing Far Cry 5, he started questioning whether or not he (as the Deputy) was right for opposing the Father, which is something Greg Bryk says he saw a lot in comments. He believes there’s “an intimacy to the relationship” between Joseph and the player, a “seduction” in the sense that we all want to belong. He’s humbled by the impact his work had on people.

When asked if he would be open to reprising the role, this time, he answered, “Absolutely”. In fact, and this is news to me, he revealed there were discussions about turning Far Cry into a TV show, and the different games would have been standalone seasons. That said, he added that, at a certain point, it’s necessary to let characters go and that he was grateful for what he had already experienced playing the Father.

Marwen Heni then asked if Joseph, who is very complex, was entirely fictional or if it was Greg talking through him. He answered his characters are always him, to a degree, because he wants to connect with the material so he never lies and can work from things that matter to him. He never judges them and tries to think about what he wants to express through them. He’s interested in their humanity and what motivates them. “We’re all broken,” he said. “Some are much more broken than others, and sometimes those broken pieces are very sharp and jagged, and they lash out.”

He also revealed he had “very specific rituals” to help him become a character and then let them go. He mentioned a few prayers that one of his friends, who is a Wiccan, taught him. In fact, and all the co-hosts agreed, it can be very hard to “disconnect” from a character sometimes because actors aren’t just pretending; they’re using real emotions.

He had already said his son Dempsey had done the mocap for John and Jacob in the Collapse DLC and that he felt carrying Ethan’s body in New Dawn was a way for him to honor his “boy”, his dead dog Lucky, since he deeply regretted that he couldn’t be there to take him to the veterinarian the day he passed. What I didn’t know, however, is that it was Greg himself who had asked if Joseph could carry Ethan, and the team made it happen. He also explained that, when it was time to play this scene, he tried to imagine what it would be like to actually lose his son.

But who is Greg Bryk’s favorite Far Cry villain? Well, when he auditioned and started researching the franchise, he was interested in Vaas because of Michael Mando’s performance. He still doesn’t know him personally but has a friend who worked with him and who spoke about “how electrifying his talent was”. There’s something “unhinged” and “primal” to him as a performer; he’s a “wild” and “special” actor.

Finally, when told he was born to play Joseph, he confessed he felt he was indeed “called” to play this part but wants to give credit to Dan Hay, Drew Holmes, and Jean-Sébastien Décant for creating such a “terrifyingly human” antagonist in the first place.

#guys... the 'eulogy box' is real!#greg bryk #podcast141 #marwen heni #mars lipowski #jim boeven #joseph seed #far cry 5 #michael mando #vaas montenegro #far cry new dawn #far cry 5 spoilers #far cry new dawn spoilers #far cry 6 collapse #joseph collapse #dan hay #drew holmes #jean-sébastien décant

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farfromstrange · 11 months ago

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

-> Main Masterlist

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

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

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

Word Count: 12.2k (this is a beast)

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

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

Read Me On AO3!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your heart skips a beat. Could it be…

It is no secret that vampires exist.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You don’t know me, but I know you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yours sincerely,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What, now?”

“Yeah. I forgot I had an appointment.”

“What about Mr. Doherty?”

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

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

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

“But—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

How come you’re not scared then?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Another minute it is then.”

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

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

“How?”

“Accident when I was a kid.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh, my God,” you curse.

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

“I was considering not to.”

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

“How would you know?” you counter.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Here you are.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You flinch. “What?”

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

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

“No.”

“Good.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes, it would.”

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

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

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

Matthew scoffs. “My parents were both Catholic.”

“I suppose you’re not?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You still came,” he says.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I didn’t, my secretary did.”

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

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

“Wouldn’t it be a suicide mission?”

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

“I’m not on the record yet.”

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

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

He’s amused. You’re amusing him.

“Don’t call me that,” you growl.

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

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

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

“That’s not… Answer my question!”

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

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

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

“My investigative journalism essay,” you breathe out.

“Published by Columbia University.”

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

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

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

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

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

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

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

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

Session 1.

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

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

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

“And what happened the year you died?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You swallow. “That sounds… overstimulating.”

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

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

“Like I am the demon.”

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

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

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

“Are you?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re not,” you cut in.

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

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

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

“It’s what you deserved,” you say.

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

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

“And where is she now?” you ask.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And what’s that?” he asks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do it,” you beg. “Taste me.”

He utters your name again. “Stop.”

“Please.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You cease to exist in all solar systems but his.

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

“I shouldn’t have—” he begins.

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

“I couldn’t stop.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Matthew,” you moan.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thinking about you,” you murmur.

“Me?”

“You.”

“Why?”

“Because I want to be your salvation.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Bite me again,” you beg.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You choke out, “Yours.”

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

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

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

“Session two tomorrow?” you ask.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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nburkhardt · 1 year ago

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Every Time You Shine, I’ll Shine For You.

Soooo this was originally going to be full one shot, but I’ve decided since it’s been sitting in my drafts for months, that I’m just going to post it as either an unfinished piece for now. I might try to come up with a second half but for now enjoy this soulmate au ✨

Having a soulmark wasn’t necessary for Steve. Sure, seeing the word- the nickname his soulmate will eventually call him is nice. But it’s not needed, not in his eyes at least.

At the age of five years old, everyone in the world gets a nickname on their wrist. It’s fate telling you your perfect match, that the other half of your soul is out there for you. It’s the ultimate fairytale growing up, that it burns when you hear the nickname said by your soulmate and there’s an instant spark, instant connection. It’s the bedtime story, the ultimate love story and something to wish for.

It’s a wish everyone wants but Steve Harrington.

He has a very good reason to not like the idea of having a “perfect match” out there for you. While he heard the stories and sees the potential in it, he grew up watching his parents be in love without being actual soulmates. Hears stories of their love and ideas of finding love on your own, deciding to show the world that they don’t need fate’s help.

It’s beautiful and he wants that. Wants to make his own story, find his own match. There’s no need for fate to help him.

On his fifth birthday, he watched ‘Dingus’ appear on his wrist, it made him pout while his parents laughed and kiss his head, told him not to worry. That he doesn’t have to be with whoever fate picked for him and joked about only being five.

It eases his five year old mind.

His parents aren’t surprised to watch him grow up to be a true romantic, isn’t surprised to see his love in everything and how having a soul mark doesn’t stop him from having crushes or falling in love.

Life goes on but after some failed relationships and the disaster of a relationship with Nancy; seeing the nickname give him some hope that somewhere out there, there is someone for him. Someone who fate decided is his match, which growing up he hated it.

At eighteen, he really thought he’d already be with the person he’d love forever (and who would love him). But instead of that, he’s single and not at all close to figuring out why fate’s pick for him would call him “dingus” of all things. To top it all of he’s stuck working at the new Scoops Ahoy until he hears back from the colleges he applied too.

The uniform is lame, it’s in the middle of the brand new mall and it’s leaning towards being too cold in the shop and he doesn’t even know his coworker yet, hopefully they’re not expecting him to be some big shot like he was in high school.

Those days are long gone, he’d rather be his lame and hopeless romantic self instead of the asshole keg king he was.

His first week of working is spent being laughed at by ex-teammates, being ignored by his only coworker and failing to get at least a date with someone. It’s not his longest week, but it’s real close.

After a total of three weeks of getting ignored and laughed at by people he flirts with, his coworker, Robin decides enough is enough and- “maybe with this you’ll try harder”

Glancing behind him, she’s standing there with the whiteboard from the back but instead of the random doodles she drew, it looks like a score board with You Rule/You Suck on it.

There’s already three tally marks under ‘You Suck’ and he can’t figure out if it makes him want to laugh or cry, maybe both.

Definitely both.

“At least I’m trying here, you could find your soulmate with flirting!”

Robin rolls her eyes and hangs the board up behind her, “I’d rather suck on a lemon than flirt with guys”

It surprises him for all of three seconds before he rolls his eyes, whatever, he thinks. If she wants to miss the opportunity to find a soulmate, so be it. He’ll continue trying to find love, he doesn’t need whoever fate picked.

The board is definitely mocking him, he thinks several days later. Currently there’s five tally marks under ‘You Suck’ and a big fat nothing under ‘You Rule’. Robin thinks it’s the funniest thing on the planet.

He doesn’t find it funny, he finds it embarrassing and stupid, actually. Really embarrassing, especially when she brings it out when another girl their age walks in. It’s like she’s doing it on purpose.

Which is confusing, she told him explicitly that she does not like him and will only ever tolerate him. So, her practically chasing people away doesn’t make sense.

Her loud crackle of a laugh starts as his head nearly hits the counter, “That’s another one for the you suck column! Zero for the you rule, popeye!”

Standing up he turns around with a glare, “yeah I can read!”

“You sure about that one, Dingus?”

His wrist burns and he can’t stop his eyes from going wide. There’s no way, absolutely no way. This is a fluke, she must have seen his mark one day. That’s why his soulmate mate, fate’s pick, is his co-worker.

His disbelief and discomfort most show on his face because Robin shifts on her feet, “I’m uh, sorry. If I took that too far, really-uh I don’t think that way about you and, and- this is was” she looks uncomfortable now, tripping over her words.

Opening his mouth to calm her down, he find that his words are gone. The disbelief stopping him. He quickly shuts it and looks away from her. The shop is completely empty. When did that happen?

“Steve- I really didn’t mean to be well, mean.”

All he can do is nod back, “no, uh, I get it. Really- uh. It’s fine.”

How exactly is he supposed to do this? He’s never once called her a nickname! Unless she was his but he isn’t hers? He doesn’t know. Either way he’s still a little disappointed.

“You sure? Because uh, you’re looking a little pale there”

A laugh bubbles up and before he realizes it he’s on the ground with his back against the counter and tears on his face, “ye-yeah. Sorry.”

He hears her move around and then there’s a foot bumping his, he moves his head to look at her.

“We’re currently low on everything, did you know that? It’s unbelievable, just wiped clean.” Robin explains with amusement dancing on her face, “Scoops Ahoy is officially closed for the day”

That surprises a laugh out of him as tries to loosen the tension that built up, moving his arms he puts his chin on his knee, Robin copies him. They’re just looking at each other, comfortable in this silence.

“Sooo”

“Look-”

Their eyes meet and both burst out laughing. This feels different, at least for Steve. There’s something soothing coursing through him now, he never felt on edge with Robin but he wasn’t always this comfortable either. A smile spreading on his face, he didn’t know about this feeling when you meet your soulmate.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

He snorts, “they might be worth more, Birdie”

Robin gasps and he looks at her, but her eyes are wide and locked on her wrist. He follows her look and he can’t exactly see what she’s looking at but he knows it’s her soul mark.

They really are soulmates.

