#PLSS COME BACK FOR US 🙏

[susu-enjoyer]

[huramuna]

blue dove - oneshot request.

dark aemond x best friend / modern

request: Helloo! Can I get a dark modern aemond who is in love with best friend reader and is possessive and jealous whenever reader meets a guy and aemond does everything he can to keep reader to himself only with smut plss😊😊🙏

warnings: smut (specifics under the cut), possessive aemond, gaslighting, manipulation, toxic dynamic, aemond is his own warning here. reader isn't described, she/her pronouns. work is 18+, minors do not interact or you shall be smited.

word count: 3.7k

a/n: this is my first time posting smut & also writing it in a long time-- leave a like and comment if you liked it! <;3

paparazzi - lady gaga • baby hotline - jack stauber's micropop

content: p in v, unprotected sex, fingering, pussy slapping, hair pulling, copious biting, creampie, breeding kink, belly bulge

She had a few constants in her life, things that would never change, no matter how hard she tried. 

One; she would never be able to drive herself anywhere. She was befallen to being a frequenter of public transport, cycling, and whatever other benign thing she could rope herself into that didn’t involve getting behind the wheel of a car. 

Two (which tied into one); she would always suffer from crippling anxiety. She didn’t know why she was this way, nor could she fix it. She tried every cure— smoking, medication, meditation, hypnosis, and other obscure treatments. She used to be a bright and sprightly child, shining with confidence and determination— she had all the makings to become something special.

She was in all of the gifted classes, read well above her grade, was an eloquent writer and an aspiring artist. Until, of course— something in her snapped. Around the age of hitting puberty, rather than blossoming into what she should’ve been, she wilted. Wilted into a shadow of what she was, who she was. Suddenly, her gifted mind turned into one that was average at best, and at her worst, stuck into remedial classes. 

She hardly remembers who she was— and dreams of what could’ve been. 

The third thing tied everything up into a bow; Aemond Targaryen. Her best friend since elementary school, they’d always been glued at the hip. Even now, almost two decades later. He had seen her at her best and her worst— and so had she. 

They were both on the smaller side as kids, scrawny and short— this made them an easy target for bullies and the like; how it usually goes. After Aemond lost his eye, she became fiercely protective over him, even throwing out a few punches and getting beaten into the dirt if anyone said anything untoward to him. 

That was when they were kids, though— when she was fierce and lively. Their roles have somewhat reversed now. Aemond grew into himself, shooting up to well above her height, while she stayed sort of small. He protected her when anyone looked at her the wrong way, even if she didn’t see it.

They were both twenty-six now, sharing a birthday just a few days apart. They were always close in everything. 

It was a crisp autumn day, her oversized sweater rippling slightly in the growing breeze. Shivering, she knocked on the door of Aemond’s flat. 

“Aem,” she hummed softly, “I’m here.”

A few moments later, the door opened— in all his six foot tall glory, Aemond. His hair was down and a bit messy. A plain white shirt and gray sweatpants were his lounge clothes of choice, it seemed. 

He perked a brow, “Didn’t feel like using your key?” he asked, moving aside so she could walk in. 

“Oh— yeah, the key,” she scratched the back of her head with a halfhearted chuckle, “I forget— and I don’t wanna just barge in…”

“You aren’t barging,” he mused with a small smirk, “I gave you a key for a reason— I trust you. Aegon doesn’t even have a key.” 

She kicked off her boots, “Well, Aegon is an idiot— he would just come here to raid your fridge and steal all your… expensive liquor,” she giggled, genuinely. Unwrapping the scarf from her neck, she instantly felt herself warming back up, “I don’t get how you like that stuff anyhow— it tastes like… spicy brown piss or something.” 

Aemond snorted, “It's top shelf whiskey, my dear. Not ‘spicy brown piss’ as you so lovingly put it,” his hand reached out to her bare neck, thumbing over her throat for a moment before he walked towards the balcony, sliding the door open. Lighting up a cigarette, he took a deep drag, “You just don’t have a sophisticated enough palate to get it, dove.” 

She let out a mock indignant snort, moving to the couch, “I have a sophisticated enough palate when it comes to things that are actually good— like well-marbled beef or earthy mushrooms stewed with thyme and garlic. Not alcohol,” she scrunched her nose, “That shit will kill you, Aem,” her eyes flicked to his cigarette. Another one of her one-and-done vices she used to have— her and Aemond started together, as she’d heard it might help her anxiety. It didn’t help, and tasted horrible, so she quit the next week. 

Aemond, however, didn’t quit. That was eight years ago. When Aemond fancied something, he never gave up; that she knew for a fact. He gave one of his signature toothy grins, blowing smoke in her direction, “Lots of things will kill me, dove. If I die from smoking, so be it.” he took another drag, a deep and performative one. 

She let out a quiet ‘hmpf’ noise, grabbing her phone out of her pocket. They were used to sitting in silence with each other, leaving one another to their own devices— as long as they were in the room together, it was fine. 

Aemond watched her as he finished up his cigarette. When she would look up, he would look away, as if he wasn’t just staring a hole through her. She could feel his gaze— his blind, milky blue eye boring into her, while his undamaged eye observed her like she was a specimen underneath a microscope. 

Every expression, every minute movement of her face was absorbed by him. He knew her better than she knew herself— and that was fine with her. She hardly knew herself anymore, anyways.

Her jaw clenched as she looked through her phone, scrolling through messages. The quietest of sighs left her, deflating her ever so slightly. 

“What is it?” Aemond asked, suddenly appearing next to her, settling down on the couch. 

She blinked profusely a few times— he was so silent when he wanted to be. She locked her phone and put it aside, “Oh— that guy I’ve been talking to… we were supposed to go out tonight. Apparently something came up…” her voice trailed off as she looked down at her hands, cracking her knuckles idly; one of her nervous habits. 

Aemond’s jaw clenched, his hand flexing slightly— then he relaxed, “I’m sorry, dove,” he murmured, “Maybe we can do something tonight, just the two of us? I’ll order Thai.” 

She continued to crack her knuckles, “I-I dunno— I don’t want to be a burden. We don’t have to do this every time a guy cancels on me…” 

It had become a longstanding tradition for takeout at Aemond’s flat when she got ghosted by a guy— which admittedly, happened a lot. 

His hands were on hers in an instant, eclipsing them and prying them apart, “Stop that,” he said firmly, “You are not a burden. You never will be a burden. I won’t hear another word of that shit, got it?” 

She fidgeted slightly at his harsh tone, but nodded, “… can we get Italian tonight instead of Thai?” 

His tone and demeanor softened instantly at her acquiescence, “Of course, dove.” he gave her hands a quick, firm squeeze before letting go— one of his hands resting against her neck, arm wrapped around her. 

They feasted and laughed all night, watching some of their favorite shows; overdramatic reality cooking competitions. They bickered back and forth about who should’ve won, who should’ve cooked what and who they think should’ve been eliminated. 

At the end of the night, she was exhausted, leaning against him. She had eaten enough pasta to feed a small horse. 

“Don’t think I’ll make it back to mine tonight Aem,” she mumbled, her forehead pressed against his arm, “Too bloated. Might fall asleep on the train if I try to go home— can I stay here tonight?” 

“You don’t even have to ask,” he said softly, his hand caressed behind her head. He always got touchy-feely late at night like this, and she didn’t wholly mind— it made her feel special. 

She usually wasn’t keen on physical touch from anyone but Aemond, no one else got it right. She had a few flings in college and they all ended sourly— all of her romantic ventures seemed to end sourly. Aemond, however, was always there— always there to pick up the pieces, to tell her that she is worth it, to make her feel like she mattered. 

It was him— always him, wasn’t it? 

The realization dawned on her, making her heart ping-pong in her chest. She… loved him. She did, didn’t she?

“You can sleep in my bed, if you want,” he suggested softly, unaware of her inner turmoil. 

She felt like her eyes bulged out of her head at that proposition, “Uh-uh,” she managed to croak, “Don’t wanna take up your space n’ all that…” 

He didn’t press the issue. “Goodnight, dove.” 

She wrapped herself in a blanket, getting comfortable on the couch— as much as she could, anyhow. Eventually, from sheer exhaustion alone, she drifted off to sleep. 

When she woke up, she didn’t know what time it was— it was still dark outside. She blinked a few times, looking around. It took her a minute to remember she was at Aemond’s. 

Her eyes, blurry with sleep, landed on a figure— Aemond, illuminated in the darkness across from her. He was holding his phone— no, that was her phone. 

He was looking intently at something, holding his phone in his free hand, typing something into it, obviously from her phone. 

Why was Aemond on her phone? Not that she minded, of course, she had nothing to hide— but what… what would be so interesting that he was saving from her phone to his? 

“Aem?” she murmured softly, “What are you doing?” 

A moment of panic went over his face— she caught this immediately, as she could count all of the times on one hand she’d ever seen him make that look. That is when she knew something was wrong. 

“Nothing, dove— go back to sleep.” he cooed, trying to sound as soft and soothing as possible. 

