#have a slight taste of what I live like every day of my life so I can get my rocks off

[merakiui]

the symptoms of being human.

jade leech x (gender neutral) reader note - being human comes with its fair share of very specific symptoms. or: jade has lived in saltwater his entire life. never has it leaked out of him before. // HAPPIEST OF BIRTHDAYS TO MY BIRTHDAY BESTIE @heyyy11!!!!!! 🎉 many wonderful wishes of health, happiness, and good fortune for you!!!! :D it isn't a lot, but please enjoy this little gift i prepared in celebration!!!

But a mermaid has no tears, and therefore she suffers so much more.

A long time ago, a human penned that line in reference to merfolk and their inability to shed tears. A fact as intimate as that couldn’t have possibly been common knowledge amongst humans, or so Jade assumed every time the story was regurgitated at bedtime. He always did that: apply logic to areas where logic wasn’t needed. His teachers used to tell him, “Jade, sometimes you need to suspend your disbelief in order to immerse yourself in a fictional world.” He could try—and try he did—but he’d find himself lingering on that quote every time.

A slight amendment to that: merfolk can cry and they do suffer, but whether they suffer more is impossible to know without further study.

Jade operates under the notion that there are explanations for everything, even the wildest of lunacy. There is comfort in comprehension. He would spend hours holed up in his sleeping nook, poring over stories and texts on humans and beastfolk. He would compare and contrast them. Can a tearless cry indicate the amount of suffering per species, or is such an abstract concept even remotely quantifiable? Perhaps it is because merfolk cry silently that they suffer. Because there is no one who can hear their weeping in the deep sea. Because there is no physical proof.

It’s easier to recognize the physical signs of grief, for what happens within is shrouded in secrecy, veiled in the depths of the heart.

So when Jade comes onto land for the first time, human skin stretched over a skeleton altered with a potion, every inch awkward and aching, the sea leaks out of his pores. He feels like a pufferfish not yet expanded but on the verge of bloating, deflated and weak, salt still spilling. And he knows it’s salt because he swipes two fingers under his armpit and brings them to his mouth to taste. It’s saltwater.

He later learns, while sitting in Professor Crewel’s class and listening to him drone on about anatomy, that this is the phenomenon known as sweating. Jade sweats when he exerts himself, when his body temperature rises degrees over what’s internally comfortable and he needs to cool down, when he ingests something spicy, when he’s sick with a fever, when he’s stressed… It’s a fascinating facet of human biology he was previously unaware of.

Azul called these peculiarities “symptoms of being human,” and what intriguing symptoms they are! He hopes to experience even more as he completes his education on land, regardless of how troublesome they might be.

Having a symptom of something implies the affected is ill in some way—as if humanity itself is an illness and this human body serves as more of a hindrance than help. Jade will forever be an eel merman, and this body is just a clever cloak crafted to make his life on land habitable. Although there are moments where he thinks his original form would suit a certain task. Like swimming or any sport in the water, really. But he likes to struggle and fail, learning from every human mistake.

These symptoms are not terrible. Not to him, at least.

He meets you in the woods. You’re hunched over the ground, patting a compact lump of freshly disturbed soil. A burial, he thinks, but then he’s not certain. When you fashion a little marker out of sticks and ribbons, it occurs to him that he was right.

“Hello to you, too,” you say, turning to glance at him.

There’s something that stills in the air. A feeling catches and tugs at his heart. He can’t explain it—still can’t even to this day—but something trickles out of his eyes then. A droplet of water and then another and then more until silent streams are falling thick. He blinks until his once-blurry vision clears, only to find you’re looking at him fully now.

Jade gathers the wetness on his fingertips and licks curiously. Salt.

Horrifyingly, he’s sweating from his eyes.

He doesn’t panic. A grotesque part of him wants to know what else these eyes are capable of in this body. 

You draw in breath through your lips. A gasp. “Oh! Are you all right?”

He nods because even if his brain doesn’t understand it yet his heart does.

You are the person he’s going to spend the rest of his life with.

This isn’t fiction, and he doesn’t have to pretend to accept it as his temporary reality just to enjoy the story it promises. He knows. His heart—the eel-mer heart—knows. This salt is a symptom of being human, but a symptom of being a mer is that there is the strongest sixth sense for finding one’s other half.

“Are you sure?” you press, rising to your feet, digging through your bag for tissue. “You’re crying!”

He blinks back at you. I’m…crying.

He’s not sweating. He’s crying.

“Forgive me,” he says even though he knows there’s nothing to apologize for. “My eyes must not be working today.”

A sympathetic smile spreads on your face. “Did you come here with anyone?”

He shakes his head and explains rather simply that he’s come on account of club business. “I’m the only member in my club,” he elaborates unnecessarily, “and so I often come here to hike and forage. I suppose I wasn’t expecting to run into anyone on this route.”

“Club? You’re a student?” Before he has a chance to respond, you add, “No way! What school? I’m from Royal Sword.”

“Night Raven.”

“Whoa! That’s so cool. I’ve heard lots about that school. Oh, sorry, I’m totally chatting your ear off. If it’s not an issue, would you like to walk back together? Don’t take this the wrong way. I’m just worried about you.”

The affable conversation was so smooth Jade almost forgot he’s been leaking—crying—the entire time.

“Why would you be worried? I assure you there’s nothing in this forest that could harm me,” he says, holding a hand over his heart.

As if it isn’t the woods that might hurt him but, rather, the person standing in front of him. He has never felt any need to protect his heart, but now he thinks he must. If he’s to offer it to you in the future, he wants to do so when it is perfectly whole and packed full of happiness.

“Um… Well, I just don’t want you to do anything…harmful,” you say, stringing the words together awkwardly. “People care about you. They’d miss you.”

He glances past you at the burial. Just above, a nest of baby birds chirp noisily. He understands now.

“As it happens, I’m currently quite content.”

“You are?”

He tilts his head at you and smiles, teary-eyed and most likely red in the face.

“I am. Very much so. I’ve experienced another human symptom. I couldn’t be any happier.”

You exhale a quiet, semi-amused breath. “I’m glad.” Your hand is held out next. “I’m (Name). It’s nice to meet you.”

His webless, clawless hand closes around yours. “Jade Leech,” he greets.

— — —

“You look good,” Floyd compliments, watching Jade fuss over himself in the mirror. “Shrimpy’ll think so. And Mama. Pops, too.”