This is where I’d put the continuation… if I had the idea for it! (Said in that fairlyodd parents meme)

Anyway! If this brought you some inspiration, you can totally take whatever piece you want and write something! But please know I had this ending up as Steddie with side of Rockie (Vickie&Robin)

Permanent taglist: @spectrum-spectre @mysticcrownshipper @artiststarme @thereindeerlady @justforthedead89 @ronniescontinuum @freyaforestafay @littlewildflowerkitten @gregre369 @zerokrox-blog @flustratedcas @carlprocastinator1000 @marvelmwah @solliesolesito @navnae @i-less-than-three-you @grimmfitzz @estrellami-1 @cartercaptainofthemoon @bookworm0690 @strangersteddierthings

#platonic stobin #stobin #steve harrington #robin buckley #nburkhardt writes #stranger things #stranger things fic #soulmate au #Steve has good parents as a bonus btw #it’s open ended to give me the chance to add more #if you see any typos no you don’t

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carmyberzattosjournal · 4 months ago

Text

Entry 27: 8 Word Chorus

GIF by: @mporium

Bearblr Promptober Day 27: Nightmare

Summary: Carmy's girlfriend (who he calls Darling) has a nightmare, and he comforts her. Fluff.

Warnings: Swearing, comfort, nightmare, fem reader/lass who is a trauma surgeon, she/her pronouns (1157 words)

Notes: All journal entries will be titled as such and tagged with #cb journal.

Thank you for reading. Thank you to @carmenberzattosgf for putting together this prompt list. Sideblog for commentary and yapping: @m-z-shoroi

Also, if random letters or words are black/white instead of the colors they should be, that's Tumblr being dumb, I've been fighting it for days.

27 Oct 2024

I’m the one with nightmares, so when I woke up seemingly for no reason, I was confused as hell.

I fall asleep pretty quick on workdays (and after a good fuck, I’ll be honest), but if I happen to wake up in the middle of the night, I’m usually cooked. If I can get back to sleep before the haze clears, sure, I’ll get some fitful sleep. I’ll wake up with a headache, but I won’t be miserable by the time dinner service starts. So, I did what I usually do, closed my eyes and refused to move a muscle, hoping the tides of sleep would take me again.

But then Darling flinched.

It wasn’t that little sleepy twitch of her leg that she does sometimes when she’s off in dreamland—this one was more like she recoiled from something. The immediate thought in my sleep-addled mind was that something was hurting her (spider, I don’t know, maybe I got a rat or something), so all hopes of sleep evaporated, and I propped up on my elbow to stare at her in the minimal glow from that annoying fucking streetlight coming through the drawn blinds. Faint shine on her brow, cheekbone, the bridge of her nose. She had her arms curled up tightly to her chest with the blanket bunched up under her chin. I just barely pressed the inside of my wrist to her forehead. Cool. Sticky. Not a fever. She flinched again and scrunched into a tighter ball, made a small sound, then drew in a sharp breath.

It’s funny how brains work, isn’t it? The only information I had was that she was curled up, she flinched, she was sweaty, and she didn’t feel warm, and I managed to piece together, even half-cranky from interrupted sleep, that she was having a nightmare.

I rubbed slowly between her shoulder blades, same thing I remember her doing on the nights I couldn’t seem to fend my demons off, and for a few moments, it seemed like she would doze back off. I even thought about lying back down and trying to get some amount of shuteye, but then she whimpered. Drew in another sharp breath. Whimpered again.

She was crying.

It might not have been the best decision to make, but at the time, I just needed to make it stop. I needed her to stop crying. It tore something raw in my chest, set off the buzzing in my ribs and in my temples that I got right after a sudden loud sound or when someone on the line didn’t answer me when I called for them.

“Baby girl? Hey,” I said, squeezing her shoulder. I didn’t mean for it to come out as a whisper, but I couldn’t get my voice any louder, not even when she didn’t wake up, not even when I tried twice more to call to her. There was something else, something deeper, something painful twisted up at the base of my throat that stopped the words. All I could do was tug at the blanket to try dislodging it from her grip.

She screeched when she finally did wake up. Bolted upright with wide eyes, reached blindly for something, anything to grab.

“Hey, hey, I’m right here! Hey!” That at least had some volume to it, even if it sounded like I had strep.

She threw her arms around me and crushed me in a trembling hug. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry! Don’t leave!” she sobbed.

“W-what? I’m not leaving! What are you-hey, it’s okay! It was just a nightmare!”

She heaved for air, coughed. I held her to my chest, rocked her back and forth, rubbed up and down her back. She shook violently, was digging her fingers so hard into the backs of my shoulders that my eyes stung.

“Hey, you’re okay.” I peppered kisses on her forehead, her temple. “Breathe. Breathe, hm? I’m not going anywhere. It was just a nightmare.”

Fucking hell, it was weird being the one calming her down. What’s weirder was that I sort of knew what to do? Maybe it was just subconscious learning, but I chanced resting my hand on her sternum. She released her grip on my shoulders, planted her hand over mine, and pressed it harder into her skin. Tucked her face into the crook of my neck, dragged in slow, shaky breaths. She intertwined her fingers with my other hand. I traced the pulse in her wrist with my thumb.

I heard her throat click when she swallowed. “Nightmare,” she breathed.

I kissed her forehead. “Yeah. Just a nightmare, sweetheart.”

“I’m sorry. You have work—”

What?

“It’s not your fault. You did nothing wrong, princess.”

Darling slumped against me at that. An eternity went by with her just tucked into me like that. Her eyelashes brushed my neck every time she blinked, sometimes a beat every few seconds, sometimes a few rapid ones in succession. Could almost hear her thinking. Almost feel her attention snapping back and forth between our bedroom in Chicago and wherever her nightmare was. Don’t leave. She told me—almost screamed at me in her panicked state—not to leave. She’d said before that she feared waking up and discovering I was a figment of her imagination; I didn’t have a chance to think too much about it before, but now it played on repeat in my head, a cursed refrain, an 8-word chorus. All of this will have been a dream.

Did I act like I didn’t love her? Was she worried about Syd being in my life? Why? Why was she worried that I’d go?

All of this will have been a dream.

My heart lurched into my throat. My eyes stung. I loved her so much that it hurt me, why the fuck did she think I would leave?

“Why are you scared I’ll leave?” I whispered into her hair.

She gulped again. Slid my hand off her chest, into her lap. Traced the scar on my palm. “I keep having this nightmare. That… you’re on my table. You have cuts everywhere. And I can’t find my tools.”—she took a deep breath—“I keep saying that, um, we need to get a mask on you so that you can breathe. But no one else is there. And I can’t find one. And you start crashing.”

Oh.

“You tell me you have to go. I keep begging you not to leave.”

Oh.

I kissed her forehead. Tried to kiss the memories of the nightmare away. Tried to reassure her somehow, I don’t know. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

She shrugged a shoulder. “I didn’t want you to worry. Please, don’t worry. I’ve always had nightmares; they don’t mean anything. Just… part of being a trauma surgeon.”

Hate to break it to you, princess, but I was going to worry anyway. Nothing personal. Just part of being in love, I guess.

#cb journal #bearblrpromptober #carmen berzatto #carmen berzatto fanfiction #carmy berzatto #the bear fanfiction #carmy berzatto fanfiction #carmy x reader #the bear #carmen berzatto fluff

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vid-writes · 9 months ago

Text

Satoru Gojo x Fem Reader One Shot

This one shot is absolutely not for anyone under the age of 18.

Word Count: 3,474

TW/CW: Rough sex, sex with a stranger, slight voyeurism, tit fucking, back shots

Satoru was finding it rather hard to stay away from you these days. He wasn’t supposed to be pining over someone who wasn’t a curse user, but watching you work in that high-end clothing store through the window was something of a pastime for him. Your hair was always in a different intricate style every day. Your smile when helping customers was always genuine and reached your eyes. Sometimes, he even heard your laughter peal through the front window when a customer was actually funny, or your coworkers were gossiping to fill the time. He never followed you, never watched longer than a few minutes, but anytime a job brought him to this part of Tokyo, he made sure to stop by. You weren’t his usual tailored clothing store, but he was considering making the change.

The door opened with the soft jingle of the ever-present sleigh bells, and at the same time, Satoru’s phone buzzed in his pocket. Acquiring a new tailor would have to wait for another day, it seemed.

“Go for Gojo,” he said as he answered the phone.

“We need you to get back to the school. Principal Yaga is trying to convince the elders that Itadori is still dead. They’re asking questions again.” Ijichi sounds like he’s one second away from crying. The muffled yelling in the back tells Satoru this is serious.

“I’ll be there in two seconds,” he mutters and hangs up the phone. With a long sigh, he glances at you through the window one last time before vanishing into thin air.

A few days have passed since the last time the sorcerer was in this particular shopping district. Only this time, he was here on purpose and not pure coincidence. He drew in a deep breath as he pulled open the door to the tailor shop. With a vague excuse about an excursion to the other end of the island for the next week, Satoru finally found time to acquire a new tailor. You, to be precise. The familiar soft jingle of the sleigh bells met his ears as he entered the empty shop.

“Welcome to Toshiko’s Tailors; I’ll be with you in just a moment,” calls out a soft voice from somewhere deep in the shop. Satoru pulls off the thick sunglasses he’s wearing and rubs his eyes with one hand. Being able to refresh his brain might always make keeping limitless easier, but sometimes he needed a break. He figured that a tailor shop in this quaint touristy part of Tokyo wouldn’t be too much of an issue. Besides, it’s not like he hadn’t already exorcised all of the curses in this area time and again. Just to keep one particular stranger safe.

“Sorry about the wait,” a soft voice pulled him from his thoughts. He lowered his hand to find you bowed over at the waist. “I was just finishing up this week’s order for more inventory, but I’m all yours now.”

“No need to apologize so formally,” Satoru said as he leaned against the front counter. “I’m just here to take up your time for a few hours. I’ve grown bored with my old tailor and thought I would switch things up.”

You straightened back up, and that pure and genuine smile was already present on your face, “What made you choose this shop in particular?”

“Work often finds me in this area and also often ends with my clothes getting all messed up in some way or another,” he explains as he tries not to study every inch of your body. He’s never been this close to you before.

“Are you planning to overhaul your whole wardrobe as well?” It looks like you might not want to do all that extra work right now, but he wants as much of your time as he can get because he knows any interactions you will have after this will be short.

“Maybe not the whole thing,” Satoru chuckles as he rubs the back of his neck. “I would like a few new outfits, though.”

“Well then, right this way,” you say as you bow again, and he knows because of your training that you won’t straighten back up until he’s walked past. So he stares at your ass until he’s right in front of you. Once he’s passed, he glues his eyes to the wall in front of him and focuses instead on your footsteps. Confident and assured in the heels work requires you to wear.

“The second door on your left is the suite where we take measurements and where you can also try on some of the sample clothes we have available in-house,” you call from a few steps behind him.

“You guys have whole suites for tailoring customers?” He whistles, impressed and irritated with himself that he didn’t come in here sooner. Especially since he can’t get the sight of your ass outlined perfectly by the pencil skirt you were wearing today.

“We have three, actually, but this one is the only one not currently under renovation,” you say as you come around him and open the door for him. Yet again, due to training, you bow, and this time the sight of your ass makes his dick throb in his pants. The suite is almost twice the size of the main entrance, and Satoru finds himself whistling with appreciation again. The whole left wall is lined with mirrors, and on the opposite wall is a dressing room that runs the entire length of the wall. In the middle is a sitting area with tables and couches. Over close to the mirror is a dais.

“You have two options for the measurements,” you say and startle him out of his admiration of the room. “Either we can measure you with the clothes you’re wearing on, and I can adjust the usual few centimeters from there, or you can use the dressing room to strip to your comfort level, though nudity is not allowed, and we can measure you that way.”