But it didn’t work, her guard was up, her suspicions raised. She got up from the couch, “Aemond. What are you doing?” she asked again, a bit more firm. 

“Nothing— I just needed… to get something off of your phone.” he said, still obviously hiding something. 

“What would you need off of my phone?” she pressed, walking up and snatching it back from him. 

On the screen— it was her dating app profile. The list of messages of all of the people she’d talked to were pulled up, including all of their personal information. 

“Um… what— Aemond, why are you looking at all of their profiles?” 

He stared at her for a long moment, his brow furrowed. He finally spoke after a stretch of silence, “I had to. I had to, you know. They aren’t worthy of you, none of them.” he said, his voice taking a serious note. 

Shivers ran down her spine, “Aem— what the fuck are you talking about?” 

“They needed to be told that you were already spoken for— that they needed to back off.” he moved a bit closer to her, his closeness suddenly oppressive. 

She shook her head, still not understanding, “I-I don’t… wh—,” 

He was on her then, grabbing her hands as they went to crack her knuckles, his grip on her tight, “They aren’t fucking good enough for you— no one is— no one except me, dove,” he growled low, his one seeing pupil blown wide like a predator, “You really think that every man you tried to go out with willingly ghosted you? Sweetheart, you can’t be that dumb.” 

Suddenly, it all began to make sense. All of her failed attempts to date after college were failures— and it wasn’t because of her. It was because of Aemond. 

She had spent years thinking that it was her fault, her inadequacies— 

“Look at me,” he grunted, one of his hands going to her chin, forcing her gaze upward. Tears were streaming down her face, “I did it for you— for us— I am the only one capable of loving you,” his thumb caressed her bottom lip, parting it ever so slightly, “You think that anyone else on this planet would be able to handle you— besides me? I know you better than you know yourself. No one else would be able to handle all of your little quirks, your insecurities, your fears, your anxieties— but I will and I do.”

She sniffed, “I-if you liked me that way— why wouldn’t you just tell me?” 

The pad of his thumb swiped the gathered wetness from her lip, “I’m patient— I’ve been patient— I needed you to realize,” his thumb slipped between her lips, pressing down onto the soft of her tongue, earning a small whimper from her, “That I’m the one— that you and I were made for each other, hm?” 

She garbled a tiny reply, but it didn’t come through from his digit suppressing her tongue. Even through this— it felt like betrayal in some aspect to her— she couldn’t help but feel… warmth. Something akin to sickening elation. The good and bad parts of her were fighting, her emotions swirling within her. 

He removed his thumb from her mouth, smearing her lips with her own saliva. He craned his neck downward, “Don’t you want me, dove?” he whispered, his lips ghosting over hers. They were exchanging breaths, sharing their oxygen between one another without actually touching yet. 

She was still crying— but she nodded slowly, “Y-yes,” she murmured. After all— he was right, wasn’t he? Who else would deal with her? Who else would love her?

He lifted his hand to her neck— he always had loved to rest it there, why hadn’t she seen it before? — his fingers pressing ever so gently against her skin. He closed the almost nonexistent gap between them, their lips pressing together. 

She hummed a tearful whimper as they kissed, the delightful warmth spreading throughout her body, mingling with the sting of betrayal and disgust. Eventually, his tongue invaded her mouth, lips moving together as if he wanted to fully consume her. She’d never been kissed so desperately before— it was as if he was starving. 

They fell into a rhythm, his hand lowering from her neck down to her collarbone, tracing the very being of her. She didn’t know what to do with her hands— her fists were white-knuckled, clenching at his shirt as if to hold on for dear life.

His large hand palmed her breast, immediately eliciting a response from her in the form of a gasp. She felt him smile against her mouth, pulling back ever so slightly, “So responsive for me already— I knew you’d be,” he hummed, his thumb rasping over her sensitive nipple, causing it to harden immediately. It sent shivers straight to her core, where she felt a growing wetness.

He shifted them back to the couch, placing her on his lap, “I’ve been waiting for this for years,” he growled, nipping at the soft flesh of her neck, “I’ve been in love with you since we met— all of that time. I’m a patient man,” he continued, leaving little red marks on her skin, biting gently, then kissing, “I let you have your fun in college— I let you fuck your way through a few guys, letting that first one take your virginity— should’ve been me,” Aemond bit down into her shoulder, slowly moving his way down her body. His hands lifted her shirt off easily, practically snapping the wires of her bra in tow. “Now, my dove, we are going to make up for lost time, hm?” 

He tossed her bra aside, her breasts, well endowed as she was, rested heavily upon her chest. He pawed at one right away, her nipple pebbling into a stiff peak. 

“Why didn’t you tell me— why,” she mewled. It’d been so long since she’d been touched this way, and never so attentively. Her skin felt like it was on fire. 

“I needed you to realize it,” he explained, biting at her nipple. She let out a cry, earning a laugh from him, “I only needed a little more time. Too bad you’re a light sleeper, hm?” 

Her body felt tight and hot, as if she was going to melt if she didn’t relieve some of the growing ache between her legs. She felt his hardness— pretty significantly, in fact— pressing against her pelvis. Almost out of primal need, she began rocking her hips against it, hoping for some friction. 

“Needy girl,” he admonished, “But I’m a giver, aren’t I?” his hand slipped beneath the waistband of her pants, down to her damp core. “So fucking wet for me already, hm? Just needed me to tell you that I love you and you’re practically gushing in my lap.” 

His fingers parted her folds, honing in on her clit almost immediately. She fidgeted, pressing her head to his neck, breathing heavily against his skin. He worked at a slow pace at first— but she didn’t need much to begin barreling towards her first peak. 

Aemond’s free hand snaked into her hair, yanking her back from his neck, “Don’t hide,” he purred, “I want to see your face when you come on my fingers, dove.” 

She looked a mess, her face red and tear stained, kiss swollen lips parted as she whimpered in pleasure. She wasn’t loud in bed by any means— her little whines and moans were enough. 

The cord within her began unraveling, slowly, slowly, as the pleasure intensified. He was able to achieve a level of euphoria that she could never do with her own fingers, nor could any other man. 

“Aem, Aem— f-fuck,” she cried, tears still streaming down her face, “S’close, p-please.”

He grunted a moan in response, as if the act of getting her off was getting him off in turn, “Come on, let go for me.” 

The pleasant feeling of wetness turned into a rush of pure ecstasy as she reached her peak, whimpering unintelligible praises while struggling to keep her eyes open. 

“That’s it,” he cooed encouragingly, “Fucking beautiful.” 

He kept up his ministrations on her pearl well after she came, causing her to squirm, “Too much, too much,” she murmured, a fresh string of tears falling down her cheeks. 

The sight of her tears made him throb a bit— it was a wonder he lasted this long without fucking her already. He stopped his assault on her clit, prodding his fingers into her mouth so she could taste herself, then he licked them clean himself. 

Shifting their positions slightly, he laid her down gently on the couch on her stomach as he pulled his sweatpants down. She glanced back, zeroing in on his member— he had a sizable length and girth, his tip messy and wet from her grinding earlier. Her mouth felt dry and wet all at the same time and she swallowed harshly.

He wiggled her pants and panties down her legs, her now soaked undergarments sticking to her folds. He gave her a playful swat between the legs, causing her to jump. 

“So sensitive,” he hummed, pulling up her posterior in the air. His hand smacked lightly against her bottom before gripping it, “This; is mine,” he moved his hand down between her legs, pinching her clit, “This is also mine.” 

She let out a mewling moan, keening under his possessive declarations— she found herself not only blooming in pleasure between her legs at such language, but her heart wrenched and wrought against her chest in a delightful pain. She wondered if this is what it was like to be in love. 

“This changes everything, you know,” he said as he positioned behind her, moving the head of his cock between her legs, gathering the wetness there and creating a sticky friction. “There isn’t going back to the way things were— you are well and truly mine now, dove.” he cooed before easing himself inside of her, hissing lowly at the tight fit. 

He bottomed out in her quickly, his member prodding against her sweet spot. Aemond let her adjust to his size for a minute— while also focusing to ensure that he didn’t come immediately. After a few moments, she relaxed— so he began to move. 

His pace was slow and meticulous, filling every nook and cranny of her, committing the shape of her to memory. He paid close attention to when she would clench when he hit that spongy sweet spot, her hand going to the arm of the couch to find purchase, anything so she still felt like she had control. 

Her mouth was agape, strings of saliva wetting the leather couch. “A-Aem— p-please,” she simpered, asking for what— she didn’t know, she just needed more.

He took it as a spur to increase his pace, the room filled with her tiny whines, his grunts and skin slapping against skin. His arm hooked under her chest and pulled her back, switching their position to where she was pressed against his back. His legs hooked between hers and pried them open, “Keep them open, sweetheart,” Aemond bit into her neck once more, leaving a few more additions to her growing collection of marks by him, “Need more of these on you, then there won’t be a,” his stopped as he groaned, his pace quickening, “fucking doubt in anyone’s mind who you belong to– you’re mine, always been mine– fuck.” his mouth was upon her ear, muttering sweet nothings to her as his free hand pressed her flat to his chest. He thrusted upward, taking her hand and putting it over her abdomen– the bulge of him inside of her could be felt, “Mine have, mine to hold, mine to fuck– mine to breed,” his breath quickened– he was close.