“So everyone,” he replies smartly, his hands shaking as he smooths the nonexistent wrinkles in his suit. They reach for the jewelry strung around his neck. He’s wearing his mother’s pearls. Tradition and memory are twined throughout each one. For every hand that holds this chain, a new pearl will be added. It has been in his family for ages. After today, he’ll add his and the necklace will be a pearl longer.

He feels like he needs to pace up and down a mountain. Like he needs to strip this seaweed-esque suit off and jump into the ocean to feel free of constriction. Clothes are always so…unique. That’s the word he chooses to use. Another symptom, he’s certain, because clothes are to humans as colors are to merfolk. Humans attract each other with fashion styles just as mers flash colors and patterns at those they intend to charm.

“Everyone,” Floyd echoes, grinning to ease the tension. “C’mon. You know everything’s gonna be fine.”

Logically, Jade is aware of that. There were rehearsals and lists and triple-checks. Everything is in order. He’s ready. You’re ready. Illogically, he thinks he’s about to shake out of his skin from either excitement or anxiety or a combination of both.

Floyd’s hand comes down upon his shoulder. He relaxes beneath the squeeze. “You got this.”

“I do,” he whispers, turning away from the mirror with a smile.

He waits for you at the altar. A feeling he knows well enough claws at the back of his eyes. It’s been steadily encroaching since this morning, or perhaps it’s always been there ever since he first met you.

When he sees you, his world comes together and everything is warm and wonderful. There are tears on his face, tracking down his cheeks in hot streaks. It’s not embarrassing even though, somewhat flustered, he mouths to his parents that he’s simply sweating from the eyes. A symptom they’ll soon experience in their temporary human bodies.

Out of every human symptom he’s experienced, he thinks this one is his favorite.

You meet him at the front, and beneath an awning of the prettiest flowers you join hands.

“How do you feel?” you murmur, your thumbs running over his palms.

He’s going to say he feels like his world is brighter and wrapped in silk—like he’s looking love right in the face.

Through his tears, he smiles and says, “Like my eyes are working properly today.”

You giggle around a rising sob. Happy tears, he notes, much like the ones sticking to his face. “Weird. Because mine don’t seem to be working today.”

“A shame. You can’t see how beautiful you are.”

“I trust you.”

“I can’t promise mine won’t sweat halfway through the ceremony, but I appreciate your faith in me.”

“It’s fine. Mine are already doing that.”

And it’s everything to him—you, this union, the tears, these messy, complex symptoms of being human. Everything.

Jade thinks he’d like to rewrite that old quote from his childhood.

But a mermaid has no tears and so that may be true in storybook blue, but it is her heart that weeps for everything she has experienced, is experiencing, and will experience; the good and the bad, the happy and the sad.

[fair-dinkum-mechanic]

I think the reason I hate sugar daddies as a concept is that I don’t like seeing rich people get what they want

And I don’t like seeing men get what they want

So when it’s a rich man do you see my dilemma

[jin0]

A Morning Between King Nicholas and His Queen - A Sequel to « Of Love, Lust and Wasted Time »

Summary : what does a morning between Nicholas and his lovely wife look like ? Sex. A lot of it, obviously. porn with like some kind of plot but who are we kidding really.

Pairing : King!Nicholas Alexander Chavez X Queen!Reader

Warning : 18+ ONLY MINORS DNI, smut, p in v, fluff, size kink, slight breeding kink, cockwarming, morning sex, slight cum play, biting, lots of I love you, slightly mean!reader/spoiled!reader (she needs her sleep, nick needs her)

A/N : i have no decorum so I wanted to add this because why not so this is just filth. Also, you can find the ‘first part’ here :)

_______________________________________________

It was morning such as these ones that reminded Nicholas that he had grown to be a rather complicated man in terms of where he could find his happiness. Because no matter what, to wake up in his bed, in the arms of his beloved, skin on skin, warmed by morning rays of sunlight, this was a pleasure he could only find here, in his home, with her.

Duty had required his presence abroad for days now and she had to stay and rule alone in his absence. It had been the first time they were separated since their marriage and both had to suffer without the other. To see her at the door, last night, as soon as he returned, his heart could thump of joy alone.

Wrapping himself around her frame, he felt every muscle of his body relax against her, finally feeling himself ease down from days of political conversations and trades. He laid on top of her, covering her whole while his arms crossed under her. His hands were tight around her waist, pulling her so close they could’ve merged together if possible. He wondered if she was uncomfortable, the look of contentment on her face enough of an answer for him. Her own hands were draped over his back, the pad of her fingers soft against his skin.

This was it, true Love like he had learned existed as soon as he had met her.

With his face nuzzled into her breasts, he inhaled deeply, enjoying being wrapped in her scent all over. Rubbing the tip of his nose along her mound, he kissed that very same spot with a grin. Was it human to be so happy ? Was it human to love so much ? To love a human with such ease and so naturally ? Some days, he looked at her and felt nauseated from not being able to surrender every second of his remaining time alive to her every wish.

Breathing in her heat, his fingers grazed her sides up and down.

Rubbing the sleep off of his face with one hand while his other arm held her close, his lips found themselves kissing and biting the corner of her jaw tenderly while she whined in her sleep from being moved off of her preferred position.

« Nicholas… » She groaned in a voice so sweet it traveled through every pore of his body and infiltrated her bloodstream.

Looking up to meet her narrowed eyes to avoid the sunlight. Oh, how marvelous she was, his girl. The love of his life.

« I love you… » He whispered dreamily. His mind was trained on her face and how delicious she tasted whenever his lips found her body. He kept going, from her neck to her bosom, all he could reach, before dropping his body on her again.

After their first night, Nicholas had been glad to find out that his large stature made for an excellent mattress for his wife. She loved nothing more than to cover herself of him or lay on top of him. By the time she could feel him on her whole being, she was satisfied.

« Settle down, my love…» He muttered as he moved them both again to be on his side but still, half his body covering her in a makeshift cocoon.

The princess squirmed a little to position herself correctly. Her legs wrapped around one of his, her arm draped over his side while the other was kept close to her chest. She kept close to him, whining until he moved his face to lay on hers. Yes, this was perfect.

He could only chuckle, amused by her demands to be comfortable. But he lived to serve and please her, even in her sleep. So much so in fact that when his hard cock grazed the inside of her thighs, pushing against her flesh and taking up space between them both, his grin widened.

Yes, King Nicholas would still enjoy a little more sleep. And like his wife, he would need certain adjustments to be comfortable, starting with her gapping pussy, still dripping of his load from the night before. He could see it between her legs, thick and sticky, what a vision.