Satoru’s dick throbs again. An excuse to be almost naked around you? He was absolutely not going to pass up that opportunity. “I’ll go strip down to my underwear then.”

He turns to the dressing room and walks inside quickly. Before he can try to talk himself out of it, he is stripping off his shirt and jeans. Once, in his boxers, he noticed there might be a slight problem. His dick is rock-hard in his boxers. He tries to will the erection to go away, and when that doesn’t work, he sighs.

After a few minutes of thinking about incredibly gross stuff, Satoru emerges from the dressing room, erection free. You are patiently waiting on one of the steps up to the dais with a measuring tape in your hands. And yup, now he was picturing you wrapping that measuring tape around his dick, and he really needed to stop. He slowly made his way over to the dais, trying his best to look anywhere other than you right now.

Once on the dais, Satoru finds it even harder not to openly stare at the reflection of your ass in the mirror. Its shape was so perfect and round, and he could almost bet you worked out religiously to maintain it that way.

“Arms out to your sides, please,” you politely inquire of him, so Satoru lifts his arms out wide. The measuring tape runs from one wrist to the other, and he watches as you produce a notepad from the inside of your jacket. He takes the time to really study your face now—the shape of your lips, the way your nose curved, how your eyes scrunched at the outside corners as you focused. You were driving this man crazy and had no idea whatsoever.

You took measurements of his torso, arms, and waist so many times he was starting to see this as torture instead of the perverted pleasure he had intended. “You may lower your arms now,” you finally say, and he nearly sighs in relief. Satoru really needed to pick better ways to meet women.

You dropped to your knees in front of him and tapped the outside of his left thigh. With ease, Satoru spread his legs so you could measure his inseam. Your fingers brushed the innermost part of his thigh, and he shuddered. You hesitated in writing the measurement, but otherwise, you maintained composure. As you wrapped the measuring tape around his thigh, Satoru shuddered again, and this time, you looked up at him.

“I get the feeling you’re not being entirely honest about your intentions here, let alone with me,” you said, and he felt every muscle in his body tense. Shit. He had been caught. Just as he opened his mouth to answer you, he noticed your eyes darkening. You moved the measuring tape to his other thigh without taking your eyes off of Satoru’s, and his cock throbbed in his boxers. So much so that not only did he see it, but he knew you had too, by the way you licked your lower lip.

“I know you’ve been watching me for months now,” you started, and he felt the color drain from his face, “and I always wondered when you were going to get up the nerve to come inside and talk to me.”

“Thinking of a valid excuse to not only talk to you but get you into a position where you and I were alone was a lot harder than I thought it would be,” Satoru explains sheepishly.

The measuring tape tightened around his thigh, and Satoru knew he wouldn’t be able to hold himself back if you gave him the green light. The tape slid from his thigh as your hands abandoned it and instead started to unbutton your suit jacket. Muscles tensed, and breath caught in his throat. Satoru watched the last button come undone and then gasped as your breasts spilled free from the jacket with nothing else underneath it.

“I’ve fantasized about you so many fucking times, so when I saw you come in on the cameras in the office, I took off my top and bra,” you declare as you shrug the jacket off of your shoulders. “Want to help me live out one of those fantasies?”

That was all Satoru needed. His hands dove into your hair, and he pushed his crotch into your face. A moan escaped your lips, so he proceeded to grind his bulge into your face. His hips rutted into your face over and over as his hands held your head firmly in place with fistfuls of hair. After a few minutes of this, he pulled his hips back and looked down at you.

“Are there any chairs in this room,” he asked as he watched you panting a little bit just from him rutting into your face. He was hoping you’d be this slutty and eager.

“No, but I can get the one from the office,” you said breathlessly as his cock throbbed in his pants again.

“Is there anyone else in the shop?”

“No, and what should I call you,” you asked as you cocked your head to the side. He smirked as he pretended to think about it.

“My name’s Gojo, Satoru, but you can call me Daddy.” He winked, and you rolled your eyes. “Go get the chair and lock the front door. Do not cover up.” The red in your cheeks was only outdone by the dark lust in your eyes.

You got up and left the room, making sure the door stayed open. In doing so, you gave Satoru a clear line of view of the front door of the shop. He listened to your still-confident heels click across the floor as your arms hung by your sides. The front door made a loud click, and at the same time, Satoru pushed his boxers off his hips and let them hit the floor.

Satoru grinned deviously as you came back in the room, dragging a chair behind you, and immediately blushed at the sight of his fully erect cock. You brought the chair over to the dais but didn’t put it on the dais. Satoru hummed as he thought about how he wanted to position the chair, but all he did was turn it ninety degrees. Now, he could see you in front of him and in the mirror. He sat down on the edge of the chair and motioned for you to come between his knees.

“Down enough that your breasts are in my lap, I want to fuck them,” he commands. So you lower yourself down until your breasts are resting in front of his cock. It’s an awkward position, but your eyes were locked on his, and your movements never faltered.

“Go on and spit on my cock so it’s wet,” he commands again, so you let a glob of spit slowly leave your mouth and glide down his cock. He groans as you both watch his cock jump from your teasing. You spit on his cock again before grabbing the base and licking up the whole length. Satoru groans again as your tongue laves over his slit a few times, and he buries his fingers in your hair.

After a good few minutes of licking his cock until your spit is running between your fingers freely, you sit back and grab the outsides of your breasts. Without waiting for another command, you lift up and then lower yourself down until his cock is between your tits and sticking out of the top. You squeeze your breasts together tighter and then open your mouth and stick your tongue out. Satoru groans as he watches your drool spill onto your breasts and finally snaps.

“Up until the tip is just barely between your tits, and then I’m going to pound them until your pretty face is painted with my seed,” he growls and lets go of your hair. You slide up until his cock is just pressed between your tits, and then stay still. Satoru moans this time before he starts to slowly thrust up into your tits. He’s still holding back, so you let out the moans you’ve been holding back. With your mouth wide open and drool spilling off your tongue so Satoru’s cock is constantly lubed up, the moans are loud and echo through the room.

His hips drew back and then snapped forward again. Then again. And finally, he was freely fucking your tits. His hips hit the underside hard enough that Satoru knew they would have bruises on them. But he also knew that he would come back tomorrow to soothe those bruises. As his cock throbbed and pounded between your constantly slick breasts, he felt his orgasm coming faster than it had in a while. His hips stuttered and then stopped as his cum spurted out of his cock in thick hot ropes that splattered all over your face, tongue, and breasts. With a loud moan, you swallowed the cum that landed in your mouth, and he groaned again.

“Are you satisfied with your service, or do you still need to be attend to Satoru,” you asked, and his cock throbbed in response.

“Stay here so I can get you something to clean up with,” he said as he slipped out of the chair. He retrieved his shirt from the dressing room and then returned to clean your face off himself. Once it was cleaned off, you opened your eyes, and he could see they were still dark with lust and desire.

“It looks like you still need attending to,” he purred. A shudder ran up your body that made him haul you to your feet and kiss you deeply. His tongue was quick to push between your lips and lay claim to yours. Satoru groaned as the taste of himself mingled with your saliva, and his cock was already hard again. He pulled back from the kiss and stepped away. With a swift movement, he turned the chair back to where the seat was facing the mirror.

“Lose the skirt,” he said as he palmed his cock and stroked it slowly. You pulled the skirt off, and it was just like he suspected you weren’t wearing anything underneath it. How could you when it was such a tight skirt? He pulled you in front of him again and then turned you around and bent you over the back of the chair. Your ass pushed against Satoru’s erect cock, and he moaned again.

“You ready for my cock sweetheart?”

“I’ve been ready for it for months now, Satoru. So please give it to me already,” you whined, and the sound made his cock throb painfully. He was really tempted to make you moan and beg some more, but he didn’t know how he would handle orgasming just from the sounds you’d make. Without any more waiting, Satoru locked his gaze with yours in the mirror as he pushed the head of his cock against your dripping entrance.

Your mouth fell open as he pushed the fat tip of his cock inside of your warm walls, and he growled as your eyes already rolled back in your head. “You might not come out of this the same.”

“I don’t want to,” you moaned as he continued to slowly slide his cock inside of your wetness.

“My cock is incredibly addicting,” he whispered as he finally fully seated himself inside of your warm wet walls. Satoru moaned again as you clenched around his full length and then did so again when your gaze met his in the mirror.

“Ruin me, Satoru,” you commanded him, and he nearly came just from that.

“As you wish,” he purred as he slid his cock back until just the head was resting inside of your pussy. He waited and watched your face until you started to squirm, which only took a few seconds. Then he snapped his hips forward and buried his cock back in you completely. He did this again and again and again. Until you were writing and whining.

“Please, Satoru, give me more,” you whined loudly. He chuckled darkly before he repeated the same motion. Pull out until just the head rested in your walls, wait until you were begging, and then bury himself in one harsh thrust. He could see tears brimming in your eyes and finally stopped teasing.

His his slammed into your ass so fast and demanding that the chair started to scoot across the floor. With a muttered curse, Gojo pulled you up by your hair until he was supporting your weight. He grunted and kicked the chair hard enough that it slid over a few feet. In a quick motion that left you gasping, he hooked his arms underneath your knees and hauled you up until your back was pressed to his chest.

“Oh, you weren’t fucking kidding,” you moaned as he raised and lowered you on his cock with the same speed and harshness as before.

“I really wasn’t,” he whispered as he kissed your ear.

“Fucking cumming,” you whined and clenched tightly around his walls. Then your pussy throbbed over and over and over as your orgasm tried to push him out. But he just kept using your weight to fuck you onto his cock. Your screams of pleasure filled the whole shop as he fucked you through your orgasm. And soon after, he could feel his own coming on.

“I’m about to cum, sweetheart, and I’d hate for my load to go to waste,” he purred in your ear as he continued to fuck you onto his cock.

“I have the implant, so please empty your load into my cunt,” you moaned as you tightened onto his cock more. His arms and hips stuttered as he started to cum, and then stopped as your walls clenched and then throbbed in time with his cock. Your scream from this latest orgasm nearly made his ears ring.

He gently slid you off of his cock and lowered you to your feet. You spun around to face him and then stepped back a few feet.

“Are you satisfied with your service, or do you still need more attention,” you asked him again.

“Oh, I’m satisfied for now, but I will be back for more,” he growled as he looked your naked body up and down and noticed you still had your heels on. You bent over at the waist into your usual bow, and he moaned.

“Then I am glad to have provided your service today and look forward to doing so again as often as you need,” you said, still bent into the bow.

Buy me a coffee?

#writing #writeblr #writer #writers #jjk fanfic #jjk smut #jjk #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jjk x y/n #gojou satoru x reader #gojo satoru #jjk gojo #gojo x reader #jujutsu gojo #gojo smut #jujutsu kaisen #gojo saturo

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askinkiskarma · 2 years ago

Note

hi, could you do the biggest neteyam kinks please.