The double entendre of feeling the bulge inside of her and the head of his cock bullying that sweet, spongy spot just right– pushed her over the edge for the second time. She clenched and fluttered around him, earning an animalistic growl from him as he came, ropes of his seed coating her walls.

They stayed like that for a while, his cock softening inside of her while she regained her breath, coming to terms with the situation she was in. Soon enough, he pulled out, his seed dripping out of her. The stimulation to her already battered core made her squirm. 

He leaned forward, still encircling her, encompassing her in his arms. “Tell me that you love me.”

She didn’t know when she started crying again– or perhaps she’d been crying the whole time. She sniffed, acquiescing, “I love you, Aemond.”

[yanderestarangel]

something smutty for raiden plss???🙏

TW: somnophilia, clit teasing, oral (f!receiving), praise, morning sex, afab anatomy,smut, pussy worship, pet names, no pronouns used other than "you".

★⸺RAIDEN : He was your loving and attentive boyfriend, especially when you were sleeping, he always watched you and ensured you had a good rest, however, that morning was different - with you writhing in bed, moaning his name, the wetness between your legs was visible and shines through the fabric of your panties, making the farmer's eyes sparkle with excitement. So, the man couldn't contain himself, leaning down to your body, and getting between your thighs, dragging the fabric of your panties to the point that you were conscious enough, even though you were still drowsy.

Raiden smirked mischievously as he felt your body react to his touch, his warm breath tickled against your sensitive skin, sending shivers of pleasure coursing through your body. He continued to pepper kisses along the delicate folds of your sex, his lips teasingly brushing against your engorged clit. With each gentle stroke of his tongue, it made you moan sweetly and cling to the sheets - His mouth moved with purpose, his lips embracing your clit and sucking on it tenderly, he could feel your body arching in response, getting even closer to the cause of your pleasure, him.

"-Good morning xiǎo tù... I couldn't resist... seeing you moan my name, were you dreaming of me fucking you? Mm? My darling... seeing you fuckable like that drives me crazy." His hands caressed your inner thighs, spreading them wider to grant him better access. Your fingers tangled in his hair, urging him to continue his delicious torment. The sensation of his mouth on your most sensitive spot was overwhelming, igniting a fire within you that threatened to consume your every thought clouded by lust and morning sleep.

"-I love how responsive you are to my touch, how your body quivers and trembles under my tongue. You taste so sweet, baby, like the sweetest nectar. I could spend hours savoring you, but right now, just cum for me... Fuck, you're so beautiful, my love."

His fingers joined in the dance, slipping inside you, curling and stroking your inner walls in perfect harmony with his oral assault.

"-That's it, baby. Let go. Surrender to the pleasure I'm giving you. Moan for me, scream my name. I want to hear how good I make you feel."

You tried to close your thighs, feeling your orgasm approaching, your pussy wet Raiden's lips, while you moaned trying to get rid of your moisture. However, Raiden's grip tightened on your thighs, preventing you from closing them. He knew exactly what you needed, and he wasn't about to let you deny yourself the pleasure that was building inside you, his eyes locked with yours, a mix of desire and dominance evident in his gaze.

"-No, dear, don't hold back. I want to see you come undone, to feel your body shake with ecstasy. Believe me, I know exactly how to make you feel good... You're so wet, so ready for me. I can feel your walls squeezing my fingers, begging for my cock inside you... fuck I could fuck you for hours, you know?"

His voice was low and commanding, Raiden didn't stop, his mouth and fingers continuing to work their magic, prolonging his pleasure as aftershocks rippled through his body. He reveled in the sight of you unfurling before him, your body shaking and convulsing with each wave of bliss. Raiden continued to pleasure you until you were completely exhausted, until your body finally relaxed and the last remnants of pleasure disappeared. Only then did he let go of your thighs, his gaze full of satisfaction and adoration, as he saw your vulnerable and satisfied body, as he licked his lips lightly.

"-I hope you enjoyed your awakening. But don't worry, there's plenty more where that came from, after all, you're always my best meal."

©YANDERESTARANGEL 2023

[primrosebow]

HEYY!!! i love your art soo much!!! Your post abt the hazbin hotel women 🩷🩷 its so GOODD!! As Vaggies #1 fan i love how you wrote for her and drew her! I love how you added little details like the night dress(id fuck her in her night dress too she looks so cute:3) but i was wondering if you could maybe do some rosie x reader nfsw🙏 PLSS she barely gets any love and your writing(and art but yoy dont have to draw her if you dont want tooo) is so good!! Anyways could i maybe be 🎀 annon? i hope you have a good day!!! Bye

Hey I'm back from trying to find out how to be a good artist

I did not figure it out 🗣📢📢📢💥💥 also we're on strike.

❣️_-->Rosie x reader

//

!Content warnings!: nsfw, rosie being rosie (she bites you fr), uhhhhhhhh the usual??? I still don't know how to do content warnings, gender neutral reader because I didn't specify anything, good luck reading my handwriting (every day it becomes less readable and becomes more like a doctor's. I am transforming. I am becoming the doctor.)

Guys if I don't buy the skulls on a string I'm going to die. I need to buy it.

//

//

One may be surprised to find that in my opinion she doesn't hold any regards to who is "topping" or not- little of that matters to her. What really matters is how close you both are- she is all about the intimacy when it comes to this. Talkative all the way through, she will be affectionate with the sweetest words she can offer you. She uh... really doesn't make much of an effort to be understood by you if you are unfamiliar with the 'slang' she tends to use- you can ask about it later, after she is done with you.

Another thing she does, something much more predictable: is that she tends to bite you. There are no intentions of hurting you when she leans into your body and digs her teeth into your skin, it goes without saying that you will of course bleed, and, afterwards she earnestly and truthfully showers you in apologies for harming you! it's just.. your taste is truly intoxicating to her- you need to understand! She has said it herself in the unfiltered delirious state you both get to: she'd most definetly eat you, you tasting so perfect the way you do- if she wouldn't miss you so much if she did. Your company brightens her days, makes every little moment worth it, she wouldn't be capable of existing in a world without you now; sometimes she wonders how she made it so far without you to begin with.

Any compliments you may give her are met with shy looks to the side and comments for you to "oh stop it- you're much too sweet..", being truly invitations to get you to do it further.

//

Stupid little edit I made of her with the creative liberties I took :-]

@bigfatbimbo as usual

Somehow despite typing with numbers between my words to shorten everything I still manage to not sound completly unhinged and like a severely brainrot infected individual

Moral of the story is: delete tiktok

[hiskillingjar]

Plss write more about girlfriend to death 🙏🥺

*tig notaro voice* okay dyke

2600+ words, switching it up today, this is a post for the tops (i didn't say doms though). fem reader throughout. mommy kink in law's part. daddy kink in strade's part. par for the course, really

ren🦊

"NGH, hang on, that’s too much, TOO MUCH-!!"

Ren yowled loudly, sounding like a cat in heat as her sharp claws dug deep into your shoulders, all the while, your hips collided roughly with hers, the thick, heavy strap-on plunging deeper inside of her. 

"Fuck," You growled through grit teeth, digging your own (bitten) nails into her full hips. "Put those claws away, girl, that hurts-"

"Nnn, mmph," She whimpered, pressing her face into your collarbone (her cheek bumping against your heavy collar as she did so, the electric prong pressing into your skin). "Y-You started it. You didn't even give me a warning before doing that!"

"Do you need a warning?" You asked with a huff, reaching up to push your hair out your eyes. You preferred it short, but she insisted on you growing it out (while you were still here, anyway). "Would you suck it up and let me get to it already?"

"You're so mean," Ren pouted, pulling back from your collar and letting the grip on your shoulders loosen up a little (but not much). "You know I'm the one who kidnapped you, right? Not the other way round..."

"Mmhmm, and yet," You let out a low chuckle, reaching down and taking her soft thighs in hand, shifting them up to her chest (it wasn’t a forceful gesture, you told yourself, you didn’t do the things she did). "You like it, right?"

"Mmm," She moaned softly, almost submissively, biting her lip with a sweet and coy expression, as she let herself be posed and moved around (like a toy, like a doll), dragging the filed tips of her claws down your biceps. The more she did it, the better it felt. "Y-Yeah, I guess I like it..."

"Good girl," You praised, leaning down and pressing a kiss to her flushed cheek. "Can I keep going or what?" 

"Mmhmm," She hummed airily, shifting her hips upwards so to wrap her legs around your waist, pressing your hips together again.

With a satisfied sigh, you slid your hands underneath her ass (grabbing a plush handful while you were at it) and pulled her body even closer to yours, jerking your hips back before bucking them again, pressing the toy back inside her.

"Ahhhnnn..." She groaned sweetly as you started up a pace of shorter, deeper thrusts, getting her used to the harsher depth that you preferred. "God, it feels so deep..." She drawled, tilting her head back, exposing a scarred throat and the lovebites you had left behind on her.