He moved her body slightly, nudging between her legs to part them with a smile and a kiss to her lips. He hiked her leg up to his waist, and her reaction was almost instantaneous. In a matter of seconds, there she was, looking up at him with her big beautiful eyes, less than amused.

« Must you have me twice a day ? » She asked, blinking away the sleep which had been taken from her.

« If I have to be honest, twice a day is nearly not… enough » His response was punctuated by movements, attempting not to cum as soon as his tip pushed past her folds. « Remember, an heir is expected of us, sweetness. We must be hard at work on this, it is of the greatest importance. »

They both could’ve laughed. Becoming parents was important, the gender of said heir, less, and the moment they would come even less. But Nicholas couldn’t hide that he enjoyed working to bring said heir as quickly as possible. Less for the baby and more for the pleasure of fucking his lovely wife. And that he did, in various positions and rooms of the castle. It was as if he had found a source and from then on his thirst could only be quenched by the water of that very fountain. She was but Life itself to her lord husband, the only thing he would ever need. Even so early in the morning.

After all, what was decorum if not rules that a king simply could not be bothered with ?

Nicholas rubbed his face close to hers, kissing away the pout on her face with a smile. The domestic bliss he’d been enjoying could simply not be replicated, not without his darling. To have her displeased, in his arms, in their bed, together, was a pleasure that he now couldn’t go without either. Like honey to a bee, he craved the surge of happiness from waking up next to her, hearing her chat away about her day, seeing her live life in all its grace. It was all of this and more that made him desperate for her, so much so that he would tighten his hold on her body and push himself deeper until he was buried deep as can be. And in that moment he was home.

The sigh of relief they both breathed out could lead him to believe that to stay in that position would be enough. Unfortunately and, as always, Nicholas was a selfish man who could never be content with the bare minimum. He needed to have his wife carnally and then enjoy more rest inside her.

As she readjusted on him to return to the sleep slowly evading her, the queen grew needy as can be for her husband to continue what he had started. Her nails started to run along his back, digging into his skin occasionally, when the throbbing of his cock sent electricity through her pliant body. Luckily she did not need to say a word for him to move, or take action.

Covering her body with his more, his lips found every possible area of her face to kiss with tenderness and care while she moaned in pleasure under him. It would be quick, both knew, and he chose to make it as loving as possible. His hips rutted into her with slow yet forceful thrusts, the tip of his cock digging into her guts while she failed to utter a single word. To feel her husband so deep in the morning and to be held so nicely, it was as if he invaded each crevice of her. The soft of her hand now replaced by her nails digging new marks along his wide back, she buried her face in the crook of his neck and big down on his collarbone before kissing the same space her teeth had left their marks in.

« My darling girl… I love you… I love you so much… I could never go without you… » There was generally no reason to such words from him. All were inspired by her presence near him.

She trembled under him, all the way to her toes, curling and her legs shaking from the force of his body pushing into her. With each movements that reached her pleasure point came a small, hiccup like, cry of pleasure from the queen. The sounds of skin slapping, grunts from the king and moans from his beloved merged together, resonating through the room as the only sign of life. And as it was never enough, Nicholas always the greedy man, took his girl in his large hands, holding her by the plush of the hips to flip her over and have her sat down on his throbbing cock.

« Taking me so well, my love… Keep going… » He breathed out into her ear, his lips glued against it as he groaned loudly for each movement.

Suddenly entirely exposed to his eyes and the control he had over her, she abandoned herself in his arms. He planted his feet on the mattress and started bouncing her up and down his fat cock. He was quick to see his tip push into her cervix and lower stomach, a smile drawing on his face before he pulled her close to his chest to kiss away at the tears spilling from her eyes.

« F-Fuck… T- Mmmh, s’good » Her syllables blended together in concert with both their sounds while her hands found support on his shoulders to ground her. It quickly became insufficient thought, the queen wrapping her arms around his neck and burying her nose in his hair.

« I love you… So much. I love you, my pretty girl… Tell me, tell me you love me, my love, tell me you love me too… » His voice was thick with desperation, pleading for her words and her being.

« Yes ! Yes, yes, yes ! S’much, I love you so much, my love, yes ! »

He enjoyed having her in such a state. Barely awakened mind and body trying to process the force of his desire. It was now common for her to lose her thoughts as well as her words, both replaced by tears of pleasure dripping down her soft cheeks. His hands unceremoniously grabbed at the fat of her ass to fully bounce her on top of him, never loosing focus of the tenderness he gave her. Kiss after kiss, his lips never left her. From her lips to her neck, to the spot behind her ear that made her float in his arms, and the corner of her mouth, and her swollen eyelids, every single one of her favorite places he kissed. He even made sure to have his cock kiss her cervix just right to leave no place untouched.

« I…love… you … » A groan of pleasure soon turned into a soft cry erupting out of him. Each word punctuated with a thrust of his. As she tightened around him, he couldn’t take much more himself.

She was the first to finish, as always. The moment his thumb had grazed her clit, she was done for. He watched in awe as her eyes glazed over, her mind visibly blanking before she drowned him in her cum. Of course, he was no better, following only seconds later. The most amount of focus he could muster was put into her again, his eyes trained on her lower shim and how it bulged from his load. He’d never get tired of watching it, the way her body still struggled to take him whole.

These days apart had been difficult and it seemed they both had needed a little more to catch up, not that they would ever be satisfied.

As if nothing had happened, he flipped them both again, this time laying fully on top of her like they both loved and needed. Both bathing in the post coitus glow, breathing heavily and covered in sweat, they stayed quiet for a moment.

King Nicholas’s hands caressed her side, overtaken by admiration as he looked at her. She held his face and looked into his eyes, hers softening. Her thumbs caressed his eyelids, still breathing heavily as she came down from her high. He looked so beautiful, her husband. Her sweet love. She would complain about her sleep but to have him love her so loudly and at every hour of the day. The man she had chosen, to have him disregard the customs to profess his love at ever turn, she could never really be mad at her, not when he spoiled her of his Love.

« You have ruined my sleep, Nicholas… » The tone of her voice was playful, but the smile on her face was the greatest of treasures.

Nicholas dropped on top of her, smiling as she laughed in his ear, carding his hand through his hair and kissing the spot next to her ear.

Both fell asleep for the next few hours, the maids of the castle and any knight with functioning ears and a little bit of experience knowing better than to attempt to bother them.

Life in the kingdom would wait for the rulers to wake up.

[b14augrana]

Portrait

When Alexia decides to give into her curiosity and sit down at one of the street artist stalls stationed on a busy Parisian road, she leaves with something more special than a self portrait.