Love your write <3

i got about 5 of these requests so I'll just do one haahahah. i love how much people loved my dilf!jake's biggest kinks, i might have to do a part 2 for that soon! but let's see neteyam's. now, this might be a wildly unpopular opinion, but i actually don't think neteyam would be super kinky in bed (just me??). but there are a couple things that are cannon in my head about him:

wc: 850 words

na'vi compendium: yawne - love

smut under the cut, minors dni 🔞

switch kink/pleasure dom kink

neteyam will never be able to beat the switch allegations in my book. i think initially, when he's first starting out, he's be quite submissive, putty under your touch. "am i making you feel good, teyam?" you'd say, sinking slowly on his length, watching as, with every inch, he becomes more and more unravelled, eyes shut tightly, mouth agape, small whimpers escaping his lips as you begin grinding on him, overcome with the sensation overload from being stretched almost to the point of pain, so full of him you can't see straight anymore. riding him lets you see him, in all his glory, the sheen of his azure skin as a light layer of sweat coats it, the way his canines dig into his lower lip to stop himself from moaning at how good your walls feel taking him all in, moulding to the shape of his thick cock. you can't help yourself, as you swipe your tongue over where he drew blood, before closing your lips over his in a intricate dance you could never get enough of. "don't hide from me, teyam. i want to hear you, let me hear how good i make you feel." this little routine of yours didn't last long, until one day, you found yourself in the same position, enjoying your view, before you felt his core contracting and his arms encircling you and all of a sudden you're on your back, him still deep in you, and your little pained yelp was only met with a small chuckle and tongue lapping at your neck and jaw, leaving love bites everywhere in its wake. "i think it's time for you to be the one squirming for a change, hmm, yawne?" from that day on, the man will treat your body like an uncharted map filled with treasures that he's incredibly eager to uncover. he won't stop until he knows every erogenous spot and exactly when, and how, and where to touch, to lick, to bite, to suck - he wants nothing more than to see you come undone beneath him until you're crying from how overstimulated you are. nothing gets him off more than seeing you cum. "teyam, p-please, no more. i can't, argh, fuck!" his face is covered in your slick and cum as he's lapping at your folds once more, curling his fingers in you, stroking your walls in the spot he knows will get you to submit and allow him to do what he does best. "just one more, yawne. i need to make sure my baby's having a good time."

praise kink

"always doing so well for me, love." neteyam loves praising you. as someone who's constantly fought for his father's approval growing up, he knows how far being told you're doing well can go. "you feel fucking amazing, baby." he will shower you in praises as he's thrusting in you with enough force to knock the air out of your lungs, legs propped on his shoulders, dirty little whimpers and the sound of skin of skin the only thing that can be heard in your marui. "taking me so well, yawne." in a similar vein, neteyam loves being praised. nothing gets him to the brink of orgasm faster than when he can tell you're having a good time, then when he can tell he's making your eyes roll in the back of your head in unadulterated pleasure. "f-fuck, teyam! that feels so good! don't st-stop, please!" he feels himself twitch inside you at your words, and when your screams fill his ears with the third orgasm he's managed to coax out of you, he knows he's close, ready to fill you up. "i need you to come in me, teyam, please!" "yeah? can't wait for you to make me a dad, yawne. you're gonna be the most beautiful mum ever. make me the happiest man on the planet, i swear." the thought of you, plump and glowing, carrying his child, pushes him over the edge and he comes, thick spurts of warm cum coating your pretty walls, just the way he likes it. he smiles softly as the high subsides, the euphoria of having you by his side, of being able to do this with you everyday of his life so overpowering it almost hurts, and he takes his time trailing soft kisses in the crook of your neck."tell me how good i make you feel again, yawne." he can be such a brat i love him so much you honour

bonus: aftercare

not a kink, but this man is the blueprint when it comes to aftercare. he'd take care of you like it was his only job, from cradling your body in his arms, cooing gently and kissing your tears away, to taking his time cleaning you with a soft damp cloth, so you don't have to even get up, to whispering unending love letters on your skin in light touches and tender kisses, in words of i love you and you're everything to me and forever.

why did this turn fluffy at the end what is this who am i???

taglist: @fanboyluvr @yagirlheree @teyamsbitch

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yuri-is-online · 9 months ago

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Hello hello! Anon here. First of all, congratulations on getting accepted for your courses! Don't worry about trying to balance work and the blog, we will always be here waiting for you. Second of all, your whole Yutu AU has been really fascinating to look through. (Though that may be because of my bias toward Fire Emblem Awakening, as it was what got me into the series) Sorry for the incoming wall of text, but it's been giving me THOUGHTS.

So imagine this: whoever Yutu's dad is (I'll pick Azul for this example because I headcannon his English voice somewhere between Matt Mercer's Chrom and Olivert from The Legend of Heroes games) finds out who Yutu really is. You remember that cutscene after Chapter 13 in Awakening, with the Lucina reveal and Chrom has this: "You deserved better than a sword and a world full of troubles. I'm sorry."? Imagine Yutu hearing something like that: the acknowledgement of everything he's gone through, the pain of knowing his dad couldn't do anything and can't do anything more than offer words, and the reality that it might now be really possible to change the future? I imagine Azul breaking down after hearing all that because the last thing he wants to do is hurt Yuu or his son after everything he's been through. Oh goodness, the two of them both need hugs.

Second: did Crowley tip off the Magic Marshalls (because I think he would) and force Yuu to take the blame for his negligence (because he absolutely would)? Now imagine Yutu finding this out and telling his dad. Now his dad knows Crowley is a cheapskate who fobs his work onto everyone else without a second thought. And now he's responsible for having Yuu taken away and starting all this? Knowing the boys and how far they would go for Yuu I'd imagine they don't take that well. In other words, to slightly alter a quote from Regina in Once Upon A Time: "I guess killing a crow suddenly made the top of my to-do list."

Sorry for the wall of text but that's been rattling around in my head for a few days (so make of it all what you will). Hope you're doing well and looking forward to what's next!

-The anon who loves Riddle & Azul

AHHHHH (i feel like I always take forever to answer your asks I am sosososososososososo sorry, this one just drove me crazy in a good good way)

Listen fire emblem awakening was my entire personality for like all of middle school. The only thing i wanted to talk about was chrobin. I celebrated Morgan and Lucina's birthdays by drawing them. I think I still have a Cherche x Libra fan art thing I drew on some sheet of paper somewhere in my things because I was SO MAD that no one shipped them and I couldn't find fan art of them anywhere and I just oooooooooooh. THE WAY CHROM GETS A NEW CRIT LINE ABOUT HOW ANYTHING CAN CHANGE AFTER THE REVEAL???? BECAUSE OF HOW DETERMINED HE IS TO KEEP THAT PROMISE AND GIVE LUCINA A BETTER WORLD???? i just cant be normal about them i am so sorry. R+A annon I love you, I love you so much for this you made my entire month and possibly my year. Awakening is also what got me into the series and made me so many friends I just love her so much. She's an icon and I hope she gets remastered with Sumia either deleted or with a fucking personality.

I should probably sit down and actually write a timeline for myself of events, but since I am free to lean in to the fire emblem pacing, I want to say that monsters from Yutu's timeline start showing up (similar to how the Risen do in Awakening) in the past and stirring up trouble, which leads to an event where Yutu panics and forgets himself in his desperation to protect his dad. The main way the future kids always proved themselves was by showing their mother's wedding ring, but Yutu doesn't have that so really it's just up to his dad to see someone who looks like him and Yuu blended together, supposedly from Yuu's world using magic and above all else crying out and driving up his own blot levels to protect him calling him dad. For Azul! Yutu it's especially painful, he feels like he already knows what his dad is going to say. That he's disappointed in him. That he has no idea how they could possibly be related. That he hopes in this future he turns out to be different. But that's not what happens.

Before Azul overblotted he was quiet. There's a similar quiet over him now, a similar look of tense surprise, but Yutu- no- his child doesn't know that. His child is looking at him in fear, in worry for his reaction or his safety he doesn't know but he knows the way those tears start to form. Azul knows the quiver of the lip and the shriek, of all the things he could have passed on to such a treasure.

"You deserved better from me." Because it's true. He might think of himself as a work in progress but he still thinks he has quality; he would have done research, read every book he could get his hands on, taken classes, anything he would need to do to be a good father, a worthy partner. Anything. "You deserved to have the world within your grasp, not whatever shadow of a future and a father I left you with. I am so sorry." He does not expect Yutu to grab him and hold him like he's still somehow worthy of his love, but Azul can't fight the urge to grab back, to stroke his son's hair and let the tears fall on his suit without any care at all. I'm here. It's ok, daddy's here, daddy's got you, he won't let anything happen to you.

As for your second question, I did not really write Crowley like that no. It was more like he was the first person mysteriously arrested after the Magical Marshall's decided to finally do their job. I was writing it like they wanted to ship Yuu away to cover up for their own incompetence in preventing seven overblots instead of properly investigating what might have caused that. He's not completely innocent though, so yes. The boys do not take it well at all. And please do not apologize for sending in your thoughts, I am so so slow but I love hearing from you.

#<3 asks #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #future kid au #azul ashengrotto x yuu #azul ashengrotto x reader #riddle and azul anon

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jenosbliss · 1 year ago

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hii there!! can i req different tropes with the dreamies please?

🩶⌇ nct dream ! as different love tropes

pairing. gn!reader x nctdream | genre. fluff | wc. 1.5k | warnings. none

a/n. happy new year guys!! went a little personal on Jaemin's one, also if you want a bigger fic for any of the members with these tropes pls let me know 💖

MARK. childhood friends to lovers

Mark was the constant in your life just as you were in his. He was the one to pull you in when you experienced your first heartbreak or needed a shoulder to weep on, to rely on, to seek warmth and comfort in. He was the one to cheer you on for exams, to celebrate your achievements and your first relationship. He had been there all along. Hence, when he unexpectedly blurted out, "Do you think we would make a good couple?" while snuggling inside the cover with you one quiet night. You weren't too shocked by it because, in all honesty, you both knew—hell, everyone knew—that you loved one another more than simply as friends. In fact, your friends called you both ‘goners.’ “Is this your subtle way of asking me out?” he giggled trying to hide his oh not so obvious blush. “I mean like you know what I mean c’mon dude… will you be my girlfriend?” "Have I ever said no to you?" you drew nearer to him beneath the cover. “Sure.”

RENJUN. secret admirer

It started recently when small notes began to appear inside your locker and on your desk. At first you ignored them thinking it was some sort of a sick prank because who in their right mind will secretly admire you? Well, Renjun does, and ever since the day he saw you having your own little concert in the classroom after everyone had left, he has never been as certain about someone as he was about you. At first he left notes on a weekly basis afraid you might not like them but when he saw you smiling and saving all his notes he started leaving a dozen of them on a daily basis. He was going crazy because he had so much he wanted to tell you, but there was not enough room on a piece of paper. However, you were driving yourself crazy trying to identify this admirer of yours. This madness continued for a month until one day Renjun himself stood in front of your locker holding a piece of paper, "Here's your note, love.”

