#daredevil one more day

[bi4bisamjess]

matt: I am utterly alone.

mike: on speed

[welcometogrouchland]

Batman #149 by chip zdarsky is mostly unremarkable, but I'm really fascinated by how it makes a great case for 'good' endings not saving 'bad' stories*. Because there's a lot of interesting concepts in this issue (bruce having to deal with his rapidly aging and decaying clone making him think about his own life, re-establishing a 'nest' so to speak for his family after pushing them away, etc) but bc of the OOC slog that came before it, almost every moment w/ the batfamily comes off as unearned and disingenuous imo.

Like, everything with Damian is the perfect example in this. Because in isolation it's...fine. admittedly it's a missed opportunity to not go deeper into how Damian would feel about a clone of his dad who tried to kill considering Damian's relationships with clones of himself (the heretic rejects and respawn) or with former enemies who wanted him dead but who were manipulated and/or brainwashed (like suren and maya).

Zdarsky doesn't go into any of this but you could maybe excuse it as the issue not being about Damian. However, coupled with the previous bizarre characterizations of Damian in 147 and 148, it ends up not being fine- instead it starts to feel...icky how Damian (who, despite often being drawn and written as white, will never have his connection to the non-white al ghuls forgotten and will always be effected by racism even when not portrayed as a poc) is constantly written as overly violent, uncaring and narrow minded in this run. Coupled w/ trying to recanonize the morrison origin for Damian it's like. OH this is badly written and laden with subtle bigotry, sick**

That's me going into detail on it with Damian but it's applicable to other things in this issue- the way Cass, Steph and Duke have all been ignored or turned into jobbers makes their inclusion in the 'family' here feel hollow instead of satisfying. Bruce proclaiming that Zur was still a part of him and he needs to accept responsibility for his actions (when it means taking in clone son) wrings hollow when just last issue zdarsky was bending over backwards to separate Bruce and Zur bc otherwise the Jason thing would get really awkward. Ends are achieved through means that feel hollow or strange. I'm at my destination but damn why'd the bus have to do all that???

I only really have opinions on this latest arc of zdarskys Batman bc it's the one I've read the closest (bc I'm a hater, masochist and avid follower of even the bad damian storylines) but it's not saying great things.

Bc zdarsky can do one thing good in this book, and it's write Bruce and Tim. And yet this entire story, whether of his own volition or editorial mandate, includes other characters who aren't Bruce and Tim, the fabric starts to unravel in very telling ways.

(p.s, I think pennyworth manor is an interesting idea but I feel like in execution it's just gonna be 'bruce living in a house haunted by the memory of the people he couldn't save' but with a different dead guy this time. Illusion of change and whatnot)

*whether or not the ending is good is up to you ofc, as is your opinion on the proceeding arc! I saw some ppl complain that the ending was too "WFA" for them, which I get even if I dont think it'll literally be the same premise. If anything it's probably a lead into the new tec run. Likewise many ppl who aren't in the weeds of Damian and Jason characterization liked the previous arc! But I have my opinions and rest my case before the bench

**disclaimer, I'm white and portrayals of bigotry in comics are complicated and subjective, but I am basing my point here off what other poc comic fans on socmed have been saying about 149. Also the "sick" is sarcasm incase that wasn't obvious

[daresplaining]

Daredevil vol. 2 #48 by Brian Michael Bendis, Alex Maleev, Matt Hollingsworth, and Cory Petit

I've written about this scene before, but I just keep coming back to it. Matt has just been attacked by Typhoid Mary, approximately thirty seconds into his second date with Milla. With the help of Jessica Jones and Luke Cage, who are bodyguarding for him at the time, Matt manages to fight Typhoid off and get Milla out of harm's way. He brings her back to his apartment, where he can treat his injuries and Milla can get some breathing space to recover. As the evening progresses, they end up in bed together.

There are so many stories— heck, so many Daredevil stories— in which a scene like this would turn sexual. And there isn't anything inherently wrong with that, and there are certainly undertones here for anyone looking for them. But instead, Milla and Matt get into something much more somber: a direct examination of what they've just been through, and what Milla wants to do about it. The bed scene begins with Milla tracing her fingers over the scars on Matt's body while he tells her which villain gave him each one. The conversation slides into the exchange above. This is not long after Karen Page's death (a fact that will pop up in more emphatic ways later in the run). Milla has just been on two disastrous dates, the latest of which put her in direct physical danger. Matt is brutally aware of the kind of target he is putting on her by allowing her to associate with him, and now he knows that Milla knows it too. In previous relationships he might not have brought it up; before Karen's death, before Elektra's, before Glori's, he might have said nothing here, eager for love and brashly confident in his ability to be the hero and keep his girlfriend safe. But no matter how much he likes Milla, and no matter how desperately he might want this relationship— because he's into her, because he needs something pleasant and consistent in his messy life, because the guy rebound dates like it's his damn job— he has the wherewithal, and the honesty, and the fear to tell her that she should take all of this danger seriously and leave. He gives her that choice.