Alexia Putellas x reader

masterlist

Warnings: straight fluff and bad translations but dont worry its only short x

A/N: ALE RENEWED WE CAN ALL REJOICE!! 🙏

The strong Parisian sun beat down on the heads of locals and tourists alike as they walked down the crowded streets. You were perched on a stool, staring intently at your canvas as you gently painted the smile lines of a lovely old lady that stopped by your stall.

You loved your job for this very reason. You knew how hard it was to love yourself from your own perspective; you hoped to do every individual person’s beauty justice with your paintings.

Of course that wasn’t enough income on its own so every morning you found yourself in one of the local bakeries either working behind the scenes or at the front counter. Baking and painting were jobs you loved and found so similar because they both resonated with your desire to indulge in art wherever you could find it, and to you they were the simplest forms of art.

“And… I’m done. Here’s your finished portrait, madame,” you said with a smile, lifting the canvas off the easel and gently setting it into the woman’s arms.

“Je ne peux pas te remercier assez, ma chérie ! C'est beau, merci,” she replied, admiring it with tear-brimmed eyes hidden behind her glasses. You said your goodbyes and watched her walk off with a grin on her face, and then you picked up a fresh canvas and placed it on your easel.

You didn’t have time to shake your head at the many smudges of paint on your clothes as another person approached you.

“Hola!” a woman’s voice spoke, making you look up curiously. Standing before you was a blonde woman smiling slightly, gesturing to the stool behind the easel. “May I sit?”

“Of course,” you nodded, returning her smile and swirling your paintbrush in some fresh water as you prepared to paint her. “You’d like a painting, no?”

“Yes please. Also, forgive me for saying hola — I forget that I’m not in Spain,” she laughed, inciting a giggle from you.

“It’s okay. I do the same when I’m outside of France,” you added, dipping the paintbrush into some fresh paint before grazing the canvas. “So, you’re Spanish.. what’s your name?”

“Alexia. I’m here for a holiday, because I’ve finally got some time off work,” she explained with a huff. You smiled behind your easel, painting the woman’s chiseled bone structure with intricacy as you added to her face.

You liked her already. You had barely said anything to her, but something about her was genuine.

“Are you with anybody?” you asked, curious to know more about her. She nodded her head, “Only two other people, my friends Lucy and Ona. They’ve gone on a wine tasting date, which is why I’m here.”

You laughed softly as you rinsed your paintbrush. “And you? Do you have anyone to go wine tasting with?”

“Next question,” Alexia responded, smiling through laughter. You began to paint her eyes and faintly outline her nose.

The rest of the time you spent painting every detail of her face flew by as you two talked and got to know more about each other. You learned that she was a professional footballer and lived in Barcelona, which you thought was very cool. She asked about your life and you told her that you were a born and raised Parisian who spent the rest of her days at home or in the bakery. You weren’t really concerned about yourself though; you were busy looking at her, and not for the purpose of the painting.

When you had completed the last strand of hair and placed the last freckle on her portrait, the sun had dried most of it already. As she stood up and picked her purse up, you flipped the canvas around and scrawled something on the back with a slight smile.

“There you go. Thank you, Alexia,” you said, handing her the painting. She gasped quietly as she admired it, and she looked at you for a moment before pulling you into a hug. “Thank you, chica!”

Even after she pulled away, her perfume clung to your skin like glue. It smelled sweet but not overwhelming… like coconut and caramel with an undertone of musk and vanilla hints. It smelled exactly how you imagined it to smell.

As you said goodbye, you didn’t reach for a fresh canvas. Alexia turned away, holding the newly painted canvas in her hands with her head down, her eyes fixed on it. She stood stagnant for a moment, scoping out every detail, and then she turned it over.

“Llámame, hermosa :)” was written on the back, followed with your phone number and a quick sketch of a flower bouquet. She immediately turned her head to glance at you over her shoulder, but you were occupied with someone else.

When she turned back around, a smitten smile was plastered across her face and she couldn’t help but feel giddy to get back to her hotel.

After another second, you looked up from your canvas, your eyes completely skipping the person sat in front of you and wandering over to the direction that she had walked in, watching the blonde woman disappear down the street.

“Est-ce que tu vas peindre ou quoi?” an irritated voice snapped from behind your easel.

“Désolé!”

[swiftiethatlovesf1]

A race for love p.1

Hii guys! I've had this idea on my mind for a while, and with today's exciting announcement of Franco joining F1, I couldn't think of a better moment to finally put it into words. On the flip side, my heart goes out to Logan. It's heartbreaking to see how he's been treated, and I truly wish him all the best moving forward.

Barcelona June of 2023

When people find out you're Zak Brown's daughter, they automatically assume your life is filled with glitz and glamour. They think you're friends with all the drivers, jet-setting to every race, and living a perfect life surrounded by the thrill of Formula 1. From the outside, it seems like you've got it all — but the reality is a lot different.

You can't really complain, but your life is far from perfect. Most of the time, you don’t even see your dad because he’s constantly travelling with the team. The rare moments you do get to see him are usually fleeting, sandwiched between his hectic schedule. You’d love to go to more races, but this year you had to focus on finishing high school with the best grades possible. Getting into aerospace engineering was your dream, and it demanded every ounce of your attention and effort.

And then there are the misconceptions about your social life. People assume you have a wide circle of friends, thanks to your dad’s connections, but the truth is quite the opposite. You have a small group of close friends, and that’s more than enough for you. You're naturally shy and have learned to be cautious about who you let into your life. Trust doesn’t come easily when you constantly worry that people might want to get close to you just to get a taste of the paddock lifestyle. It's a burden you've had to carry, learning to guard your heart and keep your circle tight.

Now that you’ve graduated from high school, a weight lifts off your shoulders. Your hard work has paid off, and you finally have the chance to reconnect with your dad and spend some time in the world that has always been on the periphery of your life. As you arrive at the paddock to visit him and the McLaren team, a mix of excitement and nervousness bubbles up inside you. The hum of engines and the bustling energy are both familiar and foreign, and you find yourself wondering what this day will bring. With each step, you try to steady your breath, eager for what’s to come.

You’re so wrapped up in your own world that you don’t notice the boy on the scooter coming straight toward you.

Before you can react, there’s a sudden jolt as he bumps into you, knocking you off balance. You stumble slightly, but neither of you falls, just barely managing to steady yourself as you blink in surprise.

“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry!” the boy says quickly, hopping off his scooter and reaching out a hand. “Are you okay?”