JENO. fake dating

You didn’t consider Jeno a total stranger, you have run into him quite a handful of times in the campus cafe and have your fair share of shy glances, very small talks and fleeting smiles. One day your ex followed you to the cafe, at first, he was begging for forgiveness but soon turned hostile, demanding a reason why you don’t want to be with him. Fearing he might do something bad; your eyes fell upon Jeno who just entered the cafe, a sweet smile playing on his lips when he noticed you. Could you have come up with a better response? Maybe but at that moment you couldn’t think of anything else. You approached him begging “Hi, I’m really sorry to put you in this mess but can you please, please pretend to be my boyfriend? My ex there-” at an instant Jeno stood up, grabbing your hand softly in his “Where is that jerk? Did he hurt you?” And with this incident you both started fake dating which soon turned real without either of you realizing.

HAECHAN. sunshine x grumpy

Everyone around you referred to you and Haechan as the opposite attracts couple, well to be very honest you didn’t consider yourself grumpy or mean, you just didn’t prefer the human race and any interaction with them of course except him. He was the literal definition of sunshine for you, the one who lightened you up, the one with whom you can leave your so-called grumpy side aside and be a little ray of his sunshine. Haechan found you in the darkest phase of your life when everyone you knew or had trusted turned their back on you, leaving you to cry alone in a dark corner. It was then when he pulled you into his embrace, radiating a warmth that felt safe and something like home, he became that last ray of hope and light that brightened you up once again. “How can you be this happy this early in the morning?” you grumbled seeing him dance while cooking in the kitchen. Ignoring your comment, he walked around the counter and extended his hand “Will you dance with me? Please, sunshine please!” rolling your eyes at his silly actions you still took his hand as he pulled you in for a little silly dance.

JAEMIN. first love

Love was a scary word for you, the reason you never experienced it before was because you wanted it to be perfect. You wanted to remember your first love with a smile on your face and not an experience which you would want to forget. You have had crushes and a few situationships and an experience of a boy you thought was definitely the one to not reciprocate your feelings when you confessed to him before. But that was it, after the last incident years ago you gave up on the idea of love, thinking it was for the pinterest girlies, those perfect ones who deserved a perfect love. But the day Jaemin came to you on that bus ride asking if can take the empty seat next to yours, the perception of love you had changed. He became your first and perfect love, he showed you everyone is worthy of love, he accepted all your flaws, he cared for you like no one has ever done –babying you included– he never shied away from confessing his love and gratitude for you, he cherished you with every breath he took. You could cry to him, with him, you could laugh with him until your stomach hurts, you could gossip with him, and you could cherish the quietness with him. He was perfect and he was yours, your first love. “OMG y/n I saw this flower growing out of the sidewalk, it reminded me of you princess.”

CHENLE. academic rivals

Chenle didn’t give a shit about studies or grades, if you ask his parents or friends, they haven’t seen so many ‘A+’ on his tests till now. It’s not like he was poor in his studies, it's just that he didn't have a reason to study. Why study if he could just get a scholarship through basketball? It was useless according to him until he met you in high school, the top student in the class if not the school. Was it love at first sight? Nah it was love at first fight for him when he accidentally hit you with the basketball during gym class and you poured a bottle of water on him as revenge (it was freezing cold that day). After that, the more he tried to approach you the more you avoided him. It was the first time when he wanted something, but he couldn't have it right away, and this ignited a fire in him. So, the only way to reach you now was through academics, and boy, he loved pushing your buttons, so he decided to compete with you… fiercely and that’s how after a few months of this rivalry you found yourself pinned against the bookshelf by him in a corner of the library. “Everything is just a competition for you… isn’t it?” you felt his breath on your face “Isn’t it for you, too?” you spat back, not breaking eye contact. “No, I did this because I am in fucking love with you.”

JISUNG. brother's best friend

You met Jisung when you were five and he was seven, he brought Sungchan back home after he sprained his ankle during the game of soccer. You remember watching him from afar, while he was talking to your mother about Sungchan’s injury when he looked at you and passed a smile. Since then, not a day passes by when you don’t think of him. At seven you had childishly asked him to marry you which he laughed at first but agreed later, promising to do so when you grow older. At fifteen he scared off a boy who kissed you on the cheek in school, saying things like you are too young for dating and you can’t date just any boy. That day, instead of crying that your first relationship ended before it could even start, you were happy, it was the day you started liking Jisung. At seventeen you confessed your feelings to him when he said the words that broke your small, fragile heart in pieces, he said you were like a little sister to him. At twenty-two he saw you going out with a man when he arrived at your apartment to celebrate your birthday. He felt something he shouldn’t have, he felt jealous, a burning rage and it was that moment that he knew he had fallen head over heels for you. “Don’t date him.” you scoffed hearing his authoritative tone. “And who are you to say that? I’m not fifteen anymore. It’s my life I can date whoever I want… you’re not my real brother.” he grabbed your wrist and pulled you towards him “Yes I’m not your brother… so date me instead.”

navigation.

masterlist. nct dream | nct 127 | wayv

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ashdreams2023 · 1 year ago

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Hiii i loved all your headcanons n absolutely love how all of them are so accurate!!

I was wondering if you could write a headcanon with loki dating someone who is an animator/artist? I could totally see how loki would absolutely love to model for various poses n the artist having a separate book full of loki's sketches or a loki's painting

I hope you have a great day n give this one a thought. Thank you😚

Loki x animator reader

At the beginning he thinks you only draw, like that’s it, like comics and stuff then he starts to realize how wrong he was

"Why is it moving?" "because I made it move?"

Thinks it’s the coolest thing ever

Also finds the faces you make while working are hilarious

"Stop laughing it’s for work!"

If you make him a little animation thingy boy will he replay it until you get sick of it

Loves watching your work process and constantly boost on about how you’re the best in the business

He’s the best reference you can ever have, animals, objects, people, any weird pose! He will do it all

And if he’s not feeling like it he makes one of his shadow clones do it

Once he found you art book of him he gets a little teary

"Why are you crying?" "I can’t be emotional now too?!"

Most of your sketches of him are him in his Asgardian suit and the horns, it’s just fun to do

"Draw me like one of your French girls" "titanic is overrated Loki" "hey!"

His are the perfect shape btw, sometimes you just hold it while you work to trace on the perfect lines

He thinks it’s endearing but it’s Loki "Yes yes my darling I know I’m the most perfect muse"

But in all honestly you couldn’t ask for anyone better than Loki, he might be acting like a curious toddler sometimes but he was also your number one fan and you wouldn’t change that for the world

"You drew my mother?" "Happy birthday"

And he wouldn’t dare lose you to the world

#imagine #mcu #loki laufeyson #loki #loki x reader #loki imagine #fanfic #mcu loki #loki/y/n #headcanon #loki layfeyson x reader #loki friggachild #loki friggason #loki god of mischief #loki mcu #loki layfeyson x you #loki fluff

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sebsbarnes · 1 year ago

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heeyyyy thank u soo muvh for doing my last req i am obsessedd. Im not sure if u can do this one but its juts a thought. tan x reader where they are in high school and the twins kind of just become besties with reader and they are just known as a trio in school and lem and tan are like the readers bodyguards cuz they are so protective if reader is ever in trouble and reader and tan are cushing on each other and its just cute

hi, of course! ty sm for sending requests in i appreciate it! im going to do this bullet point style i hope that's okay!

tangerine high school headcanon

warnings: the slightest! description of someone being a bully

masterlist

okay so i think tan and lemon wouldn't really take school seriously, like they still do well and are very smart but they didn't really pay attention much almost like they were too smart for school

they would sit in the back corner of class and just mess around but honestly the teachers didn't really care because they had good grades

you met the twins due to a class project, it needed to be done in groups of threes and it was your lucky day when the name sorter chose you for the twins!

you didn't mind though having talked occasionally to them in some of your shared classes. they were nice, funny, and smart and so are you

lemon grumbled how he didn't feel like working on it now

"want to come to my house after and we can do it then?"

the twins happily agreed and the three of you goofed off the rest of the period

having spent many hours with the twins you all grew very close and kinda became inseparable in school, you all had the same sense of humor and that drew you to each other

teachers and other students knew that it was no longer the lemon and tangerine duo but now a trio with you

one day during class you desperately needed to use the bathroom and the teacher started to yell at you that you should've went between class period

"if you don't let them use the bathroom i will piss all over your fucking floor," tangerine hissed at the teacher

yeah...he had a mouth even then

and no he didn't pee on the floor

while stood in line for lunch tangerine and lemon overheard some guys talking about you

"there's no way the twins are actually friends with them... such a loser, dude."

"gotta be a charity case situation... the twins are way too cool to be friends with someone like that, almost makes them losers too."

tangerine took his empty tray and wacked it across one of the guys heads while lemon sucker punched the other in the nose

"really guys?" you said disappointedly after waiting for them to get out of detention

your hand went up and gently touched the bruise forming around tangerine's eye

"they were talking bad about you! we weren't going to stand there and do nothing!"

"yeah well now you're injured!"

but they didn't care, you were worth every detention and injury they got for defending you

now tangerine, yeah, he is a sap okay. he'd try so hard to play it cool but he failed miserably

absent from school? he wants to go home. paired with someone else? might as well give him a zero now. overheard someone thought you were cute? hell no. walking next to each other in the hallway? yeah his hand touched yours. no space on the couch in your living room? no worries, he's squeezing next to you. you didn't bring lunch? now his is yours. you were upset over a bad grade? he basically ripped his shoulder off for you to cry on it.

if you were instructed to be quiet during class tangerine couldn't take it. he needed to talk to you at all times so without fail you'd feel the slight gush of wind as a folded piece of paper went flying over your shoulder and onto your desk. you'd open the paper to some absolute nonsense that wasn't dire scribbled in pencil but you'd always pick your pen up and responded and drop the note over your shoulder to him.

what sent him over the edge was you getting a flower on valentines day... yeah that's right you had people wanting to be yours and that bubbled a weird feeling inside tangerine... what was it.

"you have a crush, idiot," lemon thumped him on the head.

"no...no? on (y/n), funny... really fuckin' funny. me? having a crush on them? our best friend? there's no way."

lemon would raise a brow at tangerine, picking at his sandwich, "see how you're trying to convince yourself it's not true?"

yep, lemon was right. of course he was. the day the group project started lemon knew the two of you had a small crush on the other.

tangerine felt a tap on his shoulder, "excuse me, this is for you," a girl tapped him on the shoulder.

tangerine and lemon looked at each other bewildered at the flower being placed in front of him. there was a small note folded up with familiar handwriting

"be mine?"

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2knightt · 2 years ago

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Hii! Idk if you’ve gotten this req before, but can you do the gang with an artist s/o? Thanks:)

↳10-4, no switichin’ sides!₊˚✧

—IN WHICH, the gang dates an artist s/o!

Johnny Cade ;

he loves watching you draw omfg.

he thinks your process is so cool!!!

tries to draw with you, but he gives up in the end and draws stick figures instead.

“what’re you drawin—oh.”

“i gave up, okay? don’t judge, y/n.”

if you draw him i think he’ll actually explode.

“whatchu drawin’ this time?”

“you.”

“what.”

he’s legit gonna be blushing so hard.

“re-really? can i see?”

“yeah.”

if you have a sketch book and theres pages full of him he might pass out.

he will pass out.

he’s just so flattered you’d draw him out of all people!

he doesn’t get it.

but, he loves your hobby so much and if you want to do it as a job one day, he’ll support you 110%.

Dallas Winston ;

doesn’t understand why you like art.

no matter how much you explain it to him, it’s like everything goes in one ear and out the other.