It's easy for us as the readers, with the benefit of hindsight, to say that Milla was foolish to ignore the warnings and to pass up this opportunity to get out of the relationship before it turned ugly. But what I think hits me so hard about this scene is her conviction, and her courage to push all of that aside and offer up the hope that this time, things might be better. Milla has not known Matt for long, other than by reputation, but she has already proven that she is willing to go to great lengths to protect him. She isn't easily frightened, and she likes Matt too much to let him go this easily. Look at the framing and pacing of this moment. Matt makes his long speech about the horror Milla has just been through, and how much he likes her and how little she deserves what she will go through by being around him, and how he can't imagine why she would possibly want to stay. It's a speech full of stutters and pauses; Matt is rattled and frightened. And then there are two panels of silence, in which Milla seems to consider him, and he seems to consider her (it's almost framed as if they are looking at each other, and while obviously that's not what they're literally doing, it does create the sense that an examination is taking place). And then Milla just snuggles in closer and gives her answer: "Because I'm quite fond of you." And there's immense power in such a simple, almost casual response. She has witnessed the danger. She has thought about the danger. She wants to hang out with him anyway because she likes him.

The final panel is beautiful, framing Milla's single line of dialogue. A breeze lifts the curtain on the open window. The walls of the bedroom are transparent, letting in a view of the city and the sky, as if they are lying outdoors, perhaps invoking that feeling of the sounds of New York coming into the room and shattering that illusion of spatial separation. In this moment, neither of them can know what is coming, but with her choice to stay, Milla has conjured a world in which they can both imagine that this kind of peace might be possible.

[pastafossa]

I’m so happy for you pata! You got to meet Charlie yayyy!🎉

I hope you had a wonderful time.

Did Charlie know about trt?

THANK YOOOOOOOOOOU, I'm SO happy about it, and I continue to float on this massive cloud of Charlie-based dopamine, that's gonna be with me for a while! ESPECIALLY SINCE I FRAMED AND HUNG THE PIC SO NOW I CAN LOOK AT IT FOR MOOOOORE!

I can also now say I do not think he knows about TRT, the fic appears not to have breached containment yet. 😂 I asked him to hold the red thread up to his chest for our pic and he didn't seem to know what it was (though he was happy to hold it and thought it was neat that it lit up!). However, this does mean that 'huh someone had me hold a red glowy thread, wonder what that's about' is in his brain, and there's a chance he'll stumble on that connection eventually.

Especially since TRT is now roughly double the size of Lord of the Rings and it's too big for me to hide under a rug if he or someone he knows comes wandering by.

Maybe I can hide it in the backyard.

[chvoswxtch]

i'm on my second rewatch of daredevil & I just finished season 2 and i have a LOT of thots about elektra so i'm going to rant under the cut so here's your warning or psa if you haven't seen the show or are in the process of watching it i am mentioning spoilers so beware !!!

first things first i feel like i need to preface with the fact that i was OBSESSED with the 2003 daredevil movie like i rented it so many times at the video store the guy working there fucking gave it to me LMAO and i remember thinking jennifer garner in that movie was THE baddest bitch and I wanted to be her so bad

that being said i fucking LOVE elektra natchios and i was so fucking beyond excited the first time i watched the show and she showed up and i especially love elodie yung's version i thought she was absolutely perfect

here's what annoyed the shit out of me though: they set her up for failure; let's get into it

i feel like a lot of people don't like her for whatever reason and i feel like a lot of that has to do with her history with matt so let me just say i think her and matt were super toxic and did not belong together because they were constantly trying to change one another and yes she did a lot of shitty things to him but she was literally "hired" by stick to ruin matt's life so that matt would come back to stick and in the end she left because she realized matt was way too good and didn't belong around her OR more importantly around stick because he would never be like either of them

from the second they introduced her in the show, they are trying to make you not like her by making her seem like this selfish entitled person who goes around ruining lives for fun. i've also seen a lot of people blame her as the reason that matt & karen never worked out but like that is straight up matt's fault in my opinion ok homeboy did that to himself

as far as morality goes, i think a lot of people gloss over the fact that elektra was literally trained to be a killer since she was a child. she was a young girl that was taken from her family, essentially thrown into a cult that brainwashed her and filled her head with horror stories about a war that was coming she needed to be ready to fight at all costs

we all know stick was an emotionally & physically abusive piece of shit (we saw the way he treated them both) but i think everyone forgets he was way worse with elektra and way harder on her and i don't know if what happened with her is what made him approach training matt differently but he was undeniably easier on matt (matt was getting pushed down in a basement, elektra was getting the shit beat out of her by grown ass men)

elektra was trained and taught to be what she was and constantly had people like stick and the hand telling her who and what she was and making her feel like she was some kind of evil monster over something that was totally out of her control

i think the only good thing that came from her and matt's relationship is that he made her believe in herself and that she could be good because he saw it in her and helped her decide who she wanted to be instead of what she was told to be

i truly think more people would like her more if she were a male character because she has a lot of the same characteristics as matt (tragic backstory, sarcastic witty drama queen, charming & overconfident, anger & daddy issues, total badass, hot) and even frank (has no problem killing when they think it's justifiable, will do whatever necessary despite the moral consequences, looks good covered in blood) which is bullshit in my humble opinion

let women go feral!!! let them be messy!! let them deal with things humanly & realistically!!!