You’re too stunned to reply immediately. Your heart races, more from shock than from the slight impact. As you regain your bearings, you finally look at him. He’s about your age, with tousled brown hair that falls slightly over his forehead and warm brown eyes that are looking at you with genuine concern. He’s wearing a bright red uniform that you recognize as belonging to either Prema Racing or Ferrari’s junior program, but you don’t recognize him as a Formula 1 driver.

“Uh, yeah, I’m fine,” you manage to say awkwardly, your voice a little shaky. “I was just… distracted.”

He lets out a sigh of relief, a smile breaking through his worried expression. “Good, I was worried I’d completely knocked you over. You were kind of in a world of your own there.”

You feel your cheeks heat up a bit. “Yeah, sorry about that. I guess I’m just… overwhelmed by everything here.”

He chuckles softly, his eyes still studying you with curiosity. “I get it. It can be a lot, especially if you’re not used to it. Are you here for the race?”

You nod, trying to find your words as his gaze makes you feel even more flustered. “Sort of. I’m visiting my dad, actually. He works with McLaren.”

His eyebrows raise slightly in surprise, and a look of realization crosses his face. “Ah, that’s cool! McLaren’s got a great setup here.”

You nod again, feeling a bit more self-conscious under his friendly but inquisitive gaze. “Yeah, they do. I’m just here to see him and, you know, check out the paddock.”

“Well, welcome to the chaos!” he says, flashing you a quick grin. “I’m really sorry again about almost running you over. I’ve got to get going, but maybe I’ll see you around?”

“Yeah, maybe,” you say, still feeling a bit flustered but starting to relax as his easygoing nature puts you at ease.

With a quick wave, he jumps back on his scooter and speeds off, disappearing into the crowd. You watch him go, a small smile tugging at your lips as you shake your head, still a bit dazed by the encounter. The day is already turning out to be more interesting than you expected.

As the weekend goes by, you have an amazing time with your dad, the engineers, and the drivers, Lando and Oscar. It’s everything you could have wished for: laughter, excitement, and a glimpse into the world you’ve always been curious about. The hours fly by as you get to see behind the scenes, experience the high energy of the pit lane, and even share some inside jokes with the team. Yet, in the back of your mind, you can’t help but think about the boy you met on the first day — the one with the warm smile and the kind eyes.

By the last day of the race weekend, you realize you’re still thinking about him. Curiosity gets the best of you, and you decide to sneak out of the F1 paddock and venture into the F2 and F3 paddocks in search of the boy. It proves to be more challenging than you anticipated; the paddocks are bustling with activity, and you have no idea who he is or even which team he’s with.

As you wander around, you stop here and there to watch the cars and people working. The atmosphere is different from the F1 paddock — more relaxed, but still full of intensity and focus. One car, in particular, catches your eye. It’s a sleek F3 car with bold graphics, and you find yourself drawn to it. You step a little closer, noticing the intricate details on the bodywork and the way the team is adjusting the front wing. You’ve always been interested in engineering, and seeing the mechanics in action up close fascinates you.

You’re so engrossed that you don’t notice when someone approaches from behind.

“Hey there,” a voice says, startling you. You jump slightly and spin around, your heart racing as you come face-to-face with another boy, about your age. He has dark hair and bright eyes, and he’s grinning at you with a playful expression.

“Oh! I—uh, I’m sorry,” you stammer, suddenly feeling nervous. “I didn’t mean to— I wasn’t doing anything, I promise!”

He laughs, holding up his hands as if to calm you down. “Whoa, it’s okay! You’re not in trouble. Just surprised to see someone so interested in my car.”

You blink, your cheeks flushing with embarrassment. “Oh, this is your car?”

“Yep, my pride and joy,” he says with a wink. “Franco Colapinto, at your service. I drive for MP Motorsport in F3.” He leans against the car casually, still smiling at you.

You can’t help but smile back, his easygoing nature putting you at ease. “I’m sorry, I just— I didn’t mean to stare or anything. I’m just really interested in how these cars work. They’re amazing.”

“Don’t apologize,” Franco says, his tone light and teasing. “I think it’s great. Most people just walk by and don’t even notice the cars unless they’re on track. It’s nice to see someone appreciate them up close.”

You nod, feeling a little more confident now. “Yeah, I guess I just got caught up in it all. I’m visiting with my dad, and I thought I’d take a look around.”

“Glad you did,” he replies, giving you a playful nudge. “So, what brings you over to the F3 side? Looking for anyone in particular?”

You hesitate, not wanting to seem too eager, but his friendly demeanor encourages you to open up a bit. “Actually, I met someone on the first day. A boy on a scooter. I don’t know his name or what team he’s with, but I thought maybe I’d see him again.”

Franco raises an eyebrow, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips. “A boy on a scooter, huh? I’m not sure who you’re looking for, but I hope you find him.”

“Thanks,” you say softly, feeling a bit shy under his teasing gaze. “It’s probably silly, I know.”

“Not at all,” he says, his tone warm. “It’s not every day you meet someone who leaves an impression. Besides, I think it’s kind of cute.”

You feel your cheeks heat up again, but you manage a smile. “Well, thanks. And thanks for not kicking me out for looking at your car.”

Franco laughs. “Hey, any time. It’s not every day someone appreciates my car as much as I do. Tell you what, if you ever want a tour, just let me know.”

“That sounds fun,” you say, genuinely intrigued. “Maybe I’ll take you up on that.”

“I hope you do,” he says, and there’s something genuine in his voice that makes you feel a little flutter in your chest. “Hey, before you go, can I get your number? You know, just in case you need a guide around here or want to talk more about cars.”

You smile, feeling a mix of nerves and excitement. “Sure, why not?” You take out your phone and exchange numbers, his fingers brushing yours slightly as he hands your phone back, making your heart skip a beat.

“Great,” he says with a grin. “I’ll text you later. Maybe I can help you find that mystery boy.”

“Maybe,” you reply with a laugh. “But I should get back to my dad before he starts wondering where I am.”

“Alright, but don’t be a stranger,” Franco says, giving you a friendly wave as you start to walk away.

“See you around, Franco,” you say, feeling lighter and happier than you have all weekend. As you make your way back to the F1 paddock, you can’t help but smile, your thoughts filled with the unexpected new friend you’ve just made.

[angel1010xx]

ｃｉｇａｒｅｔｔｅｓ

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

Pairing: Sanji x Reader

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

You hated cigarettes.

Cigarettes were stuffy and overwhelming, the scent lingered for hours, and the smoke made your lungs feel closed up. They were complete bombardments to your senses, and genuinely? You felt as if the world would be better off without them. Smoking is a bad habit, after all. Why would anyone willingly choose to give themselves lung cancer and an early grave?