"Haven't taken dick like this before, have you?" You teased with a slight smirk, dragging your lips down her cheek and to her jaw, leaving behind even more little love nips and relishing in her whines as you did so. "Too little to take it this hard, huh?"

"Nnn..." She squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head, no, she could take it.

"Mmhmm, I don't think so either, baby," You murmured again, trailing more kisses and bites down her neck, her heaving chest, trailing to her little breasts. "I think you can take more, can't you?"

"Fuck," She gasped needily, pushing her hands through your hair as you dragged your tongue over her nipple and latched on it with your teeth, digging them in. "Goddd, come on-"

"What was that?" You breathed hotly, glancing upwards with a raised brow. "Want more, sweetheart?"

She didn't get the opportunity to answer your question (or correct herself), before you were pulling back from her chest and caging her down, forcing the toy even deeper inside of her (how she was managing to take it all, you had no idea). To add insult to injury, you picked up the speed and force of your thrusts, too, pounding her into the mattress of the spare room’s bed.

“AHH! FUCK!”

She shrieked out brokenly again, her entire body shooting stiff as your hips met hers in an aggressive *slap* of flesh, her golden eyes wide open and her mouth slack with desperate pants, whines and shrieks. 

Her toes were curling against the small of your back and her hands were clinging to your shoulders again, tethering your body close to hers as you fucked her hard.

You had no doubt that her 'My Melody' nail art would be stained with your blood after this.

But you didn't mind that.

Not when you could look at her like this.

law 🥀

"Are you okay? This isn't too much, right?"

You weren’t surprised that you had gotten Law under you, her long legs spread and her sensible skirt hiked up around her hips, after passing a joint back and forth for the last forty minutes. 

You both got a little like that when you were high, after all.

Though you had been surprised when you found out that she hadn’t worn underwear to therapy that day. Law was always full of surprises, though.

"I-It's fine..." She stammered, the hands (big, long fingers, and lovely) covering her face trembling a little. "Kind of...full feeling."

"Well, yeah," You scoffed out a laugh, reaching up to push your bangs out of your sweaty face. "I have two fingers in your ass.” You gave them a little wiggle to emphasise your point, feeling the soft squish of too much lube (was there such a thing?) around your latex gloves coating her insides. “You're gonna feel like that."

"Mphh..." She pulled one of her hands down to her mouth, digging her teeth into her pointer finger, chipping black nail polish (black like yours were, she had picked it up from you).

"Are you sure you're okay, Law?” You said, pulling your fingers back a little. “We can stop if you want-"

"N-No, it's fine, I promise…” She said quite quickly, looking towards you with more life in her grey eyes than you had seen in a while. They were practically dead when you first met her…and weren’t much better now, most of the time. Your dead-eyed beauty. “I-I want to take you properly, so..."

"Okay.” You gave her a smile, reminded of the growing erection under your shorts, and eased your fingers back inside her. “Taking it slow...I can do that for you, baby."

"Mm..." She let out a little sigh, reaching forward to grab your shoulder with one hand, pulling your chest closer to hers, pulling your faces together.

You smiled a little bigger.

"How are you feeling, doll?" You purred quietly, curling your fingers around the rim of her asshole and rubbing at the bundle of nerves deep inside of her.

Doll, you called her. Was it just t-girl slang or was there a second meaning behind it, now?

"Good...it feels good." She mumbled, her voice stammering as her legs shifted downwards and curled tightly around your waist. The crotch of your shorts were pressed against the small of her back, right against her tailbone, making you ache a little more for her. "Kind of...like you're seeing and feeling every part of me, you know?"

"Yeah?" You asked with a slight giggle, pulling your fingers back a little and squeezing more lube against your latex-clad fingers. Never such a thing as too much lube. "Feeling your insides?"

"As close to a dissection as you can get without killing me," She whispered, tipping her head back, sighing at the feeling of the cool lubricant on her asshole, the gory image she had painted in her own brain.

You let out a little chuckle, tilting your head.

"You're so weird, Law," You said fondly, leaning down to press a slow kiss to her scarred thigh (so many scars). "I like how weird you are."

Her fingers tightened around your shoulder, and you could see an awkward smile through her spread fingers.

"T-Thank you," She murmured, totally earnest. You had a sense that she hadn’t heard a compliment like that before, and you were happy to give it to her.

"Ready for the third finger?" 

"Yeah...yeah,” She nodded, biting her fingers again, crooked teeth digging into her skin. “Okay, I'm ready..."

You gave her thigh another quick kiss, before working a third finger inside of the tight ring of muscle, pressing them in and out at a slow pace and listening to the growing intensity behind each of Law’s whines as you did so. 

"Nnnhhh..." She groaned, her tight eyelids fluttering and her head tipped back.

"All good?" You asked quietly, building up the pace, the wet *schlick* of your fingers utterly obscene in the quiet room.

"Perfect," She moaned, looking back towards you, a dark need in her grey eyes as she pressed a hand into her hair and curled it into a fist, like she was trying to tether herself to the ground. "I can't wait to feel you…” She said, shifting her backside down against the front of your shorts. “I wanna feel you..."

"Yeah?” You grinned, leaning towards her, caging her down to the bed and spreading her long body out obscenely. “You ready to be a good girl and take all of Mommy's cock, Law?"

Her eyes went wide just hearing you say that, and her asshole tightened around your fingers

"Oh my god," She let go of your shoulder and covered her face properly again, hiding her trembling lips and her flushed face.

"You really tensed up there, Law,” You said with a little titter, before slowing down the motions of your wrist and stopping your laughter. “...You like that?"

"Yeah, I like that...god,” She stammered after a moment of bashful hesitance, biting her trembling fingers again. She looked really embarrassed, like she was admitting something shameful. She had no reason to be ashamed, you thought. “Please-"

You grinned wider and let go of her thigh, reaching down to unbutton and unzip your shorts.

"Don't need to ask me again, baby. I've got you." You squeezed your cock through your tights and panties, and pressed a kiss to her heaving chest. 

"Mommy's gonna take care of you~"

strade 🔨

The collar was pulled even tighter around your throat as Strade forced your body closer to hers, her hips gyrating upwards hungrily to take more of the thick, heavy toy buried deep in her cunt.

"Come on, put some fucking effort into it," She growled, pulling harder on the leash and forcing your chest down and your hips forward. "Way to live up to stereotypes, liebling."

"I'm trying," You whined, your voice tight in your throat as the ratty leather collar dug into your neck "I-I'm just not used to it-"

"I'm getting you used to it," She interrupted you, narrowing her golden eyes as she raised her hips again, pressing to the base of the harness that had been belted forcefully around your own hips, over the top of your skirt. "You think I'm going to let you get away with being a pillow princess here? No chance."

"Mph," You bit your lip, your cheeks blushing. An affectionate nickname you once wore with pride now sounded like an insult. "S-Sorry..."

"You can make it up to me by putting some effort in," She then said, giving your collar another firm yank, finally forcing your chest down against hers. 

Even when she was naked and underneath you, taking a strap-on protruding from your crotch, she managed to maintain all of the power. It might have been attractive (hell, really attractive), had your shock collar not been in sight on the bedside table, waiting for the two of you to be finished so you could get back to your usual captor/captee dynamic.

"Don't get distracted," She said curtly, as she wound the leash around her wide palm and jerked your head upwards, forcing your eyes together, not letting you zone out for even a second. "You've got a job to do."

"R-Right," You stammered shyly, planting your hands on either side of her waist and trying to even out the rhythm of your thrusting, bucking forward and backward and watching intently as the toy disappeared inside her.

"Mmph," She groaned lowly at the back of her throat, keeping a firm hold of your leash as she reached up and toyed with her pierced nipple, rolling it between her fingers, her tongue between her teeth as she experimented with the sensation. "That's it, keep going like that...mmh,"

"Okay," You muttered, trying to take her encouragement as praise (it was all you really needed to get off, anyway), as you kept rocking your hips forwards and backwards against hers, feeling her sweaty flesh stick to the leather of the harness. "Is that okay?"

"That's good...very good, fraulein. Good girl," She sighed slowly, taking in an exhale through her teeth and tipping her head back, as she kept squeezing her nipple. 

You found yourself licking your lips at the sight...maybe this was hot. 

Or maybe you were just insane. 

You found a motive to pick up the pace in her praise, though, curling your fingers into the blankets as your thrusting found a new and more intense vigour, pushing yourself so hard that the mattress was dipping in time with you.

"Ah, that's it," She groaned, as one of her thick legs slid up around your waist and pulled you closer, forcing the toy even deeper inside of her, in time with her pulling on the collar again. "That's it, you little cunt...getting eager now, are we?"

"Y-Yes," You rasped, reaching up with one hand to your collar, trying to give yourself a little space to breathe. "Mm...y-yes, I'm eager..."

"Show me how eager you are then," She replied, baring her teeth in a broad, almost excited grin. "Give me your all, girl. Schnell!"

Under her instruction, you started fucking her deeply, intently, your narrow hips slamming against hers with each desperate thrust. 