i personally love characters like elektra natchios and jessica jones because i can relate to them like i can feel their anger and their internal conflict of being who you want vs who everyone expects you to be and drinking in excess to cope instead of dealing with your problems and having a short fuse (especially with annoying ass men who think they know better than you) and just being tragic fucking human beings trying their goddamn best

this is also why i love karen page so much because she is deeply flawed and has a dark past and acts impulsively (literally taunted fisk about killing wesley because she knew he would emotionally react like what a bad bitch) and refuses to take anyone's shit and calls everyone out when it's needed and tries so hard to do the right thing hoping it'll heal her from her mistakes

like every single one of these characters has been through so much shit and SO MUCH trauma and i just don't think it's fair to praise and accept one group for how they handle it and demonize another for doing the literal exact same thing

there was a very interesting foil in season 2 with frank & elektra that doesn't get talked about enough like frank castle owned what he was and admitted to being a loose cannon that would never stop until he got his revenge and everyone ate that shit up but elektra struggles with what she's being told she is and fights against all odds to control something inside of her that can't really be controlled and people trash her and it annoys the fucking hell out of me because it all goes back to her relationship with matt

women can be their own characters, they don't need to be plot devices used for a man's character development

in conclusion, elektra natchios is that bitch and i adore her and would absolutely love to see her (& elodie <3) come back in a future marvel project but not if they're just going to waste her incredible storyline and potential as being matt's throwaway love interest again because she is so fucking much more than that and deserves so much more than that

if you've made it this far, thanks for coming to my ted talk <3

we stan elektra natchios in this household, and I will hear no slander

these are all my opinions & if you don't like/agree with them, that's totally fine but no need to be a dick about it :)

[housewifebuck]

Hi Cam :)

Something quick to gif (maybe...I don't know how it works...I'm sorry) and you said you're leaning towards Daredevil right now. I haven't watch it, but what about Matt Murdock smiling?

He has a nice smile. And that's possibly broad enough for you to select and easy one? Maybe? I hope.

Anyways. Thinking of you 🩵

I LOVE u for accommodating my latest special interest. I’m def gonna do this over on @muttmurdock

[bullseyelover]

i’m still thinking about the fact that in the netflix show dex had playing cards in his safe, which means he probably knew what he could do with them (throw them into peoples faces and cause maxium carnage) and we never got to see it.

bullseye with throwing cards on netflix would’ve been so gorey and beautiful, if (WHEN) he comes back it’ll probably be cut away at the last moment whenever he throws something (thanks disney). i was robbed and i don’t think i’ll ever get over it

[writer652]

Kenichi: What if- this wasn't our ending? But our beginning.

Tima: He'll find us.

Kenichi: No, we keep moving- we change identities- we hide, he will never catch us.

(Tima laughs)

Kenichi: What do you say?

Tima: I say- let's go see the world. It's a big place to hide, right?

(Kenichi smiles)

Kenichi: It's a great place to hide.

[jtexplorer]

Did Peter and Mary Jane cameo in Daredevil back in the day?

[sancticide]

god the men you created to be hunter gatherers are listening to tv girl, crying, and writing slam poetry as they try and fail to keep the single good relationship in their life alive

[vampirekangaroo]

So my week has been rather craptastic for the most part. The best part of my week was legit being so restless I watched She-Hulk this week at 3 in the morning after watching Chucky and the 23897 things that recorded Wednesday.

I legit was smiling so hard despite feeling like hell cause I felt tired but could not sleep. Like melatonin tired (cause I took half a dose) and still couldn’t sleep. And of course not to wake my whole house up I decided to kick my bed like a teenager and let out a soundless EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE. I literally texted that to my friend who watches it too at 3:30 lol. She was confused, I told her look at the time I sent it.

But seriously like that episode was so perfect and I everything I wanted it to be. Cause Jen is amazing okay? And people who don’t realize that and all the haters can suck it. I hope eventually She Hulk and Daredevil are in the avengers okay. I hope she has a reason to go to New York and be on that show so they can hook up again okay? And like in that bar scene when she’s talking to the crowd....oh lord. You bet your ass I was silently mouthing to the screen, YES JEN, WE ALL FEEL IT. GET YOU SOME MATT MURDOCK GIRL YOU DESERVE IT AFTER ALL THE FUCKBOYS THIS SEASON! LET US ALL LIVE VICARIOUSLY THROUGH YOU FOR THE NIGHT!

But seriously, kinda sorta, I was really impressed at this bigger entrance into the MCU for him. The only difference between the Netflix show (other than the costume) is that we got to see him mostly happy the whole episode. And honestly after EVERYTHING Matt has been through, can we not just enjoy he was fucking happy for thirty something minutes?! Like come on. Plus the brooding line made me ridiculously happy case my hater tater friend is all, “He’s angsty. I don’t like Daredevil.” HE 👏  IS  👏  BROODY 👏  HEFFER 👏 AND IT’S FINE, MORE FOR ME AND EVERYONE ELSE WHO LOVES HIM. I’ll die on my hill. It’s fine.