The Thousand Sunny was having a lively night. Brooks was merrily serenading the crew, while each of them were on their own missions. Zoro was drinking (to death, probably, how was his liver still functioning?), Usopp was reliving the latest battle with Luffy, Franky, and Chopper (with embellishments, of course, not that his audience would be able to detect them), and Nami and Robin were sucked into their books (they were so perfect, the crew hardly deserved the gift of their presence). That just left Sanji.

Running around, fawning over “Nami-Swan,” and lighting yet another cigarette.

Yes, he was a phenomenal chef. Yes, he was doting and chivalrous. Yes, he was charismatic and consistent, and it was so hard to find a man that to actually abide by a moral code. But God, he was perverted. He was unbearable. And he reeked like menthol.

Sighing, you crossed your wrists over each other and leaned on the railing of the ship. The Grand Line was dangerous, but it was beautiful when the moonlight reflected across the water. The sights, the wind in your face, and the freedom made all the trouble worth the adventure. You were apart from the main crowd, opting for some personal space at the front of the ship. The Straw Hat crew was your family; and true to life, everyone needs their elbow room sometimes, even from the ones they love most. 

Approaching footsteps interrupted your peace. Looking over your shoulder, you spotted Sanji walking towards you. Great, you thought. He gazed at you with a slight tension in his brow. “The fish is ready. Are you going to eat?”

“In a little bit, yes,” you responded. “I just wanted some fresh air and quiet right now.” Sanji settled in, standing beside you, mimicking your pose by also leaning against the railing. “I hope you come down soon,” he spoke in a low voice. “Our princess-warrior needs her strength just like the rest of us.” 

A smile tugged at your lips. “I’m scared, Sanji,” you whispered, choosing to open up to him. “The world is changing. I worry about my people at home. I know there’s ample resources and military force to keep them safe, but…” you trailed off, eyes shifting from focusing and losing focusing on the sea waves. Sanji let out a hum, and pulled out a cigarette and a light. You cocked your head towards him, this time with a slight lip curl. “You just had one. Do you really have to smoke another one, right here?”

He let out a puff of smoke and a chuckle. “Mon amour, we all have ways of dealing with our stress.” 

Sanji shifted to face his body towards you, but kept one arm on the railing. “You can’t sit there and worry about your people all day and night. I see it on your face every time I look at you. It practically breaks my heart,” he paused to place his free hand on his chest. He broke out into a warm smile. “Right here and now, princess, you are safe, and they are safe too.” 

You let out a deep breath, doing your best to soak in his words. “Thank you, Sanji.” He let out another hum, put out his cigarette, and brought you in for a hug. “Of course, mon amour.”

Yes, he smelled like menthol. Yes, you had a hard time breathing. But he also smelled like cologne. He was warm, and the feeling of his breath down the side of your neck made you shiver. A thought came into your mind for a split second—what would it be like to taste the cigarette, if you were to press your lips to his own?

It’s a fine line between love and hate, after all. 

[alwaysanundertone]

How could you be so blind?

slight angst / fluff

jegulus x fem! reader

tag list: @call-me-mishi IF YOU WANT TO BE ADDED ON MY TAG LIST, COMMENT THIS POST OR DM ME 🩷🩷

You were sprawled like a starfish on James’s bed, while he was caressing your head softly.

“So I said “if you won’t bring me flowers, then why bother with the whole dating thing?” You sighed. “I mean, I’m not asking for the moon, right? I only wanted some damn flowers, could be a single daisy from the Black Lake.”

He hummed. “Yeah, you’re totally right. You shouldn’t ask for flowers, your partner should do these small gestures without being told to”

You sighed. “And it’s not just the flowers, you know? It’s the fact that every time I find someone, I start dating them and then they stop showing me love alltogether. I always end up feeling like I’m asking to be loved, and that’s so messed up.” James scratches felt heavenly, but your moment of peace was short-lived.

“Oh, stop sulking, you could be loved like that if you didn’t choose such douchebags” Regulus threw himself on the bed, landing next to you.

“Regulus”

“No, I’m being serious here. Y/N, you have an awful taste in men, we all know it. Stop crying about it and change your taste in men, for the love of God”

This hurt, especially because you spent your whole life searching for the right person, your soulmate, without finding it. Regulus telling that it was all your fault didn’t sit right with you.

You got up abruptly. “I do not! Thing is, the only ones who seem to be slightly interested in me are douchebags! The right ones never seem to like me” You sighed. “You don’t get it because you and James have the most perfect relationship of all times, you have already found your other half, while I’m here, begging to be loved. I’ve never been loved.”

You felt dangerously close to crying.

“Love, don’t cry, please” James was looking at you with a frown.

“And you don’t know how it feels to have a crush on someone so oblivious” James whipped his head in Regulus direction, while your heart started galloping in your chest.

“A crush? You’re in a relationship?”

“Reggie what the fuck, now it’s not the time-“

“No James, I’m done with this shit. Somehow it’s never the right time!” He got up, getting right in front of you. “Y/N, I don’t know if you’re really this dense or if you just don’t like us, because it’s obvious that we want you as more than a friend”

“What? But-“ You looked at James, who was shaking his head. “You have a crush on me?” He smiled shyly.

“Yes, darling, we thought it was pretty obvious?”

“It wasn’t?”

Regulus rolled his eyes. “I swear you’re dumb. We brought you flowers on your birthdays AND on Valentine’s Day every year, even when you were in a relationship, because we knew the shit heads you chose to be around wouldn’t be bringing them”

“Yes, but Lily brought me flowers to?”

He ignored you. “Who held your hair when you got hammered after you got your heartbroken?”

“But…”

“And tell me, who leaves you ALL of their blueberry pancakes when you’re late for breakfast and even brings them to class?”

“But you don’t like them?”

James started laughing. “Honey, we love them, but we love seeing you happy more.”

You felt like you were about to cry, but Regulus didn’t stop. “And tell me, who do you think was the one to beat up that Ravenclaw douchebag after he made a bet on you? And why do you think no one played you like that afterwards? And who do you think was the one to organize your surprise birthday parties every year?”

Now you were crying. “Wait, you were the ones behind all of this?”

James nodded softly, taking your hand and bringing it to his face. “We didn’t want to lose you, so we chose to remain quiet and show our love in different ways”

You couldn’t believe this. All of this time wasted, when you could have the love you’ve dreamt of your whole life.