She immediately groaned out loudly with pleasure, reaching up with her spare hand to pull you even closer by your collar, your chest to hers, growling mindlessly in time with each of your frantic thrusts, digging her heel into the small of your back as she was fucked, relentlessly.

She still managed to remind you of your place, in spite of her position, though.

“AH-AH-AH!” Strade cried out a pattern in deeply pleased groans, throwing her head back, exposing her throat (ready to bite, had you been a predator like she was) as her entire body went tight with pleasure. “Yes, fuck, god, yes, yes!" Her words came right from the very back of her throat, each one thick with her natural accent, and incredibly attractive. "Das ist es, you little motherfucker, right there, don’t stop!"

You heaved out your own breaths as you pounded the specific spot deep inside of her again and again, hard and fast and eager to serve her.

"Is it good, is it good?" You recited like a mantra, a prayer, as you continued to rut desperately inside of her, wide eyes staring at her blissed out expression, wanting, needing more praise. "Is it good, Strade, please-"

"Shhh," She shushed, looking at you with golden eyes, blown almost black with arousal, as she jerked your face upwards, your lips almost touching. "You're doing good, meine frau...doing such a good job for Daddy~"

You felt your own insides grow tight at her softer tone, staring at the intense look in her eyes. 

"T...Thank you, Daddy," You murmured helplessly, your thighs trembling as a nervous smile came to your face. "Thank you…"

"If you get me off, I'll, ah," Her face flickered with an overwhelming pleasure, forcing her to trip on her words. It was a nice kind of vulnerability that you knew you’d never see again. "I'll repay the favour, ja?"

"Okay...okay."

"Good girl~"

[kenny-the-ken]

CAN YOU PLEASEEE DO LIKE A ONESHOT OF CLYDE W A MOMMY KINK??? Like he boasts about fucking you really rough to his friends while in bed it's the total opposite🙏🙏🙏PLSS I FEEL LIKE HED HAVE A MAJOR MOMMY KINK

Charmed

ALL AGED UP CHARACTERS!!! I love this request guys!! As much as I love a dom, I love a cute little subby, messy boy, UGH 🤤

It wasn't news to anyone that Clyde Donovan was a lover of women, in fact he'd spend every last penny he could find at Raisins, just to be near women, to feel wanted.

He was rather needy, and on your shift at Raisins that day, you overheard him boasting to his friends, about how he'd slept with so many of the girls here, how they allowed him to be as rough and as kinky as he wanted, and his friends hung on to his every word as if he was reading an ancient scripture. You smirked, noticing that the slightly short, brown haired man had obviously taken a likening to you.

"Hey, sweetheart~ Wanna come over here?" You heard the cockiness dripping from his voice, and you turned on your heel, walking over to the table where he and a few others sat, their eyes fixated on you, not that it bothered you, I mean, it was your job.

"Hi hunny. Can I get you something?" You asked, and you noticed a smirk growing on Clyde's face, as he moved, pulling a chair from a different, vacant table, and situating it beside him. "You can take a seat and join us." He spoke, his hand patting the seat for you to sit down.

And so he continued, gloating and bragging to anyone that would actually listen, but it was only as you reached the last five minutes of your shift did you speak up, whispering into his ear.

"You know, I just finished my shift, and I could do with the company of an attractive guy, such as yourself." Clyde's jaw dropped to his feet, his eyes widening in surprise. "L-Let me get my coat." He rushed out, standing that quickly from his seat, he almost tripped over it.

And soon enough you had him back at your apartment, his hands roaming your body hungrily, small, needy whines sounding from his pretty pink lips.

"You're gonna strip for me, baby boy, and then I'm gonna make you see stars." Your voice was hushed, and Clyde's breath caught in the back of his throat, just nodded obediently as he started taking his shirt off, his jeans dropping next, and he stood before you with nothing on, completely naked, his cock weeping to be touched.

"So pretty, baby. Now you go lay on the bed." You instructed, and Clyde nodded once more, making his way to the edge of the bed, and sitting down. He looked nervous, his hands fidgeting with one another as you made your way over to him, standing between his legs.

You moved your hand between his legs, pushing his soft thighs apart, giving one of them a squeeze, and Clyde audibly gasped beneath you, his hand moving to cover his mouth. "Don't cover your moans, sweetie. Mommy wants to hear you." You said, giving the tip of his cock a few kitten licks, the older boy's resolve crumbling beneath you.

Clyde's hips bucked up towards you, a whine leaving his lips as he gazed, half lidded down at you between his legs. "P-Please, need more."

You let out a low chuckle, your mouth wrapping around the head of his sensitive cock, earning a choked moan to leave the brown haired boy beneath you, never breaking eye contact with him once. You loved how messy he was already, and you'd barely even touched him yet.

"Y-Yes, f-feels good." Clyde panted, spurring you on, as you took as much of him as you could fit into your mouth, your cheeks sucking in to create suction around his length, your tongue flattening against the underside of his cock.

And obviously Clyde was enjoying this, his moans were loud, and shameless, his head lolling back and hips thrusting towards your mouth, earning a harsh slap to his thigh from you, a long whine leaving his lips.

You pulled off his cock with a pop, earning another whine of complaint from Clyde, his hips bucking up desperately, needing any kind of friction he could find. "You know what happens to bratty boys, don't you baby? And you're not a brat now, are you?"

His head shook quickly, "N-No, mommy." And you smirked up at him in response, moving to sit on his lap, your uniform still on your body.

"You wanna take my shirt off, baby boy?" You teased, hips moving down against Clyde's hard cock, his hands shaking as they gripped the hem of your shirt, pulling it over your head, his mouth and eyes widening when he realised you weren't wearing a bra. "You know you can touch them, baby. I don't bite~"

And that was all Clyde needed as confirmation, his hand moving to cup your breast in his hand, his thumb circling your erect nipple, a breathy moan exiting your parted lips. "Such a good boy~" You praised, Clyde mouth connecting to your other nipple, suckling gently and earning a few quiet moans from you.

And when he finally pulled away, you presented your fingers in front of his mouth, tracing his lips. "Suck." Clyde's cheeks were flushed a bright red, his tongue licking circles around your fingers before sucking them both into his mouth, his tongue circling them to make sure they were extra wet for what you had planned for them.

"Good boy~" you praised, earning a small hum in response for him, and just as he was about to remove your fingers from his mouth, you pushed him backwards, his back plopping against the bed, a gasp leaving his lips.

Your hand was wrapped round his throat, his eyes welling with tears, he needed friction on his cock, it was twitching, just waiting to be touched. "P-Please, mommy please..." he was a blubbering mess, and hardly even touched. "So needy~ I'm gonna ride you baby boy, and you're only allowed to come when I tell you that you can, understand?" You spoke, hand tightening slightly around Clyde's neck as he nodded as best he could. "Y-Yes, mommy." You then stood, taking your shorts and panties off, throwing them over your shoulder, a smirk on your swollen lips.

That was all you needed to hear, you hips fully straddling the older boy beneath you, rubbing the head of his cock teasingly along the folds of your wet cunt, and Clyde was squirming again, a needy whine sounding from him. "Please, mommy." He begged again, making you giggle slightly, a smirk on his face.

"Please what, baby? Use your words." You replied, watching him, his brows knit together, worry lines on his forehead, and a few beads of sweat rolling down his face, eyes welling with tears. "Please, ride me, mommy."

You lined his leaking tip up with your entrance and slid yourself down on to him, a gasp leaving your mouth, both hand on Clyde's chest as you started moving your hips up and down, grinding them into him, and god was he a mess, he rambled nonsensical words, some of which you could barely make out between his long and whining moans.

He really did look beautiful beneath you, your hips setting a steady pace, his cock sliding in and out of you, pulling moans from you and Clyde, his hips bucking up in time with yours, his cock now hitting directly off your g-spot, and god he felt good. "M-Mommy, feelssogoodmommy, thank you thank you." Clyde rambled out, his eyes screwed shut as you upped the pace, his back arching against the soft mattress of your bed.

"You like that, hm? Thought you liked to dominate baby? Yet here you are, letting me use you like a little slut while calling me mommy~ so cute." You cooed, a hand cupping his face, lips meeting as Clyde sat up as best he could, his hands gripping your hips, pushing himself further into you, both of you nearing closer with each thrust.

"M-Mommy, please... canicome?" Clyde breathed out quickly, his head falling back as he drove his hips into yours, the slapping of skin echoing around your bedroom, the only thing louder than that was the sinful noises both of you were making together.

"You wanna come, baby boy?" You asked, slowing your movements on his lap, earning another needy whine to emit from the back of Clyde's throat. "Please, mommy, s-so close." He had tears in his hazel brown eyes, your head nodding in response.

"Come for me, baby boy. You can do it~" You replied, your movements quickening to meet with Clyde's desperate thrusts, his hips faltering as he pushed deep inside you one last time, your own orgasm hitting you like a truck.