The ending though, well the satisfied ending and then the real ending. That walk of shame made me SO happy. Y’all have NO clue. There are so many times that women are shown doing that walk and I honestly can’t remember the last time I saw a guy doing it. If ever? I’m trying to wrack my brain but it does not want to play cause I’m going on three hours of sleep (sorry for the typos I know will be in this until I proofread it next week and am mildly mortified I posted this). But seeing him do that walk of shame was just fantastic! I love that they made it be the man and I’m glad he was that man. BE PROUD YOU GOT TO BE WITH JEN! *Insert a happy hum here*

BUT THEN with the slut shaming at the end, like.....I hope that is addressed next week. I hope they say something like this is nothing that a man EVER has to deal with. Was Tony Stark ever called a whore despite that scene in the beginning of Iron Man? Nope, don’t think so. So yeah I hope they address it’s not okay and while I would love for Matt to be her lawyer with him saying he was going back to New York I doubt that will happen. I do hope that if I can’t have that happen, I hope Mallory is her legal council. ‘Cause damn if it ain’t getting old to have people thinking it’s not okay for women to have sex for, LE GASP, pleasure.

[haunt4haunt]

some of you do not view daredevil as a fundamental aspect of matt’s identity and i will never understand it

[tgirldarkholme]

[readingwriter92]

Clearly it wouldn’t be one of my notebooks if it didn’t mainly consist of planning for way too long fics I’ll never write

[pastafossa]

I have two questions:

1. Have you ever considered writing a book that you would want to get published?

2. I wonder if you will explore Matt’s blindness in TRT. Like for example at the end of the day Matt did lose his eyesight and maybe sometimes wished he could see Jane. It doesn’t have to be a big thing because Matt has accepted his disability but like a moment when he’s just really wants it. Idk I thought it would cool

1. I’ve thought about it, yes! And I’ve actually got an (unedited) trilogy of vaguely humorous, post-apocalyptic scifi adventure books that’s like... halfway written, and that I’d love to get published. I was actually in the process of working on Book 1 when Covid hit, and then my writer’s group kinda... collapsed, which is when I promptly discovered that as an extrovert, I desperately need interaction to make The Story go. No interaction, no drive (and that’s also why fic works fine). And sometimes I toy with the idea of starting up again, maybe with a new writer’s group. I’m also looking into taking a lot of the original elements of TRT and then self-publishing that (with some changes to get Disney off my back obvs), which would let me keep the fic up, too. Not sure! I definitely have plans to try to get a book published eventually though!

2. Sometimes I’ve thought about it! I may touch on it eventually, though very, very delicately. Like you said, it wouldn’t be big because I really do think Matt’s accepted he’s blind and he doesn’t see it as a bad thing, and it’s really not. I do admittedly think he probably still gets understandably frustrated at how blatantly inaccessible some things still are (ex: i literally walked by a coffee shop that had a printed piece of paper inside the window in small print that said ‘large print or braille menu accessible on request!’ and I was like... ok but a blind/visually impaired person can’t read that???). Cause that’s the truth of it - he is still blind. He’s got a disability that affects his day to day and even if he’s happy the way he is (or that’s how I read him), he still needs his aids. I’ve tried to make that clear in TRT - Jane’s taken up his labeling system with braille, she leaves things in *very* specific places because Matt’s got an organization system he needs, he uses his ear pieces and refreshable braille display. And yeah, as someone who’s disabled myself, I could see him now and then going... ‘I wish I could see just for a second’ when there’s no solution for something - when he’s touching old pictures of his dad, or now and then when he’s with Jane, in the same way I’m sometimes like, ‘I wish I could literally run somewhere without pain, just to feel the wind’. It’s a passing thought usually, but it’s probably there now and then for him. So the thought’s rattling around in my brain, definitely. If the right moment in fic comes I can see touching on it!

[sugugasm]

BET | love and deepspace

⟡ tags : underground boxer! sylus + reader — sylus isn’t afraid of going all in when it comes to you.

ミ★ content warning : fem! reader uses she/her prns, mentions of blood & injuries, mentions of female anatomy as well as male anatomy, oral fem! receive, gentle to rough sex, pet names like bby, dove, kitten, honey, 5.0K WORD COUNT

you step into the dimly lit underground boxing gym, the air thick with the scent of sweat, cigarette smoke, and leather. it’s a seedy place, hidden in the heart of the city’s most notorious neighborhood, where the law doesn’t dare to tread. the crowd tonight is a mix of rough characters - bikers with gang patches on their jackets, local gangsters with glares and expensive watches, shady high-rollers in suits looking to place big bets on the illegal fights.

as you navigate through the throng of people, you spot him in the corner, preparing for his match. sylus - the man who happened to be your ex-boyfriend . . oh, and only the most feared bare-knuckled boxer in the underground circuit. he was a sight to behold, all rippling muscles and newfound tattoos, with messy silver hair that gleamed under the fluorescent lights. you watch as he methodically wraps his hands, his intense red eyes focused on the task.