“But you’re in a committed relationship since the fourth year? The thought that you might want to include someone else didn’t even cross my mind”

Regulus laughed. “Baby, you’re so cute. We hinted at us wanting to have you in our relationship multiple times? And you played along.”

“But… But I didn’t really believe that you wanted me, of all the girls in this school? And I thought you were joking?”

“Listen, now you know how we feel about you. The question is, do you feel the same? Would you like to start dating us, and see where this takes us?”

You shook your head. James looked down, while Regulus looked like he was about to lash out. “I don’t want to just date you, silly. I want a relationship.” You took James’ face in your hands and kissed him gently.

“Oh thank fuck, see Jamie, I told you we should have told her sooner. Now I want a kiss to, though.” He placed his hands on your waist, turning you over and kissing you softly.

“You’re ours now, you know that right?”

[prodbyton]

the morning after ❀ l.sh

“eat your pussy just to show you how my tongue works” wc. 1.2k smut +18 mdni warnings: oral f.recieving

[10:24am]

to say sohee was obsessed with you would be an understatement. he loved you so much he was sure other people would think it was unhealthy. he missed you even if you were right next to him.

even right now, while he sat between your legs while he played video games and you played on your phone, he missed you so much. he sunk himself deeper into your thighs, letting himself melt into the feeling of your hand mindlessly twirling his hair as he played. you knew your boyfriend always needed to be as close to you as possible at all times, him constantly whining about not being close enough to you and wanting to live inside of your skin, so the position you two were in was nothing out of the ordinary.

it also wasn't out of the ordinary that sohee would end up being turned on from this position, so when he paused his game to sit up and face you, his words weren’t a surprise to you.

“can i eat you out?”

“sohee, it's not even noon yet” you laugh, setting your phone down next to you on the bed so you can sit up to face him properly.

“i just love your pussy so much baby, wanna eat you out all day every day” he moves so he can place a soft kiss right on your collarbone.

and he wasn't exaggerating, if he could he definitely would devote his life to eating your pussy and making you cum on his tongue over and over. just last night he had you making a mess all over his face, and he still wasn't satisfied and needed to make you cum again.

his lips trailed down your chest, making you hold your breath as he trailed his fingers up your thighs. you couldn’t deny the heat you were starting to feel the lower his lips went, and you were sure that you were already getting wet when he pulled away to guide you to lay down on the bed.

sohee was set on eating you out, but he felt conflicted about what he wanted to do when he saw the way your chest rose with every breath as well as your nipples poking through your tank top, or how the bottom of it rode up your stomach. he wishes he could have his mouth on all parts of you at the same time.

“sohee, do something already” you reach for his hand that rests on your leg and bring it to your panties, his fingertips now resting at the hem of them and you lift your hips just a bit so he can get the hint.

his fingers move down to press against your clit through your underwear and you moan, lifting your hips again in response. sohee smiles, pressing his finger harder against you to hear you moan again.

“you’re already wet,” he stares at you in awe, just moments ago you were teasing him for being needy but you were in the same boat as him, wanting him all the time. sohee continues to rub you through your panties, watching as the wetness starts to seep through the fabric the more he touches you.

sohee feels like he’s going to cum in his shorts just from watching you grow needier by the second from his touches, and his need to taste you gets worse with each scrunch in your face. not taking his fingers off you he leans down to leave a kiss by your belly button, then by the hem of your panties. he moves his fingers so he can move further down your body and lay on his stomach, lifting your legs and spreading them so they can rest on his shoulders. he licks his lips before kissing the inside of both of your thighs, sucking bruises into the skin occasionally as he got closer to where you needed him.

“sohee,” you bring a hand to his head and run your fingers through his hair softly, giving his head a slight push closer to you.

the soft grip you had on his hair turned into a harsh tug as he pulled your panties to the side and placed a kiss on your slit. you moaned at the sensation, and he used his other hand to spread you open. he groaned at the sight of your pussy leaking arousal, he couldn’t get enough of you.

you were a mess under his touch as he started making out with your pussy, licking and sucking on your clit before dragging his tongue back down to your hole, letting his nose rub against your clit as he lapped up your juices.

“taste so good baby” sohee groans into your cunt and the vibrations run through you, you whine and pull on his hair harder. with your other hand you bring it under your shirt, eagerly grabbing at your tits and tweaking your nipples to add onto the stimulation. when sohee looked up he groaned again watching you touch yourself to help bring you to your peak faster.

from the amount of orgasms you had the night before sohee knew you’d still be a little sensitive, so when he felt that you were already shaking he knew you weren’t going to last much longer.

“gonna cum, baby?” all you can do is nod as you let out a strangled moan, sohee sucking hard on your clit right before you can respond. he moves his hand so he can bring them to your hole, letting some of his spit drip from his mouth and onto his fingers before he pushes two of them into you.

the feeling of his mouth on your clit and his long fingers filling you up, your orgasm was building up fast. you push his face impossibly closer into your cunt, grinding your hips into his face as well to add stimulation. once sohee curls up his fingers inside of you and with one more a harsh suck on your clit you’re cumming, back arching off the bed as your vision goes blank.

sohee was sure that you had ripped some of his hair out from the way you held onto it, but he didn’t mind when the cause was from him making you feel good. he would lose all of his hair if it meant he could eat you out every day.

once you got your breathing back to normal you let go of his hair, body trembling as you tried to calm your nerves.

“are you okay?” sohee breathed as he came up from between your legs, the bottom half of his face glistening in your juices and it made your cheeks heat up. you hummed in response as you sat up as well, adjusting your underwear so they covered you back up. sohee was still breathing hard, and when you looked down you could see how hard he was in his shorts.

“are you?” you bring one of your hands to his, intertwining your fingers before squeezing gently and smiling as you look him in the eye.

“wanna make you cum again” he’s quiet almost like he’s embarrassed, and you have to pretend like you weren’t up for his horny shenanigans. you laugh and place a quick kiss to his lips.

“im going to put you on a sex ban if you keep this up”

a/n: had this idea and i immediately had to write it 😣 i love the sohee munch agenda and i hope u guys like it!!

[seancekitsch]

A Win is a Win: A Hughie Campbell x Reader Kinktober fic

warnings: semi public smut, mentions of blood, hughie is too sweet for his own good, slightly dom hughie? cream pie, slight exhibition, this is really nice and sweet smut

“We lived! Don’t you get it? We lived! We should celebrate,” you excitedly slap Hughie on the arm from your seat on top of a checkout counter, kicking your legs as you watch the air tag move further and further away from your location, going back uptown.