You were both coming undone together, your back arched, nails digging crescent shapes into Clyde's pale shoulders, moaning out his name over and over, telling him how good he was as your pussy pulsed around his length, and you felt his come fill your insides in ropes, you swore he screamed out for you, his eyes rolling into the back of his head. "Mommy! Y/N fuck!" He was perfect, so needy, so messy, just how you liked.

"Oh Clyde baby! You did so good for mommy." You gasped out, finally having the energy to lift yourself from his lap, his length slipping out of you, and his come running down your legs. "I made a mess." Clyde said, his face flushed a dark crimson, giggling slightly as you shot him a smile. "It's okay baby. I like it messy."

Once both of you had cleaned up, you climbed into bed, holding out your arms to signal Clyde to get in beside you, and he did, letting out a dreamy sigh, his head pressed against your breasts, gazing up at you longingly. "You're so pretty."

You blushed, looking down at him in your arms, watching him yawn. "No baby. You're pretty." You replied, Clyde pressing a quick kiss to your lips, his arms around your waist as you both fell into a deep slumber together.

[grilledcheese-savage]

Ninjago keychains!! 🫶🫶

I have 5 rainbow coles, 6-7 jays, 5 nyas left and if you order now, you’ll get it in 5 days at most. I pack these really fast and each order comes with a hand made drawing so plss check them out! They’re (WITH SHIPPING) $18.50 right now, I’m not really making my money back so I had to raise it a dollar. Sorry 🙏 I know these are mostly for fun but now I do kinda need the money.

Also if you do buy them, pls try cashapp before PayPal, because PayPal holds the money from 21 days because im a new business! It would be a big help since I’m trying to save up rn if you used cashapp!! Check my pinned post for more details!

[timeofjuly]

OoooOooOOhhH I'd like a "🚫" on our MC plss 🙏🙏

What she gonna hide? Is her written criminal records not enough? 🧐 or is it prolly jus smth embarrassing in the past 😂 (maybe Quinn would use it as some lighthearted/playful ⬛✉️ or smth lmaoo)

I LOVE this question omfg. MC’s both a pretty open person AND someone who finds humour in almost everything, including like, really awful stuff that happens to her, so there’s not a whole lot that she wouldn’t be okay with sharing. So that makes the stuff she isn’t open about even more painful!

I’m going to give three categories of answer: the first is stuff she wouldn’t want anyone other than Quinn to know, and the second stuff that she specifically doesn’t want Quinn to know. The third is something funny lol because this’ll be pretty bleak otherwise.

In the first category I would say that she wouldn’t want people to know about are any details about either of her overdoses. Even years on, it’s intensely private and painful and vulnerable. The shame still feels really fresh. She’d be okay with talking about it to Quinn if Quinn brought it up, but the lid of that trauma box is otherwise very firmly shut.

In the second category, the shit that she’d never, ever, willingly talk about to anybody, is what happened that stopped her using drugs for good. I very vaguely alluded to it in chapter three, when MC’s talking about being clean and Quinn wonders what rock bottom had looked. Very Bad, is the answer. It’ll show up in the story so I won’t spoil anything, but it’s something that fundamentally changed MC as a person and destroyed parts of her personality. The idea of anyone knowing the details, but especially Quinn? She’d rather eat glass lol.

And in the third, to end this angst-fest, is this: post high school, Quinn and MC have moved out and have this shitty apartment. Quinn’s at work. MC’s home alone and decides she wants to do something nice for Quinn and make her dinner. MC is not culinarily gifted. One thing leads to another and the stove catches fire. MC panics and THROWS WATER ON IT, the one thing you’re not meant to do to a grease fire, so it spreads. The fire alarms go off and the entire building is evacuated. The firefighters come. It’s a mess. MC manages to (somehow) convince everyone that there was a gas leak or something and by the time that Quinn comes home, it’s too late to go back on the lie. Quinn believes the gas leak story to this day. I like to imagine that this is why MC is so fire-conscious in chapter 1 lmao.

Find the ask meme here

[sunsburns]

and i make you (sick)

pairing: ex!luke castellan x woc!reader

content summary: social media au where you and luke broke up but he's not over you... and you don't think you're over him either. also everyone is clowning luke.

—or: your ex keeps posting to get your attention

author’s note: this is so silly and stupid and so unserious pls bear with me

part one: you make me (sick)

♫ Clouded by Brent Faiyaz

♡ liked by connerstoll , sallyjackson , and others

lukecastellan recently, i guess

view comments

chrisrodriguez pls stop posting my girl is on this app 🤧🙏

clarriselarue that’s not something you need to worry about.

travisstoll leave me alone please 😖😖

charlesbeckenoff you gotta let brent faiyaz go man

lukecastellan i can’t. he’s part of me now

clarriselarue and you just had the urge to post? again?

lukecastellan i figured my friends would like another post

clarriselarue are the friends in the room with us?

annabethchase leave him alone plss 😭 i can’t keep up with defending him

groverunderwood who is this diva??

liked by lukecastellan

percyjackson planting? flowers? 🤔

lukecastellan well yes!

percyjackson woah okay lose the sass 😒

lukecastellan didn’t realize i had any

percyjackson not funny didn’t laugh.

lukecastellan your mom thought it was funny, she also liked this post

groverunderwood that’s fucking crazy 💀💀

connerstoll percy is fuming right now LMFSO 😭😭

yourusername do you do weddings?

silenabeauregard HELP LMFAP

clarisselarue yourusername girl what r u doing here?? 😭

yourusername i’m on a mission

silenabeauregard mission? to do what????

lukecastellan to do ME 😆

this comment was deleted

yourusername lukecastellan i hate you.

lukecastellan i think i’ll be okay 😪

┊ ┊ ⋆˚ 

you just posted on your story!

annabethchase replied to your story

DIRECT MESSAGES

annabethchase: you don’t wear converse.

yourusername: ???

annabethchase: that’s not your foot. and it’s not percy’s either cause he wears vans.

yourusername: wow… there is a lot to unpack here. i’m not even gonna ask or try

yourusername: but if you must know i’m changing it up a little

yourusername: trying new things

annabethchase: you always wear new balance because you swear converse are uncomfortable but okay sure let’s say that

yourusername: annie please 😭

yourusername: not you going detective on me

annabethchase: just sayingg 😒

annabethchase: also!

annabethchase: is that the old hiking trail by my house?

yourusername: what? ofc not

yourusername: it’s some other trail

annabethchase: girl.

yourusername: i’m being fr!

annabethchase: ok.

yourusername: maybe i went back for a lil hike

yourusername: for the memories

yourusername: remember when i used to babysit percy and we would come over??

yourusername: and you guys would climb the trees 🥹

yourusername: and grover would take a shit ton of pictures

yourusername: u guys were adorable

annabethchase: omg stfu cause i also remember you and luke making out there too 😐

yourusername: bro 😶

annabethchase: if ur seeing my brother again just say so cause u left ur shirt & charger here

yourusername: do u wanna go out and chat and have a girls day 😁

annabethchase: sure. pick me up in twenty minutes. i’ll have your stuff ready.

┊ ┊ ⋆˚ 

♫ Ant Pile by Dominic Fike

♡ liked by silenabeauregard , lukecastellan , and others

( tagged : annebethchase )

yourusername minibeth & date nights

view comments

clarisselarue ughh gorggg

annabethchase wait cause why did our makeup eat...

yourusername lowkeyyyy i’m loving blue lately

percyjackson it’s because of me ofc 💙

yourusername yes, percy, it’s because of you

groverunderwood ate!

lukecastellan that fuckass bag is everywhere

yourusername god forbid a girl likes a nice bag ffs

lukecastellan using it the way it was intended i guess

yourusername get tf out of my comment section.

silenabeauregard looking real good in that last pic...

yourusername is it my final one?? why are you typing like that??

┊ ┊ ⋆˚ 

DIRECT MESSAGES -- the gods’ fav girls + grover ✨

silenabeauregard: you do think i’m stupid...

yourusername: what is this? 🤨

clarisselarue: an intervention

groverunderwood: omg 😆

silenabeauregard: whats ur deal??

clarisselarue: why are you being so cutesty with luke again?

groverunderwood: #not mindful #not demure

silenabeauregard: are you guys hooking up again????

yourusername: woah

annabethchase: we should do this some other time pls

yourusername: i have company right now

silenabeauregard: is it luke??

yourusername: no it’s percy 🥲 sally brought him over cause he’s being annoying again

yourusername: and i can’t have percy looking over MY shoulder and reading this 😭

yourusername: he’s gonna bully me so hard

clarisselarue: so you admit ur hooking up with luke again??

yourusername: do you think i should? 😏

clarisselarue: uh no.

yourusername: why not?

silenabeauregard: cause you love him so bad and it’s gonna hurt your feelings if ur just friends with benefits

yourusername: right ofc ofc

yourusername: you’re so right. i’m sooo in love with him like it’s crazyyyyyy ❤️🔥😝💞

yourusername: he’s so pretty and strong and he takes really good pics of me and i think he loves me too 🤔

yourusername: like we couldn’t stay friends cause we’re still in love 😻

clarisselarue: why are you being weird 😭😭😭

silenabeauregard: i actually didn’t think you would admit it that easily but i’ll take this win

clarisselarue: no i swear she’s being weird

silenabeauregard: she’s said weirder

yourusername: like what?