your history with sylus is complicated, to say the least. you met him two years ago at a biker rally, drawn to his bad-boy charm and undeniable charisma. he swept you off your feet with his daredevil antics on his custom harley and his smooth talking ways. but sylus’s world was always filled with danger, violence, and illegal activities. as the leader of onychinus, the city’s most notorious motorcycle club, he ran an empire built on illicit evol weapons, protocore deals, and underground fighting.

at first, the thrill of it all was intoxicating - the adrenaline rush of riding on the back of his bike, the wild parties at the onychinus clubhouse, watching him dominate in the ring. but as time went on, you grew tired of the constant chaos and the fear that one day, sylus’s risky lifestyle would catch up to him. you wanted stability, a future - things that sylus scoffed at. ‘i live in the moment, babe,’ he would say with that infuriating smirk. ‘and right now, all i want is you.’

but it wasn’t enough. six months ago, after a particularly brutal fight that left sylus battered and bleeding, you reached your breaking point. you told him you couldn’t watch him destroy himself anymore, that you needed more than he could give you. sylus, stubborn and proud as ever, refused to change. ‘this is who i am,’ he growled. ‘so take it or leave it.’ so you left, walking away from the man you loved, determined to build a life free from the violence and uncertainty.

now, seeing him again after all this time, you feel a mix of emotions stirring within you. anger, hurt, frustration . . . but also a undeniable pull of attraction and longing. as if sensing your presence, sylus glances up, his red eyes locking with yours. a slow, confident smirk spreads across his handsome face as he saunters over to you, the crowd parting before him.

“well, well. look who it is,” he drawls, looking you up and down appreciatively. “didn’t expect to see you here tonight, [★]. come to watch me dominate the ring as usual?”

you scoff and cross your arms, determined not to let him see how much his presence affects you. “i’m not here for you, sylus. i’m just here to collect on some bets.”

he chuckles, a deep, rich sound that sends shivers down your spine. “sure you are, sweetheart. keep telling yourself that.”

sylus takes a step closer, invading your personal space. he smells like musk and sandalwood, a scent that brings back memories of stolen moments and passionate nights. “i miss you, you know,” he murmurs, his voice low and intimate. “everything’s been so boring without you around to keep me on my toes.”

you try to stay strong, but you can feel your resolve wavering. damn him and his charm. “i’m not here to rehash the past, sylus. what do you want?”

his eyes glint with a challenge. “make a bet with me - when i win the championship belt tonight, you give me another shot. a chance to prove that we’re meant to be together.”

you laugh in disbelief. “you can’t be serious. we’re done, sy. i’m not falling for your games again.”

“who says it’s a game?” he counters, his expression turning serious. “i know i messed up, [★]. i wasn’t ready before, but i am now. i want you back in my life. i need you.”

you hesitate, torn between your lingering feelings and your better judgment. sylus is a force of nature, wild and untamed. being with him is like dancing on the edge of a razor - thrilling but dangerous. can you really risk your heart again?

“and what do i get if you lose?” you ask, buying yourself time to think.

sylus flashes you a cocky grin. “you know i never lose, kitten. but if by some miracle i do . . i’ll leave you alone. for good. unless you decide you can’t resist me and come crawling back.”

you snort at his arrogance, even as a part of you wonders if he might be right. sylus has always had a hold on you, an undeniable magnetism that draws you in against your will, “fine,” you hear yourself saying, almost as if from a distance. “you’ve got a deal.”

his grin widens, triumphant. “get ready to come back to where you belong, [★] - with me.”

the crowd starts to get louder, chanting and cheering as the lights flicker and dim. it’s almost time for the main event - sylus’s championship fight. he starts to walk towards the ring, but pauses and turns back to face you.

“watch closely now, honey,” he says with a wink. “i’m about to show you what you’ve been missing.”

with that, he strides away, his movements graceful and predatory. you watch him go, your heart pounding in your chest.

what had you gotten yourself into?

as the crowd’s chanting reaches a fevered pitch, sylus steps into the ring, the picture of coiled power and raw aggression. his opponent, a hulking brute known as ‘the mauler’, glares at him from across the mat, pounding his meaty fists together in a show of intimidation. but sylus just smirks, unfazed. he’s taken down bigger, badder fighters than this guy.

the referee calls them to the center, going over the rules - not that there are many in the underground circuit. “no biting, no eye gouging, fight ends with a knockout or tapout. keep it clean . . ish. touch gloves and come out swinging!”

sylus bumps his taped fists against the mauler’s, staring him down with those intense red eyes. then they’re backing away, the air crackling with tension as the crowd falls silent in anticipation.

the bell sounds and the mauler charges forward with a roar, swinging wildly. but sylus is too quick, too skilled. he slips and weaves, dodging the heavy blows, letting his opponent overextend himself. sylus fires off a rapid jab - cross combo, snapping the mauler’s head back and drawing first blood from his nose.

the big man snarls and redoubles his efforts, trying to use his size to his advantage, to trap sylus against the ropes and pummel him. but sylus is like smoke, always just out of reach. he targets the mauler’s weak spots with surgical precision - a knife-hand to the solar plexus to crush his wind, a heel kick to the floating rib, an elbow smash to the jaw.