“plus, the finished product is always something gorgeous.”

“…i can do that if i take a picture, y/n.”

“yeah but, you don’t get that sense of pride.”

“i get that sense of pride when i beat the tar outta a kid. that pride don’t mean nothin’ to me.”

“…okay.”

if you draw him or he catches you drawing him, he’ll tease you so bad.

like actually, good luck bru.

“ouu, someones head over heels, huh?”

“a ‘good job,’ would also be nice, dal.”

“yeah, yeah. good job, sugar.”

if anyone else teases you about it? he’s onto them. they ain’t safe.

if you tell him like, anyone said anything bad about your art, he will go to jail for the 50th time.

he’s ready to go to jail for you, do not play with dallas.

if you want to make art your job, he still won’t get it, but he’ll let you because it makes you happy.

Ponyboy Curtis ;

when he finds out you’re an artist, he’s over the moon!

he’s so happy someone else can share his hobby :)!!

if you draw him something he likes, he’d probably hang it up in his room.

“i remember you saying that tiger lilies were your favourite flower, so, i drew it for you.”

“wow, y/n! this is really good!”

if you draw him, he will tear up.

he’s just so flattered you’d waste your talent on a guy with his looks.

“look, pony. i drew you! thought you looked real pretty in that lighting.”

“y/n…you didn’t have too.”

“but i wanted too! wai-wait are you crying?!”

“i’m jus—so happy.”

if you ask him for help, he will not sugarcoat shit. so, if you aren’t ready to hear the hard truth, i wouldn’t recommend asking him for help.

he will support you fully, no matter if you want art to be your life long passion or not.

Sodapop Curtis ;

thinks you’re the best artist out there, no joke.

he thinks you’re Picasso or something.

will not stop bragging about you.

literally, it’s all he talks about.

“dude, my partner does such good paintings. they’re beautiful!”

“i know, soda. it’s all you talk about.”

“so?”

if you draw him, he will show everybody.

“oh my glory, y/n! this is amazing!! i gotta show steve!”

“wai-wait, soda! it’s not finished!”

another one that will beat the shit out of anyone that bad mouths your art.

he isn’t afraid to sock someone in the mouth.

especially since it’s for you!

soda really wouldn’t understand if you wanted to art full time but he will be your #1 fan!

Darry Curtis ;

also..doesn’t get art..but he tries!

he thinks you doing art is fine but, why?

he’ll support you 110% you just, gotta explain to him.

“and also, because i just, love seeing the outcome after weeks or months of hardwork!”

“oh, makes sense.”

if you draw him something, he’ll fold it up and put it in his wallet.

he looks at it when he has free time at work and just smiles.

if you draw him, he might MIGHT just smile, teeth n all in front of the gang.

“this is, stunning, y/n.”

“yo, what the fuck?”

“holy shit, they made darry smile.”

“dude, go tell him your gay he’s in a good mood.”

“I’M NOT GAY, STEVE FUCK OFF!”

Steve Randle ;

he is obsessed with your works, oh my lord.

he will not stop looking at them if you give him one.

“wow.”

“is, is it good?”

“it’s wonderful!”

similar to his best friend, he also doesn’t shut up about you.

literally.

“and then they painted this cat and dog, and it’s so pretty.”

“you told me this, steve.”

“did i?”

he will not hesitate to throw hands in your name.

“ew.”

“what d’ya mean, ‘ew?’”

“i mean, ew. it’s just so ug—“

knocked out, on the floor.

Two-bit Matthews ;

he is so proud of you.

‘so proud,’ is an understatement, though.

he loves any and all of your artwork.

if he finds something from when you were 5, he’d still love it.

“i love the colours in this!”

“i made that in like 1st grade, two. what?”

“oh. it’s still super good!”

“did you just compare my work to a 1st graders?”

“…i ain’t mean it like that.”

another one who is willing to go to jail for you.

he will knock out a bitch for you.

he can, and he will.

if you draw him like mickey or something, he’ll love it forever.

“here. i know you like mickey mouse, so.”

“AHHH—this is amazing, y/n!!!”

he’s fangirling.

#2knightt #the outsiders #the outsiders x reader #johnny cade x reader #johnny x reader #dallas winston x reader #dallas x reader #ponyboy x reader #ponyboy curtis x reader #sodapop x reader #sodapop curtis x reader #two bit x reader #two bit matthews x reader #steve randle x reader #darry curtis x reader

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justwritedreams · 2 years ago

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Love me now | Jeno

Jeno x Reader (San x Reader), bffs to lovers au!, univeristy au! Word count: 6448 Genre: Fluff, angst Warning: Mentions of cheating, Jeno is heartbroken, San from Ateez appears here because yeah I had to okay? Author: Maari Note: Bringing my high school experience into this imagine lol Thanks to everyone who voted in the poll, it really helped! I'm not very confident with this ending but yeah no proofread because i wrote in my work lol Request: Can I request an angst to fluff for jeno about how reader is the one who loves jeno more (she confessed and said I love you first) while Jeno was still in the process of moving on from his first love?I would love a happy ending, but after jeno fights for it.

⪢ NCT Masterlist

"Hey." Y/N hugged Renjun who was holding the door for her to enter. "Where is he?"

She didn't even hide her concern and knew that Jeno's friends, who shared the dorm with him, would understand.

"In the bedroom." Jaemin pointed to the hallway, sitting on the sofa reading a book, as soon as she set foot in the room. "Good luck!"

Y/N knit her brows together in a confused frown and Renjun took a deep breath, which made her look up at him.

"Go there." he smiled slightly, supporting her, who just nodded. Y/N took the first step but felt Renjun put his hand on her shoulder, making her stop. "Would be good to warn you, he's a little irritated."

She sighed, not expecting anything else.

"And what's new?" she asked rhetorically and drew a low chuckle from Renjun.

Y/N walked through the already familiar room, towards the corridor and stopped at the last door, taking a deep breath before knocking.

But as she imagined, no sound was emitted from inside the room, and it might even confuse her thinking that no one was there since she couldn't hear heavy breathing or anything like that and the walls and the door of the room were too thin, which would allow her to hear any noise. But she knew Jeno was there.

In fact, he hadn't left his room for a week now, he'd missed important exams at the university. And not only was she worried, but all of his friends were.

If he continued like this, he would end up failing the semester or his situation would get so bad that he would probably drop out of the course. Not to mention he could lose his place in the fraternity.

And Y/N wouldn't let that happen.

So, she opened the door without caring if she had received authorization and the first thing she noticed was how dark the room was, the closed curtains left it in complete darkness. As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she could see Jeno in the bed shifting like a child, pulling the duvet up to his neck and rolling over onto his back. Y/N rolled her eyes before entering the room, closed the door with a loud thud and angry at seeing Jeno like that, turned on the light without warning.

"Hey!" Jeno complained, putting his hand over his eyes and turning to her, who was heading towards his bed. "Turn it off, it's stinging my eyes."

"Get out of that bed, Jeno!" she ordered, and tugged the corner of the duvet off of him. "It's 4 pm, you're not going to sleep now." she noticed and Jeno pulled the duvet, trying to return to his position.

Of course, Jeno was much stronger than Y/N, and he was winning in that war of who pulled the most, but to end it at once, he used both hands and Y/N stopped when she saw his face swollen and the red eyes.

He was crying, and it wasn't a little. She knew he was pissed off, after all, it wasn't every day that your sweetheart cheated on you in the men's basketball team's locker room at dawn. But seeing him cry over someone like… that girl, made her angry. Mainly because she didn't deserve a single tear shed by Jeno. "Leave me!" he asked quietly and Y/N felt her heart deflate, her shoulders sagged and she let go of the duvet, taking a deep breath before sitting on the edge of the bed as Jeno brought his arm up to cover his eyes. It wasn't just the brightness, she knew he didn't want her to see him that way. "I'm not leaving until you get your ass out of bed and you know it." she spoke firmly and saw him take a deep breath. "I can be quite stubborn when I want to be." Jeno slightly moved the arm that covered his eyes, enough to look into Y/N's face and she had the face she always had when she wasn't going to give up so easily.

Her brow arched and chin lifted. "What do you want?" he asked, annoyed. "I came to see my best friend who has been avoiding me all week." she replied, seriously. Y/N needed to be tough on Jeno but the truth was, she was worried sick about him. When she learned about the gossip, scandal, controversy...she didn't even know how to name that situation, her mind took her to how Jeno was feeling.

Tina was his first girlfriend, his first love, and Y/N had heard over and over how much he liked her and how Tina was the perfect girl for him.

Always ignoring the pain this caused herself, Y/N was happy for her best friend. So what if she was in love with him forever? If she couldn't have him, she was glad he was happy. Since she was too selfless, as Jaemin said. But that betrayal, she knew it had been like Jeno had been stabbed in the back and all she wanted was to be able to help him get over it somehow, because Jeno didn't need to suffer for someone like Tina. "I'm not avoiding you, I'm just not in the..."

"Mood to talk." she concluded, interrupting him. "I know that. But it doesn't change the fact that I miss you."

Jeno bit down on his bottom lip, an act that didn't go unnoticed by Y/N, and she saw his chin quiver.

Oh no, she wouldn't have the strength to see Jeno cry.

"You decide, either get out of bed or I'll lie down next to you. You won't be alone anymore."

Jeno laughed humorlessly and threw the arm that covered his eyes onto the bed.

"Great, then I'll infect you with my super excited mood." he replied sarcastically.

Y/N looked at him seriously. She hated seeing him like that.

"You know, a funeral would be more uplifting than being by my side."

She hit the mattress and got out of bed, irritated.

"Enough!" she spoke a little louder and Jeno crossed his arms. "Stop talking about yourself that way." he snorted, pouting afterwards. He literally looked like a 5 year old. "Stop feeling sorry for yourself, this is not the Jeno I know!" "I'm sorry, he got a pair of horns as a gift and he can't talk to you right now." he spoke ironically and looked away from Y/N. "So that's it? You're going to keep letting Tina affect your self-esteem?" she asked, perplexed and Jeno stared at her as he heard his ex's name. "It's been a week!" "I'm not you who learned to get over your feelings overnight, Y/N. It still hurts damn it!" he argued, angry.

Y/N was silent for a while, feeling like his words had punched her in the stomach.

He had no idea… "Don't take your frustration out on me, I'm just trying to help you!" "And I appreciate it." Jeno sat on the bed and even though his hair was completely messed up because it was long, he was still beautiful. "But will you please stop pretending that you understand how I feel?"

Y/N stopped and held her breath.

Okay, she hadn't come here to argue about love life with Jeno because it would be ridiculous when he was the one she wanted. But she wouldn't listen to all that quietly either, mainly because it was all a lie.

She knew better than anyone how Jeno felt.

Because every time she saw him with his arm around Tina's shoulder, she felt like a piece of her heart had been ripped out. Every time he saw him hug her like she was the most important person in the world, it was like the whole world was falling on her shoulders.

Not counting the times she saw the two of them kissing and she had to run to the bathroom to cry alone.

What irritated her most was that Jeno didn't know any of this and yet he was judging her as if she were there to mock him, as half the basketball team had.