silenabeauregard: like how u want his babies???

yourusername: OH OKANDJAJ

annabethchase: hey so this is insane actually

groverunderwood: I’M DEAD LIKE 😭😭

yourusername: GROVER ARE THEY BEING FR??

groverunderwood: HELP LMFAO IS THIS PERCY??

clarisselarue: what???

yourusername: no nothing i just love luke sooo much and i want his babies soo bad and he’s sooo hot and i try to be soo unbothered but in reality i’m so bothered 🥹

yourusername: hey also this IS luke & friends 😆

silenabeauregard: OH MY GOD???

clarisselarue: NOO WHAT DID YOU DO TO HER?? GROVER??

groverunderwood: she’s with me and annabeth actually ☝🏽

annabethchase: looking for her phone 😐

annabethchase: i think we’ve found it.

yourusername: very honoured to have been apart of this chat ladies + grover 🫡 - luke, percy & chris.

silenabeauregard: why didn’t you guys say anything 🙁

groverunderwood: wanted to see how long it would go on for before you noticed

annabethchase: had a bet for 5 minutes and would’ve won if they never sent a picture 😒

clarisselarue: why would yall lie like that 🥲

groverunderwood: technically no lies were told if you reread the messages…

┊ ┊ ⋆˚ 

♫ Mona Lisa by Dominic Fike

♡ liked by silenabeauregard , yourusername , and others

lukecastellan chillin .

view comments

clarisselarue: why is he getting better at photo dumps...

silenabeauregard: cause he’s not taking his own pics anymore

clarisselarue: oh so true

lukecastellan untrue!

chrisrodriguez don't listen to them your posts have always been good!! lukecastellan

liked by lukecastellan

travisscroll luke GLAZERRR

percyjackson i'm trying so hard to hate this but i can't

lukecastellan thank you!

annabethchase: i know that bag anywhere yourusername

groverunderwood: not slick at all 😒

yourusername wrap it up it's so over

lukecastellan i was having fun

yourusername i was not.

lukecastellan ur crazy for me

yourusername you make me sick

yourusername that mirror selfie tho...🤒

liked by lukecastellan

┊ ┊ ⋆˚ 

lukecastellan mentioned you on their story!

you replied to this story

DIRECT MESSAGES

yourusername: wait i can’t believe you hard launched first 😻

lukecastellan: is that what we were doing?

yourusername: okay purr my insta king

lukecastellan: please talk to me normally

yourusername: come over and i’ll do more than just talking

lukecastellan: be there in 10 🫡

┊ ┊ ⋆˚ 

♫ Sick by Dominic Fike

♡ liked by silenabeauregard , lukecastellan , and others

( tagged : lukecastellan )

yourusername cat’s out of the bag...

view comments

annabethchase was it ever in the bag to begin with?

yourusername okay damn

percyjackson put it back in the bag please.

yourusername what are you being messy for? i literally changed ur diapers

percyjackson CHILL

clarriselarue YUCK! (i’m happy for you...)

yourusername doesn’t feel like it but thank u 😊🫶🏽

clarriselarue i swear i am i’m just jealous

lukecastellan you literally have a whole mans tho??

chrisrodriguez it’s okay i’m used to it

connerstoll this is making ME sick

yourusername okay jokes over we get it dominic fike

lukecastellan wow ur so gorgeous i hope ur boyfriend can fight

yourusername he can’t fight but he bites!

lukecastellan huh?? 😭

yourusername he might nibble you a bit

lukecastellan girl u crazy i can’t tell if i’m into it or not (i am sooo into you)

yourusername ilyyy ❤️

[blackshadowswriter]

BESTIE WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS, YOU ARE SO INSANE I LOVE YOU

Ok i'm ngl, I've been horrendously absent from here, but then I pop back in bc I need some of your fics to get me through the day, and then I see you've posted this?? fucking?? masterpiece???

The way I gasped at the summary and then gasped even louder at the warnings and then gasped again at the word count 😭😭 you spoil us too much with your writing girl and i'll always eat it up

I LOVE the premise to this so much, like I was already obsessed with your other vampire!reader x Matt series, but then I saw this one was VAMPIRE!MATT and I was like sign me tf plss 😫🙏 the idea of an interview is so creative and I could already tell there was gonna be so much sexy tensy where tf did that shorthand come from, i mean sexual tension ofcc

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.

Reader is such a mood with this one, like they said "don't talk about it" and she said "fuck you, I'm gonna" and I absolutely love that for her

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

POETRYYYY, also I love how Matt takes the effort to write pretty and with a whole ass fountain pen, like mans is down BAD trynna impress her and I get it tbh

You don’t know me, but I know you.

DRAMATIC ASS MATTHEW BUT ALSO THAT'S KINDA HOT, WHY'D THAT GIVE ME CHILLS

also i might be chronically online too much, but this just made me hear that one "you dont know me but i know you" sound in my head 😭

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

The 242 sounded so fucking dry LMAO like I can hear Matt saying it with a heavy sigh, poor baby is too done with this life 😭

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.

AGAIN DRAMATIC FOR NO REASON MATTHEW WHY, also the way this would have scared the shit outta me so badly, reader is sm stronger than i could ever be 😖✊

You imagine him to be an old man, possibly middle-aged.

LMAO BABY YOU JUST WAITTTT tbh matty would be hot anyways so idc id fuck him any age OK IM SORRY

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.

THE WAY MY FACE TRANSFORMED INTO THE SMIRKY EMOJI BECAUSE I KNEW EXACTLYYY WHERE THIS IS GOING, BITY SEX LETS GOOOO

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.

MATTHEW IN THE BLACK SUIT WITH THE WHITE DRESS SHIRT, I CAN'T ✋😩��� NOT TO MENTION THE CHEST HAIR, BESTIE YOU'RE KILLING ME WITH THIS

thank you sm for your service with the white shirt and the chest hair, you are my saviorrrrr

“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.”

DIRTY MIND DIRTY MIND, MATTHEW YOU NAUGHTY CATHOLIC tbf he has reason to be smug, like i wouldnt say that either, now 'get in' is a different story-ok ill stop being horny now

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.

I LOVE how you worked Elektra in like that, like it's an AU but it follows the plot SO WELL and your description of her actually has me IN LOVE, ITS GORGEOUS

I am Daredevil, not even God can stop that now.

THE LINEEE HE SAID IT, HE SAID THE LINE YESS, peak writing at its finest, bestie 😌👏

“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."

OH MY GOD, THE RELIGIOUS IMAGERY, I LOVE IT? BESTIE YOU'RE ACTUALLY A FUCKING POET HOLY SHIT. "im judas and i retired the day I was crucified" ASDLKFJA THIS IS THE BEST SHIT I'VE EVER READ, IDK WHY THIS ONE LINE MAKES ME FERAL BUT IT'S SO GOOD WHAT THE FUCK

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 HALO HE BELIEVES ARE HORNS, GOOD LORD AGAIN??? MORE BEAUTIFUL RELIGIOUS IMAGERY??? HOW ARE YOU COMING UP WITH THIS BESTIE, IM IN ACTUAL LOVE RN

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. 

help i cant breath now MATT PINING HER AGAINST THE WALL AND JUST TOWERING OVER HER IS SO HOT AHHH

and his eyes, pls they're so pretty 😩 READER IS LIVING MY DREAM RIGHT NOWWW

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. 

ADLKFJSD THEY ARE SUCH SOULMATES, THE PARALLEL OF THOSE LINES IM GONNA JUMP OFF A BRIDGE, THEY'RE SO PERFECT FOR EACH OTHER

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

This shit simultaneously has me tearing up and feral clawing at my screen because INVISBLE STRING I LOVE THAT, THEY ARE SO SWEET THIS IS WHAT I CALL LOVE AT FIRST SIGHT and also ETERNAL SACRIFICE? HELP THEY ARE SO DEVOTED I CANT

He breathes in again, your arousal sweeter than fiction.

🎶this life is sweeter than fiction🎶 I LOVE THE REFERENCES, I thought "invisible string" was just a coincidence but thissss

“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.”

THEM 😭😩🤧🥰 literally they are such goals fr, like idc he's a vampire that makes him hotter I WANT THIS TOO, I LOVE HOW SWEET THEY ARE, THE SALVATION PART IS SO BEAUTIFULLLL

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.

And now im crying, "his angel" THIS IS SO FUCKING SWEET AND AGAIN SO POETICALLY BEAUTIFUL OMFGGG "the only blood he ever wants to taste" THIS IS PEAK DEVOTION RIGHT HERE

bestie you put crack in this fic and didn't disclose it and that should be illegal because holy shittt you have me HOOKED on this, like I am DESPERATE for more of them, I LOVE IT SO MUCH YOU ARE SUCH AN AMAZING WRITERRRR

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

-> Main Masterlist

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

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

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

Word Count: 12.2k (this is a beast)

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

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

Read Me On AO3!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your heart skips a beat. Could it be…

It is no secret that vampires exist.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You don’t know me, but I know you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yours sincerely,

M.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What, now?”