each blow lands with devastating impact, chipping away at the mauler’s formidable stamina and sending the crowd into a frenzy. they chant sylus’s name like a war cry, thrilling at the sight of the chiseled, tattooed demigod of the ring in his element.

you watch in breathless awe, pulse racing, body heating. damn him. he’s magnificent like this - a perfect fighting machine, all fluid grace and controlled violence. it’s enough to make you forget why you walked away, to let yourself imagine those powerful hands on your body once more . .

a pained grunt snaps you back to the moment as the mauler finally lands a solid hit, a haymaker to sylus’s ribs that sends him staggering. your heart leaps into your throat. but sylus just shakes it off with a feral grin, spitting blood and bouncing on his toes as he beckons for more.

they trade blows in a brutal, lightning-fast exchange, neither giving quarter. the mauler is flagging but still dangerous, pure grit keeping him on his feet. sylus bleeds from a cut over his eye but barely seems to feel it, an unholy light in his gaze as he scents victory.

he presses his advantage with a dizzying flurry of strikes, driving the mauler back . . back . . until he’s pinned against the turnbuckle. sylus hammers his torso without mercy - left hook to the liver, right uppercut to the chin, again, again. the mauler’s knees buckle and sylus steps back, letting him crumple to the canvas.

the crowd erupts as the ref counts it out. at “ten,” sylus throws his hands up in triumph, basking in the adulation. his eyes find yours across the room and the heat in them makes your breath stop. in three long strides he’s out of the ring and hauling you into his arms, crushing his mouth to yours in a searing kiss.

for a moment, you forget where you are. forget the mob of rowdy spectators whistling and catcalling. forget every reason you swore you'd never let him back into your heart. all you know is the demanding press of his lips, the steel - cable strength of his blood-slicked body, the intoxicating rush of his victory and your surrender . . .

“looks like i won our bet, babe,” he says smugly, smirking down at you. “hope you’re ready to pay up.”

you scowl, hating how easily he affected you. “one. drink. that was the deal.”

sylus touches his tongue to the seam of his split lip, gaze roving hungrily over you. “oh, i’m just getting started.”

he drags you through the throng of well-wishers and sycophants, his grip on your hand unbreakable. outside, the night air is cool against your overheated skin, charged with tension and the distant growl of engines.

sylus leads you to his pride and joy - that sleek demon of a harley crouched by the curb. the way he straddles the throbbing machine is blatantly sexual, all hard muscles and black leather. he jerks his head at the space behind him.

“c’mon - you know the drill, hop on.”

your hesitation lasts a mere heartbeat before you throw a leg over the bike and wrap your arms around his waist, molding yourself to his back. the rumble of the engine between your thighs and the furnace heat of his body shreds the last of your resistance.

your hesitation lasts a mere heartbeat before you throw a leg over the bike and wrap your arms around his waist, molding yourself to his back. the rumble of the engine between your thighs and the furnace heat of his body shreds the last of your resistance.

then, sylus kicks off and you’re flying, the city lights a neon blur as he opens the throttle. your pulse pounds in time with the roar of the pipes, excitement and desire a heady drug in your veins. by the time he screeches to a stop outside a dingy saloon on the outskirts of town, you’re dizzy with need.

inside, the bar is a den of sin and swagger, all scuffed leather and polished chrome and clinking bottles. eyes follow sylus with a mix of fear and reverence as he stalks to a booth in the back, one possessive hand at the small of your back.

he orders a whiskey, neat, and your favorite poison, not bothering to ask what you want. at your raised eyebrow, he shrugs.

“i remember.”

two words. but the weight of history and unspoken emotion behind them squeezes your heart. your fingers tremble slightly as you raise your glass in a mock toast.

“to your victory. and my reckless wager.”

sylus’ gaze is molten as he clinks his tumbler against yours, gaze holding you captive over the rim as he tosses back the smooth liquid. the slight burn of the alcohol is nothing compared to the smolder of his stare.

“what are we doing, sy?” you ask into the charged quiet, liquid courage loosening your tongue. “why now, after all this time?”

a muscle ticks in his jaw. he looks down, spinning his empty glass, broad shoulders rigid with tension.

“i fucked up.”

his voice is low, raw with a vulnerability you've never heard from him. your breath snags.

“i thought i needed the rush, the rep, the respect. and yeah, maybe i did, for a while. but none of it meant shit without you.” slowly, giving you every chance to pull away, he reaches for your hand — lacing his scarred, tape-wrapped fingers with yours, “i was a coward. i pushed you away because i was scared shitless of how bad i wanted you - needed you. needed your strength, your goodness. you made me want to be better. and it truly fucking terrified me.”

his grip tightens, almost painfully. anchoring you to him.

“losing you . . it broke me, [★]. made me realize that the only thing i’m actually afraid of is living without you.”

sylus swallows hard, his throat working. when he looks up at you, his eyes are blazing with fierce intent.

“i know i don’t deserve another shot. i know i need to earn back your trust. but i swear to whoever may hold my fate, if you give me a chance, i will spend every waking day proving that you’re my whole damn world.”

your heart is a wild bird in your chest, frantic and yearning. you search his face, finding only sincerity and aching tenderness beneath the bruises and blood.