He spoke as if she wasn't his best friend. The one that she was beside him reading the acceptance letter to that university. The one who helped him get into a good fraternity and helped him with all the moving.

It was she who was on his side, helping him study a subject that even she didn't know what it was, in the days before the exams.

So no, it wasn't fair for him to talk to her like that. "I understand you more than you can even imagine." she replied quietly, crossing her arms and that seemed to get Jeno's attention.

He looked at her confused, blinking a few times.

"What do you mean by that?" he asked curiously and she snorted, laughing.

"Did that get your attention?" she asked cynically. "Excellent!"

"Y/N, I'm serious!" he replied and she glared at him. "You never spoke like that."

"Like that?" she shrugged, not understanding what he meant.

"Serious and honest about this matter." she swallowed hard to see that Jeno had realized more than she thought he would. "As far as I'm concerned, you've never really been in love. Okay, I've seen you hook up with a few guys at parties but I never thought any of them would have such an effect on you."

Poor Jeno, had no idea that in fact the guy who had an effect on her was precisely the one she'd never been with. "You're not the only one around here suffering from a broken heart, Jeno." she admitted and he remained with his eyes fixed on her.

The only difference is that Y/N wasn't as pessimistic as Jeno because she had been in this situation for so long that it even seemed normal, because she already had his friendship so it was enough for her. It was better than him never looking her in the face.

"Who is he?" Jeno asked, voice a little more serious and she arched her eyebrows. "Jaehyun? Youngjae? Or is it Jongin?"

"You’re crazy?" she laughed, sounding more desperate than anything else. "I never hooked up with Jaehyun."

Not for lack of opportunity, the boy was extremely close to Mark and Mark was close to Jeno, she just wanted to avoid comments between them.

"Oh come on, tell me who it is!" he gave Y/N his best puppy look and shook her head.

She definitely wasn't going to fall for that trick.

"For what?" her voice gradually rose, in a pure sign of nervousness as her heart accelerated too fast.

"I don't get to know the idiot who broke my best friend's heart?" he asked, feigning innocence and she laughed again.

You're the idiot, she thought. "Doesn't matter anyway." she shrugged. "You know I have a knack for pissing you off until you talk, don't you?" he raised an eyebrow and smirked as Y/N narrowed her eyes.

"Don’t even try!" she threatened, raising her hand and pointing her finger at him but Jeno continued with the same smile.

He got up from the bed and ran to Y/N who jumped to the side when she saw that he wasn't going to irritate her but to tickle her, his hands ready to attack her belly, Y/N ran across the room and jumped in bed to try to stop him.

"Get out of here, Jeno!" she tried to push him away but that only made him grab her wrist. “No!” Jeno laughed like a naughty child and pulled her onto the bed, tickling Y/N all over her belly. Y/N laughed uncontrollably, she tried to push Jeno's hands away because she was mad.

That was a low blow!

“Stop!” she pleaded and he raised his brow, lessening the tickle of her.

"Who is the guy?" he asked again and she rolled her eyes.

"I already told you I won't-" Jeno went back to tickling her and she laughed again, losing all her breath. "Stop, damn it, it's you. You!"

Suddenly Jeno's fingers pulled away too quickly from Y/N and she managed to catch her breath, only to see Jeno practically petrified on top of the bed staring at her in pure shock. "What did you say?" he asked, confused.

Y/N swallowed hard, smoothing her own hair, and locked her jaw so that no more words would come out of her mouth. Y/N got up from the bed, pushing Jeno in the process and walked away from him, turning her back on him.

She rubbed a hand over her face, as if she couldn't believe she'd actually said that out loud.

"You said the guy who broke your heart is me?" he asked once more and she didn't even have to turn around to know he was looking at her.

She could come up with any other excuse and maybe Jeno would even believe her but her tongue wouldn't do the work of her reason when her heart said the exact opposite.

"Like I said, it doesn't matter anyway." she replied quietly, looking down at her feet.

Y/N was so absorbed in her own feelings, her own guilt, that she didn't hear Jeno get out of bed and go to her, placing a hand on her shoulder.

It was a silent signal for her to turn and face him, but she didn't have the heart to do so Jeno was forced to grab her by both sides and turn her over himself.

Y/N kept her head down, feeling Jeno's gaze penetrate her intensely.

"Are you serious or is this just a way to distract me?" he asked, slightly calm and rather confused.

Y/N snorted but didn't respond, so Jeno brought his hand to her chin and forced her to face him.

She saw exactly what she didn't want to see in his eyes. Pity.

"I wish it was the second option." she replied in an even lower tone and Jeno looked away from her. In fact, not just the look, Jeno turned away from her completely. Taking uncertain steps backwards, showing how surprised he had been caught. "You…why didn't you ever tell me?" he asked, looking like he was at an internal war with himself.

Y/N laughed, humorlessly.

"What difference would it make?" she shrugged. "I'm your best friend, you've already made that clear several times, how would I approach you saying I've been in love with you since forever?" Jeno stared at her in surprise.

"You know I look up to you as a little sister and-"

Y/N raised her hand to stop him.

"That's exactly why I never told you anything." she said visibly hurt.

All she wanted to hear that day was that Jeno saw her as a goddamn little sister.

Once again he broke her heart, only now he knew everything, it wasn't like the other times when he didn't even know what she felt. She took a deep breath watching Jeno go silent. After all, what else could he say?

She would be rejected anyway.

"I love you and you love Tina. It's not very fair game." she spoke acidly and without thinking more, she decided to get out of there before the tears flowed.

The last thing she would do was cry in front of him, maybe hiding in her room like she always did.

As soon as she slammed the door to Jeno's room, she felt as if her whole heart had been ripped out along with the noise.

This wasn’t the confession she had planned.

[...] "I'm serious, Y/N!"

"Jaemin, please, not now." she asked, sighing wearily.

"He misses you, the guy looks miserable without you." she glared at Jaemin who looked too serious to be lying.

He wasn't a good actor, not least because he studied economics.

It had been a week since her disastrous confession and although she didn't want to be pulled away from Jeno when he needed her most, she couldn't kid herself, she was hurting him. Sad. Not because he hadn't reciprocated the confession or the feelings she'd said she felt, but because he hadn't done anything after that.

In fact, he did.

Y/N saw Jeno talking to Tina at the door of the building where she studied, that was enough for her to understand things. Jeno wanted his ex, even after everything she'd done.

And she couldn't support that, not after seeing the state of it when he'd found out.

It was she who was on his side when he found out about the betrayal.

"I definitely don't want to be around him when he comes back with that plastic doll." Y/N felt the venom spurt from every word but didn't care.

She was mad at Jeno for being so weak over some random girl and mad at herself for still having feelings for him.

"He tried to talk to you, didn't he?" Jaemin guessed and Y/N sighed.

Yes, he had tried texting her, calling her... but it took Y/N a lot of willpower not to answer either time. She didn't want to hear the 'we're just friends' speech, it would hurt even more.

So she had already taken the action for both of them, to get away from him. And it would be all right if Jaemin stopped talking about him!

She didn't need her feelings fighting her reason one more time. Even because she missed him so much, and imagining how much he missed her was a flame of hope that she didn't need to have at that moment. She had convinced herself that she needed to forget about Jeno for good.

But how would it go if friends were conspiring against it?

"What do you want from me?" she asked, irritated with herself.

"I want you to make up soon, this situation is boring. Even Mark is starting to get irritated about it." Y/N bit the inside of her cheek, she wasn't pondering, she was fully convinced of her decision but... God, how she wanted things to go back to the way they were before the disaster.

"Jaemin, you’re a great friend."

"Thank you." He smiled.

"I haven’t finished." she complained. "You're a great friend but please stop talking about Jeno now. Seriously. I came here to do exactly that, forget about him."

They were at one of the fraternity parties but it wasn't just any party, it was a pool party.

The kind of distraction she needed.

"And can you?" he questioned, raising an eyebrow. She glared at him.

"Why are you doing this anyway?" she asked curiously and he smiled, looking over her shoulder.

"Because he just arrived."

Y/N felt her own eyes widen without her being able to control it and turned her head quickly towards the entrance, she couldn't even fight the sigh that came out, like a passionate fool she admired Jeno. He wasn't wearing anything out of the ordinary, sneakers, pale pants and a white T-shirt, that's all. But what really grabbed Y/N's attention was Jeno's hair.

Since when had he bleached his hair? And why was he even more attractive with the blonde hair? Jeno was at the pool party, which meant he was going to take his shirt off like most other students for a swim...

When Jeno ran his hand through the now blonde strands and his eyes locked onto her, Y/N had to hold on to Jaemin to not fall because she would but seeing him walk towards them, she knew it was time to react.

She turned her back to Jeno and saw Jaemin holding back from laughing.

"I gotta go." she spoke fast and low, Jaemin didn't even understand her. “What?” he asked and she started walking in the opposite direction Jeno was coming from. "Where are you going?"

"Drink, I will drink!" she spoke a little louder and left before Jeno arrived.

She didn't even drink alcohol, all she needed was a distraction and fast.

As if somehow, heaven had sympathized with her suffering, Y/N bumped into someone and just didn't fall when stumbling over her feet because strong hands held her by the waist. Her gaze went up the broad, strong torso to the kind, smiling face of the volleyball team's libero.

"Sorry San." she smiled slightly. "I didn’t see you."

"Everything is fine." he assured her with a polite smile and moved away from her. "Glad you came!" "I couldn't refuse Yeosang's invitation."

"Well, remind me to thank him later." he winked with one eye and Y/N felt her cheeks burn.

She wasn't the greatest flirting expert but San seemed happy for her to be there, as he couldn't take his eyes off her, and that somehow inflated her ego.

She had come here to have fun and be distracted, whether it was with San or any other guy. "Oh yeah? And why would you thank him for that?" she asked, smiling innocently.

San's smile widened and it was possible to see her dimple, which Y/N thought was extremely cute.

"Because I have the opportunity to do what I've always wanted to do." he spoke as he approached her, his eyes locked with Y/N's.

"What would it be...?" she urged him to continue and San brought his face close to her ear.

"I think you know what." he whispered and Y/N felt her body shiver.

He pulled back enough to meet Y/N's already anxious eyes, who smirked at him.

Well, if whoever she wanted didn't want her the way she needed. She would be with anyone who wanted to be with her.

San indicated for her to accompany him into the fraternity and Y/N did so, completely forgetting about the party.

And not noticing that Jeno was watching from afar with a lost expression.

None of his efforts seemed to be having any effect. [...] Y/N smiled when she saw San approach her, completely sweaty and breathing hard from the training, he smiled widely at her and placed a lingering kiss on her cheek as soon as he was close enough.

"Oh, San, you're all sweaty!" she complained, pulling her face away from his mouth as he laughed loudly.

"You didn't complain about it a month ago." he tossed his wet hair back and she rolled her eyes but smiled anyway.

Well, she wasn't going to deny it because it was true.

San and Y/N had grown closer after the pool party, she loved spending time with him and her friends. They were great company and were managing to distract her very well.

He was a very good kisser, which also helped.

But both had become good friends. Enough for Y/N to cry in San's arms over her love life when she was on her period. She told the whole story in detail, San had heard some gossip around campus, but he was a good listener as she told everything.

He advised her and assured her that he would be there for her if she needed it.