“Yeah. I forgot I had an appointment.”

“What about Mr. Doherty?”

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

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

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

“But—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

How come you’re not scared then?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Another minute it is then.”

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

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

“How?”

“Accident when I was a kid.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh, my God,” you curse.

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

“I was considering not to.” 

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

“How would you know?” you counter. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Here you are.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You flinch. “What?”

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

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

“No.”

“Good.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes, it would.”

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

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

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

Matthew scoffs. “My parents were both Catholic.”

“I suppose you’re not?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You still came,” he says. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I didn’t, my secretary did.”

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

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

“Wouldn’t it be a suicide mission?” 

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

“I’m not on the record yet.”

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

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

He’s amused. You’re amusing him. 

“Don’t call me that,” you growl. 

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

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

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

“That’s not… Answer my question!”

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

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

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

“My investigative journalism essay,” you breathe out. 

“Published by Columbia University.” 

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

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

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

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

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

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

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

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

Session 1.

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

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

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

“And what happened the year you died?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You swallow. “That sounds… overstimulating.”

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

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

“Like I am the demon.”

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

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

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

“Are you?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re not,” you cut in. 

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

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

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

“It’s what you deserved,” you say.

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

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

“And where is she now?” you ask.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And what’s that?” he asks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do it,” you beg. “Taste me.”

He utters your name again. “Stop.”

“Please.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You cease to exist in all solar systems but his. 

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

“I shouldn’t have—” he begins. 

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

“I couldn’t stop.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Matthew,” you moan. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thinking about you,” you murmur. 

“Me?”

“You.”

“Why?”

“Because I want to be your salvation.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Bite me again,” you beg.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You choke out, “Yours.”

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

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

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

“Session two tomorrow?” you ask.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[boyfhee]

the ending of take two was pretty lame ngl but it's still better than forcing any ship as an endgame cuz it would have most prolly made a major plot hole ig and the angst was so good in the whole series and literally live for the way their relationships kinda became beyond repair (esp ynki) tbh but idk what i could even expect i mean it was really so hard to imagine any happy ending that made sense in this story cuz it really looked pretty lame but love this whole work tho and you really did an excellent job changing my brain chemistry cuz my bias literally changed from Riki to jungwon and idt i would ever be able to look Riki the same way altho ik it's just a fic smau but damn it really changed how i perceive love and infidelity (lmao is this even the right word) but i really wanted to see Riki physically suffer more this whole time cuz i think he still had it the most easy among all three and come on jungwon was the least wrong out of all of them and yn did NOT just ditched her friends for 4lyfers,,, that shits embarrassing. I'll literally read it ig every month again and again cuz idt I'll ever find some worth its competition it was so fucking good girllll I'm proud of you and also all the best for your exams take care love ya

hi yes i know it was lame bc i didn't know how to end it . look, i changed the plot three times and the ending i had was like 'ooo kiss jungwon, date him!' but while writing that chapter, i was like 'wait this is wrong on so many levels' and so i had another job, which was for yn to clear shit up with riki. besides, giving yn a 'happy ending' didn't feel right bc she has been having it easier than all of us ( even the readers lmfao ) she got miya in jail, got jw, has riki, had a good vacay, it was like this thing didn't even touch her while the other two are :/ focusing on how much more sensitive this was for won and ki bc they're not only friends but group mates and it could seriously affect their group dynamics. so i decided that yn doesn't deserve anyone, at least not yet.

AND NOT U CHANGING UR BIAS OH GOD EVERYONE TAKE TWO RIKI ISN'T REAL HE WOULD NEVER DO WHAT HE DID PLSS ANON GO BACK TO LOOKING AT HIM THE WAY U USED TO im so sorry 😭😭😭 cant believe im altering opinions here plsss riki my sincerest apologies 🙏 hmm and i think riki had it easier too, but maybe not. we all have different perspectives so!!! this was fun to read and omg the last part made me smile so much, thank u for thinking so highly of my silly little smau :(

[curseofaphrodite]

tori my love hi

my boyfriend and i 🤝 expressing our love for each other through bullying

i'm still down for yours and mine wedding tho totally will make him maid of honour for you

each time i write sanskrit exam i feel like i have accomplished everything lmao getting decent marks w/o studying in sanskrit exam is my job

you don't understand our farewell is on 13 and i'm literally so excited can't wait omg omg omg aND I'M GONNA GO SHOPPING EEEKKKK (my lovely girls are wearing bodycon dresses literally everyone's gonna look so pretty aww ig i'll miss this batch sm)

I ORDERED A VERY PRETTY NECKLACE TODAY HOPEFULLY IT LOOKS THAT PRETTY IN REAL LIFE TOO

mystery murders>>>>the whole world

aYY SO PROUD THAT YOU READ SIX OF CROWS PLS WHO DO YOU SIMP FOR (tbh i simp for all of the crows but kaz inej nina>>>) oh have read shadow and bones series nah cause i really i hate darkling but ✨ben barnes✨ to create darkling ben barnes really said i will take the sad boy//shy boy cuteness of stardust the royal airs of prince caspian the beauty of dorian grey and the sheer hoe energy of billy russo there i said it

pls stop casting hot actors for villians i'm sick and tired of questioning my morals every single day😔🙏

urgg true it did piss me off a little every time aarons blue eyes were mentioned but meh that guy hot asf so okay kinda makes up for it aaron pls choke me

moving on

harrison ostetfield is soo fineeee my fav white boy of the month

now the tea not exactly tea but me ranting about my best friend's sad love life

and since you don't really know any of us in real life i can share shits without feeling judged or fear that you'll tell everyone

remember nyasa? i swear my poor girl has the worse luck when it comes to dating//loving someone. poor baby falls in love with ppl who play with her feelings. so recently she liked a guy and the guy "liked" her back but said that he doesn't want to do relationships bc yk indian science students 🤝 sacrifices he told her friend to take care of her and not let this whole thing mess up her grades. oH AND HE CONFESSED HIS FEELINGS FIRST THO anyways i thought maybe it was right person wrong time bc he genuinely seemed to care for my friend but today (he goes to her coaching classes) she texts me saying that he told his friends that he never liked her and she was so damn sad she wanted to cry but she couldn't bc she's in class :(( my poor baby the fact that this happened 3 times with her really makes me sad bc she's now insecure and doubting herself. i've literally grown up with her seven years of friendship and seeing her question "is something wrong with me" totally breaks my heart :( IT MAKES ME SO MAD THAT PPL THINK IT'S OKAY TO PLAY WITH SOMEONE'S FEELINGS LIKE NOT RECIPROCATING THE FEELINGS IS OKAY BUT PRETENDING TO RECIPROCATE IS NOT OKAY

anyways i love you and stfu ik you'll do great in your exams take care have a lovely weekend<3

-🔮

ps do you wear rings bc if you do 😩🤌💍❓

REPLY UNDER THE CUT CAUSE I RANTED A LOT <3

lmao yes our wedding will literally be too cool for this world. just amazing and GODLIKE

YOU GET GOOD MARKS IN SANSKRIT WO LEARNING BISH GIVE ME YOUR BRAIN RN. but in all fairness, i dont have sanskrit or even hindi shjsh

plss farewell party hits so hard cause I only have one more year with the same people who have been with me from LKG???? kindergarten??? how am i supposed to say goodbye to them?? literally gonna cry so hard.

OMG YES PRETTY NECKLACE FOR A PRETTY HOOMAN!!!

me, along with everyone else, agrees with you on the ben barnes comment cause he really popped off with his acting. no i havent read shadow and bone series yet but ill probably get to it this monthh!! i simp for inej mfing ghafa as well as the disaster that is jesper.

LMAOO okay one fun fact, idky but whenever i read a book i have an idea of what the person looks like in my head rightt. i was watching a lot of personality type videos then so I ENDED UP IMAGINING AARON LIKE THIS DONT ASK ME WHY

hes really funny tho check out his videos.

YOU MEAN A LOT TO ME TOO LOOK AT THE SIZE OF THIS ASK, IM WRITING A NOVEL FOR YOU HERE

YOU BRING OUT THE BESTIE IN ME.

harrison osterfield looks hot in a very specific model way. like the kind of dude we'll see at a bar and you'll be like ;) and I'll say dudeeeeeee + ends up match making yall.

OKAY NO WAT EVEN NO THIS ISNT EVEN FUNNY THAT TROUPE IS VERY FAMOUS AMONG GUYS IG CAUSE THE SAME THING HAPPENED TO ME?? one dude said he liked me and a week later he went meh. horrible feeling istg.

tell your friend that it'll feel shit and it will continue to feel like shit but on the plus side, months later, she will go ew when she thinks of him; just like I do now. remember to give nyassa hugs, she's an angel ✨✨

I did not do well. everyone possibly failed in physics cause we were all laughing at how shitty we did.

I DO WEAR RINGS BESTIE SHKDHKSJ DO YOUUU?? CAUSE ID LIKE TO GIVE YOU ONE MORE HERE