“i never stopped loving you,” you confess, voice breaking. “no matter how hard i tried to hate you . . i couldn’t let you go.”

sylus makes a rough sound, halfway between a growl and a groan. then he’s kissing you, deep and urgent and saying everything he can't put into words. you fall into him, all hunger and desperation, the levee finally breaking on the flood of your need.

“take me home,” you gasp into his mouth, fingers curling in the sweat-damp silk of his hair.

“i thought you’d never ask, dove.”

the anticipation is a living thing as sylus speeds through the lamp-lit streets, the throaty growl of his harley between your thighs a heady reminder of the man commanding the machine. by the time he pulls into the cavernous garage beneath his loft, your body is humming, every nerve ending alight with need.

sylus is on you the moment you dismount, crowding you back against the rough brick wall, his large frame enveloping yours. his kiss is searing, possession and passion, strong hands gripping your hips as he grinds into you. you moan into his mouth, fingers scrabbling for purchase on his leather-clad shoulders, craving more.

“been dreaming about this,” he rasps against your lips, his voice like gravel and whiskey, igniting heat in your veins. “having you back in my arms, in my bed. fuck, [★], need you so bad it's like a sickness.”

“then take me,” you breathe, emboldened by the blatant hunger shining in those crimson eyes. “i’m here, sylus. i’m yours.”

something animalistic unfurls behind his gaze, a primal sort of satisfaction that has you clenching with want. in a burst of movement, he hoists you up, your legs instinctively wrapping around his lean hips as he strides purposefully to the industrial elevator that will carry you to his domain.

the short ride up is a haze of frantic kisses and roving hands, two years’ worth of pent-up longing seeking outlet. by the time sylus kicks open the door to his loft, you’re both panting, clothes askew and lips kiss-bruised. he carries you straight to the bedroom, a cavern of shadows and silver moonlight spilling across rumpled black silk sheets. when he lays you down in the center of that decadent expanse, the reverence in his touch steals your breath. his battle-scarred fingers shake slightly as they skim over your curves, learning you anew.

“so fucking beautiful,” he murmurs, crimson gaze tracking hungrily over your body like he's committing every detail to memory. “can’t believe i almost lost this . . lost you . .”

“never,” you whisper fiercely, reaching up to cup his angular jaw. “i’m here, sylus. right where i belong. and i’m not going anywhere.”

he turns his head to press a fervent kiss to your palm, the heat of his breath making you shiver as his lips graze your fingers — and ever so gently, he bites. then slowly, deliberately, he divests you of your clothes, unwrapping you like a gift. you echo his actions, baring him inch by glorious inch to your avid gaze.

sylus’s body is a work of art, all chiseled muscle and inked skin, a roadmap of violence and survival. you take your time tracing the ridges and hollows, the scars and scrolling tattoos, familiarizing yourself with this new landscape of him. he shudders beneath your questing touch, eyes fluttering shut, a low rumble building in his chest.

“[★],” he grits out, and fuck, how you’ve missed the way he says your name, guttural and raw, like a prayer and a plea. “please, baby . . need to taste you.”

“yes,” you hiss, already aching, empty. “please, sylus.”

granted, he descends on you like a man starved, that talented mouth charting a path of fire over your sensitized flesh. he maps every curve and valley with lips and teeth and tongue, each nip and suck and lap stoking the inferno building in your core.

when he finally settles between your trembling thighs, the first bold stroke of his tongue punches the air from your lungs, your spine arching involuntarily. he groans in appreciation, strong hands splaying your thighs wider, opening you fully to his voracious appetite.

“fuck, i missed this,” he rasps against your slick folds, the vibration of his words making you keen. “missed the way you taste, the sounds you make when i devour this sweet cunt. could feast on you for hours, little one . .”

you whimper breathlessly, one hand fisting in the sheets, the other tangling in his silver hair, holding him to you. sylus takes the encouragement for what it is, sealing his mouth over your aching flesh and suckling greedily. stars erupt in your eyes, pleasure rioting through your veins as he works you ruthlessly, adding clever fingers to his oral assault. he curls them just right, rubbing that secret spot that has you seeing god, all while his wicked tongue paints obscene promises on your clit.

“s-sy, fuck!” you wail, back bowing, thighs clamping around his ears as he drives you higher and higher. “oh god, yes, just like that! don’t stop, please, i’m gonna’ cum . . fuck, baby-”

he doubles his efforts, a man possessed, growling his own pleasure into your core. “that’s it, my love,” he urges gutturally between long, lewd licks. “go ahead and give it to me, wanna’ feel you drench my face, want you gushing on my tongue . .”

his filthy encouragement hurls you over the edge with a strangled scream, release slamming into you like a freight train. you shatter spectacularly, pulsing and clenching around his thrusting fingers, slick gushing into his eager mouth as he works you through the most intense orgasm of your life.

when you finally drift back down to earth, aftershocks still rippling through you, sylus is grinning up at you wolfishly from between your thighs, his beard glistening obscenely with your essence. “fucking incredible,” he rumbles, pressing a soft kiss to your still-twitching center. “could watch you fall apart on my tongue forever and never get tired of it.”