San kept telling Y/N that maybe she should listen to Jeno's side, who still insisted on talking to her, Y/N even responded a few times but the tension was still there and it was bothering her. All Y/N wanted was to be able to fall in love with San, it would be easier, but he was extremely understanding and even though he was a great kisser and had wonderful hands that left great marks on Y/N's body after they spent the night together, yet what she felt for Jeno was too strong to ignore or forget overnight.

"Did you think about what I said?" San asked as they walked outside to the volleyball court. "No pressure!"

"I don't know if I have the courage to talk to him, San." she admitted, ducking her head.

"Hey, don't think like that." his tone was soft and extremely reassuring. "It's like giving a presentation on a topic you know to your whole class, you think you don't have the courage but once you start talking, it will come naturally."

She nodded.

"Yeah, I know."

And she did, but that was easier said than done.

"You can't stay like this for the rest of your life, he's your best friend. Always has been." he remembered and she took a deep breath. He was absolutely right. Y/N was about to continue talking when Jeno appeared in front of her and San, never taking his eyes off her. Y/N was taken aback as well and did nothing but stare at Jeno.

He was too serious.

"Well, let's talk, Y/N." she glanced quickly at San to nod and he winked before leaving.

Jeno didn't even look at him so he didn't say anything.

She crossed her arms as she looked back at Jeno who kept his hands in his pants pockets. “Hi.” he spoke low. “Hey.” Again the atmosphere between them was strange, uncomfortable. "Can we talk?" he asked and she nodded in agreement.

She nodded towards the benches scattered around the university corridor and they went there, sitting at a safe distance. "I've been looking for you for so long." Jeno admitted and Y/N felt her shoulders get heavy with guilt.

Yeah, she was running away from him on purpose.

"I've been busy." she lied and heard Jeno chuckle, humorlessly.

"With San?" he asked sarcastically and she stared at him coldly.

"Don't throw him in that situation, he has nothing to do with it."

"Funny how not long ago you said I was avoiding you and now you're the one doing it!" he accused

"So you admit you were avoiding me that time?" she questioned, crossing her legs.

"No, because I wasn't." she laughed in disbelief. "I just didn't want you to see how vulnerable I was."

"And why not, I was your best friend, I had a duty to see!" she threw her arms up, not understanding.

"Because you always saw me strong, I didn't want you to feel sorry for me."

Y/N looked at him in shock, bordering on offence.

"I would never feel sorry for you!" she snapped. "Especially because I lived in a similar situation, it would be hypocritical of me."

Jeno took a deep breath and looked down.

"I'm sorry." Y/N felt her body give out at hearing his voice so low. "I didn't mean to push you, but when you told me you were hurting for someone-" He swallowed hard. "for me." corrected. "I felt like the most selfish guy in the world. Because you were hurting and I didn't even notice."

"It wasn't your fault."

Jeno looked at her in the same second.

"It was." he spoke more firmly and she fell silent. "If I wasn't so busy living a lie, I would have noticed how unhappy you were."

"I didn't want you not to live your life just to comfort me." "I miss you." he spoke out of the blue and Y/N was left speechless, feeling her heart beat faster and all the kit that came when she was around Jeno. "I miss your presence, your laugh, your hug. I miss my best friend."

Y/N smiled sadly. Of course, why would she have been so deluded by his words?

She took a deep breath before standing up, her shoulders weighing more than a ton.

"Y/N!"

"You know what you don't understand?" she turned to face Jeno who had also risen. "That I can't be your friend. At least not just your friend."

"I’m not-"

"After what I said, Jeno, I couldn't stand by you and watch you desire another girl. I don't want to get hurt anymore." she admitted, her voice choking that she would soon cry. Again. For the same boy. "So, while I can't forget what I feel for you, I need to stay away from you.” Jeno stood still, just staring at her with his mouth open, unresponsive and she smiled sadly once more.

Y/N reached over to place her hand on his face and kissed his cheek softly.

"I'm sorry." she spoke sincerely and turned her back on him, getting out of there before she made herself vulnerable to him.

She missed him too, but just having him as a friend wouldn't be enough. [...] Y/N watched the heavy rain fall through her dorm window, her chin resting on her knees as she sat on her bed, thinking about everything and nothing at the same time. She felt empty, incomplete and she knew it was because her last conversation with Jeno, days ago, hadn't resolved anything between them.

They weren't friends anymore but they just hadn't gone beyond that.

It was a big, huge mess that was giving her a headache and terrible insomnia. But she smiled when she saw the perfect rainbow form in the sky, it was a day of heavy rain, the sky was dark even though it was afternoon, however the sun still struggled to appear creating such a beautiful contrast in the sky that she just admired.

She always heard from her parents that after the storm there would be a rainbow and she hoped that this metaphor would come true in her real life. She was tired of rainy, dark days.

Letting out a weary sigh, she heard a knock on her bedroom door and stared at the door as if she'd been hallucinating. She hadn't heard the dorm bell, her roommates were there so they would have let her know if someone had come to visit, right? Hearing the knock a little more impatiently this time, she got up with a frown and opened the door, bumping into the last person she could imagine to be there.

Jeno.

He was completely soaked from the rain and Y/N wondered what the hell he was doing in her dorm at this hour.

"My God, Jeno!" she pulled him into the room, he was shivering with cold. "What are you doing here?"

"I needed to talk to you." she looked at him as if he were crazy, he found it difficult to speak as his chin trembled.

She shook her head and went to the bedroom dresser, pulling out a dry towel to help him dry off.

Y/N felt from afar how cold he was and so, she did something without even thinking about the consequences, she lowered the zip of the sweatshirt he was wearing so that she could help him recover his body temperature faster and took it out completely, Jeno didn't stop it.

"What are you doing?" he asked as best he could when he saw her reach out to hug him.

"Someone paid attention in first aid class, you warm up faster with body heat than blankets." she enveloped him in a warm hug, feeling Jeno rest his chin on her shoulder.

Y/N felt her body shiver not only because of Jeno's wet shirt but because of the contact. She had hugged him before but this way it felt more intimate.

"Want me to take my pants off too?" he asked quietly, returning the hug and not letting Y/N escape.

She wanted to laugh. The inconvenience of the moment was funny and extremely ironic, considering the fact that she had always imagined that situation in a different way.

Y?N didn't answer, just kept Jeno's body next to hers, feeling little by little that he stopped shaking and part of her clothes were also wet but she didn't care.

She didn't want Jeno to get sick, especially since he had come over to talk to her about who knows what.

She pulled away, against Jeno's will, who didn't let go at first, but she placed her hand on his chest to make him do so. When she noticed how wet Jeno's pants were, she sighed.

"I think you better take it off anyway." she said and saw him bring his hands to his waistband. "Wait!"

"What?" he asked confused and she looked at him in disbelief.

"I didn't tell you to get naked in front of me!"

Y/N threw the towel she was holding over his face and snorted to see him laugh, she turned her back to give him some privacy and crossed her arms, waiting.

Jeno tossed the pants to her side and Y/N had to fight all the non-puritanical thoughts that haunted her mind. She didn't know if he was doing it on purpose or if he was just being himself.

She took a deep breath before turning to face him again and regretted having done so because Jeno took off the wet t-shirt he was wearing to only have the towel wrapped around his waist.

Nothing more.

Y/N clenched her jaw as her eyes unconsciously trailed across Jeno's chest. Was it an impression or was Jeno working out more? I mean, she'd never seen him shirtless like that before but she didn't remember he was so well defined.

Jeno faked a cough and caught Y/N's attention who at this point was red-cheeked from being caught in the act. She looked away and picked up Jeno's clothes, laying them out on her desk chair. She needed to be distracted by something other than him.

"You said you wanted to talk to me." she recalled, hearing him chuckle. "It must be something very important for you to come in the middle of a storm."

Y/N leaned back in her chair, the farther she stayed from Jeno, the safer she would be for herself.

Jeno sighed, running a hand through his wet blonde hair, something Y/N didn't miss, and turned to sit on her bed. "I needed to see you. I miss you, Y/N." he noticed and she took a deep breath.

"Jeno, I already told you that-"

"Before you interrupt me, please just listen to me." he pleaded and she kept quiet. "I felt completely lost and hurt when I found out that Tina had cheated on me, you know that because you were with me. She was my first love and I feel like an idiot for giving her my heart." Y/N bit the inside of her cheek, feeling her heart sink with his every word. "But I was even more lost than that when you told me how you felt about me, I had no idea, I mean I didn't even notice. And I felt even more stupid because I hurt you in every possible way when I couldn't even see what I was doing."

"There was no way you could have guessed."

"But I should!" he replied. "I mean, Tina always thought you were too close for a best friend but I was so blinded by another girl that I didn't realize what I had in front of me."

Y/N was taken aback by Jeno's heartfelt words but it hurt how he put it all in the past.

“Jeno.” "And all this time we were apart, I realized how much I needed you. I didn't have anyone to text me at 2 am, or to share about the weird dreams I had, to motivate me to go to class even though I'm dying of laziness." Y/N smiled sadly, she also missed every small and silly detail. "And then I questioned whether I really meant everything I said to you." she stared at him, confused. Jeno stared down at his hands, avoiding her eyes. "I always saw you as my little sister, the one I was supposed to protect you from any asshole on campus who wanted to take advantage of you." he chuckled. "But then I saw you with San and I heard the comments about the two of you, and even though there were lots of girls in bikinis at that party, all I could think about was what you two were doing within the sorority." Jeno lifted his head to face her and Y/N felt a shiver run through her body. "And then I dreamed about you."

"What do you mean you dreamed about me?"

Jeno took a deep breath before getting out of bed and walking with fearful steps towards her.

Y/N didn't do anything, just held Jeno's gaze.

"I dreamed I kissed you." he admitted low. "And we did certain things that I won't be able to say right now."

She felt her jaw drop.

"When I woke up, it felt so real because a huge part of me wanted it to be." Wait a minute, was Jeno saying he wanted to be with her? "I struggled because I didn't see you as my little sister anymore." Jeno took the opportunity to place a hand on Y/N's face and looked at her tenderly.

"If you tell me that to earn your trust again I need to jump out of a plane or in a swimming pool right now with this storm, I'll do it." he guaranteed. "But I can't stay away from you anymore."

"And why is that?" she smirked. Jeno didn't need to say anything else, because he didn't want to, he had to show it. He approached Y/N's body and the hand that held her face, went to the back of her neck, bringing her closer. Seeing her close her eyes slowly, totally surrendering to that moment, was enough for him to move forward over the little space that still separated the two.

He touched her lips and at the same time that lightning cut the sky, Y/N took her arms to wrap around Jeno's neck, bringing him even closer.

As their lips met in a thirsty way, she felt how hot Jeno was, far different from how he'd gotten there. Feeling him so close with his bare torso was making her legs give out, but Jeno was there to hold her around the waist with his free hand. He was always there to catch her when she fell and that made her smile between the kiss, breaking it unintentionally. Jeno's heavy breathing hit Y/N's face as they pressed their foreheads together and she opened her eyes, looking at him so serenely and so happily. "So, do you love me now?" she asked, amused.

Jeno opened his eyes and shook his head.

"I always loved you, I was just a little dumb to admit it."

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