“get up here,” you demand breathlessly, tugging him to you. he comes willingly, settling his considerable bulk over you, caging you beneath miles of warm, hard muscle.

you claim his mouth in a filthy kiss, moaning at the taste of yourself on his lips and tongue. he responds with matching hunger, hips rocking into the cradle of your thighs, the thick ridge of his erection a brand against your sensitive flesh.

“please,” you whimper into his mouth, nipping at his bottom lip. “need you inside me, sylus. been too long, i want it . .”

“fuck,” he snarls, the words seeming to snap his restraint. “far too long, honey. be patient, you know i will.” slowly, giving you time to adjust, he notches himself at your entrance and pushes forward, gasping harshly at the tight, wet heat of you enveloping him. “goddamn,” he grits out through clenched teeth, forehead pressed to yours. “silly me. i almost forgot how fucking perfect you feel. like coming home.”

“yes,” you moan, reveling in the familiar stretch and burn of his thick length entering your body. “missed this so much . . missed you . . love you, sylus, so fucking much.”

“i love you too,” he rasps, pulling nearly all the way out before surging back in, starting a deep, rolling rhythm that has your toes curling. “i never stopped, never will. you’re only for me, [★]. only me.”

you lose yourselves to the timeless dance, bodies moving in perfect synchronicity, rediscovering every perfect angle and hidden sweet spot. sylus takes his time, building you back up with long, measured strokes, whispering words of worship into your skin, branding you with his love.

“so good,” he groans, hitching your leg higher on his hip, sinking impossibly deeper. “could stay buried in this tight little pussy forever. never wanna leave.”

“don’t.” you gasp, fingers clawing at his flexing back, desperate for more. “stay — harder, sylus, fuck me harder. wanna’ be able to feel it tomorrow.”

with a low, approving growl, sylus complies, snapping his hips faster, driving into your yielding body with the piston precision of the machine he rides. the wet, obscene slap of flesh fills the room, punctuated by your escalating moans and cries.

“i’m not gonna last,” he warns, rhythm faltering. “too good, too fucking good. tell me you’re close, baby . .”

“s-so close,” you pant, the coil in your belly wound to the breaking point. “just a little more - fuck, right there, sy . . o-oh my —”

sylus hammers into you, grunting with the effort, sweat sheening his skin. he wedges a hand between your straining bodies, finding your swollen clit and rubbing tight circles. “cum on my cock,” he demands, voice strained. “let me feel that pussy grip me, milk me . .” his words are your undoing, hurling you into oblivion with a keening wail. your inner muscles seize around him, rippling and fluttering, trying to pull him deeper as you drench his driving length in release.

“fuck, yes!” sylus roars, pistoning wildly, chasing his own end. “gonna’ - ah, shit, kitty, i’m cumming!” his climax overtakes him with a force that borders on violence, his cock jerking and pulsing as he spills himself deep in your still-spasming core, painting your inner walls with thick ropes of his seed. you mewl weakly in blissed-out overstimulation, aftershocks rolling through you as he fills you to the brim.

finally spent, sylus collapses onto you, taking care not to crush you with his bulk. you cuddle as sweat and other fluids cool on your skin, hearts gradually slowing in tandem. he’s still stuffed deep inside you and you clench involuntarily around his now-softening length, loving the way he groans, overused nerves sparking. “keep that up and we’ll be going again real soon,” he warns playfully, nuzzling into your neck.

you huff a laugh, carding your fingers through his damp hair. “yeah, yeah,” you tease. “we’ve got time now, sylus. all the time in the world. i’m not going anywhere.”

he raises his head to look at you, crimson eyes soft and full of wonder. “damn right you’re not,” he rumbles, pressing a tender kiss to your lips. “i’m never letting you out of my sight again. you’re stuck with me now, sweetheart.”

“eh, could be worse,” you quip, grinning up at him. “i think i can handle being stuck with you. it’s only forever, after all.”

“forever,” sylus echoes solemnly, like an oath. “i like the sound of that. you and me. binded as one.”

“ . . . and loving each other stupid every chance we get,” you finish impishly, wiggling your eyebrows.

he barks a laugh, the joyful, uninhibited sound making your heart soar. “oh, that is definitely part of the plan,” he assures you, a wicked gleam in his eye. “gotta’ make up for lost time, don’t we?”

“mmhm, that we do,” you agree readily, warmth suffusing you. “better get started on that. forever’s not getting any longer.”

“as my lady commands,” sylus murmurs, capturing your mouth again as he begins to stir inside you once more.

and as passion ignites anew, the promise of countless tomorrows enfolding you like a benediction, you know this is just the beginning of the ups and downs.

because this love, tempered by loss and longing, by time and truth . . it’s unbreakable. a bond that even the harshest trials will only serve to strengthen.

and with sylus by your side, his heart in your keeping as surely as yours rests in his scarred and steady hands . .

. . you know you can weather any storm.

forever, and then some.

★ SUGUGASM 2024 | please don’t copy, translate or share my work on other platforms without my consent. tagging @ramonathinks <3