“Okay, but barely,” Hughie scoffs, slightly skeptical that the coast is clear. You tilt your phone screen towards him, showing him the GPS. You then motion to the shuttered abandon storefront you’re taking shelter behind. The angle of the slats let you see out to the street, but as far as anyone out there knows, this place is empty. People walk by the near abandoned building without knowing any wiser, going about their day talking and laughing. There’s no sign of danger. You’re protected. Poor Hughie, you think, always worrying and always trying to think two steps ahead.

“Hughie,” your voice goes soft, pulling him by the arm closer to you, “Please just count a win as a win.”

You’re not begging, but you might as well be. He nods, closing his eyes and furrowing his brows.

“A win is a win,” he concedes, leaning his hip against the counter you’re sat on, leaning into your touch. His body is warm against you, radiating around you. You really should have worn a jacket, but then again, you’re never prepared for how the cold settles in New York in the fall no matter how long you’ve lived here. He leans into you, his peacoat pressing into the side of your face as his body relaxes. This is maybe your favorite thing about Hughie, when he lets his guard down and the tension leaves him.

“You said you wanted to celebrate?” he asks, bringing up your original excitement. You nod against his arm, looking up at him with a smile on your face.

“How did you want to do that, hmm?” he asks, a smile starting to tug at the side of his lips as well.

You look away from him, pursing your lips for a second pretending to think about it.

“What about…” you trail off, eyes meeting his as you press your tongue to the inside of your cheek, pushing it out. He half cough, half scoffs.

“Seriously?” he asks, the smile tugging a little more at his face. You shrug, why not?

“Wh-what? Does running for your life, like, get you going or something? This what you’re into?” The criticism in his tone is playful, with Hughie leaning more into you as you start to laugh at his insinuation.

“Only when it comes to you,” you fire back, a wry smile spreading.

“Oh only me?” he asks, pointing at himself with fake surprise and a voice full of sarcasm, “Wow, I must be so lucky.”

“Shut up,” you mumble as you slap him in the chest playfully, Hughie moving to come around you, his hands placing loosely at your hips.

He kisses the top of your head, and squeezes your hips.

“And let me guess, you wore leggings for easy access or something?” He asks, and you actually gasp. Usually Hughie isn’t the one making the sexual jokes, but you play along.

“Uh huh. You got me! I put on easy access clothing because I wanted to run for my life in broad daylight just as a little treat for you,” you scoff, and your fingers start to move against the buttons of his peacoat, hands grasping for his chest as he settles between your knees. His hands move from your hips down the sides of your thighs, and then back up the tops of them. His hands are so incredibly warm, so unlike the fall chill outside. He pulls your hips to the edge of the counter, effectively pressing you against him and spreading your legs even more to accommodate.

“Well, this is like the one thing I won’t complain about,” Hughie admits, and then captures your lips in a kiss. He kisses slowly, like he wants to taste every inch of you.

His lips and tongue work you open, your arms pulling him in as everything Hughie consumes you. His tongue moves against yours, voracious and passionate. Subdued, sweet Hughie, as you’ve noticed, likes to take the lead like this. His hands move of their own accord too, shifting from your hips to your ass, squeezing and feeling you up. His pushes kiss you backwards, his long and lean frame bending atop you. Pushing, pushing, until you finally cannot bend further. You break the kiss laughing, ungracefully letting your elbows break the fall of your back against the counter. Hughie cracks up, on pulling away long enough to throw his head back in laughter.

“Sorry,” he apologizes between giggles, but you just break down in laughter too, letting yourself lie back flat against the counter.

Hughie takes this opportunity to grab your thighs, to pull you by them to the edge of the counter. His hands move up and down the fabric of the leggings, soft to the touch. Hughie’s hands stop at the apex of your thighs, spreading them only enough to fit his hand between them. His touch is like lightning as his thumb makes connection with you through your clothes, rubbing a tantalizingly slow line up and down your center. You hum in appreciation at his ministrations, leaning into his touch as he smiles down at you.

“Right there,” he mutters to himself, pressing himself harder now. You can feel him against your ass, painfully hard and straining in his slouchy jeans.

“Hurry up,” you rush him, voice strained and half a moan. He chuckles at your eagerness, and removes his hand. You whine at Hughie, high pitched and needy. You hear him mutter something about patience under his breath, but nevertheless, his hands go for the waistband of your leggings; stretching and pulling the elastic down past the curve of your ass.

The cold of the counter stings as it makes contact with your bare ass, and you gasp.

“Commando? You really were planning this,” Hughie jokes, but there’s something dark in his eyes that lets you know he’s very appreciative. 

You weren’t planning this, not exactly. What’s the point in wearing underwear on what was supposed to be a cozy Saturday running errands in Tribeca with your new friend with benefits? But no matter what, it’s definitely working to your satisfaction, especially as Hughie lifts your ankles up to rest on his shoulders. 

“Careful, Hughie,” you warn him, “Keep teasing me and I’ll start wearing underwear more often.”

You don’t actually mean that. Hughie knows you don’t actually mean that.

He laughs, and unzips his jeans. Hughie gazes down with you with eyes full of affection, warmth coloring his every motion as he lines himself up with you. He rubs the tip of his cock against you, the same slow and teasing motion he did with his thumb, and you gasp; shutting your eyes tightly as you ready yourself. 

He pushes in with a gasp of his own. This is maybe only the fifth time you’ve done this, Hughie and you and this all new as you both agreed to hook up to ease the pain and stress, already a sensation you crave with him. 

He bottoms out with a groan, placing his hands on your thighs and once again rubbing them up and down to soothe you. 

“You into this?” you ask, not exactly done messing with him, “You into the fact that if any of these people walking by could become looky-loos if they tried hard enough?”

Hughie rolls his eyes and scoffs, before rolling his hips back into you; shutting you up. 

“Don’t use that word,” he dismisses. 

“What word? Hard? People? Fact?” you keep pressing the joke, and he rolls his hips a little harder to make you yelp as his hips bump your ass. 

“I wish I could kiss you right now to shut you up but I don’t bend that way,” he jokes back, and starts to pick up a rhythm. He thrusts steadily, holding you in place as you try to arch your back into his motions. You do shut up, half because you dont want to tease Hughie too much, half because he’s making you breathless with each thrust. You gasp and moan in time with his hips: in-gasp-out-moan, in-gasp-out-moan. 

“Fuck,” Hughie gasps, sweat beading across his brow as he speeds up. 

“Close?” you ask, your voice breathy and far away, like being carried away through the air. He nods eagerly, hands squeezing your thighs, fingernails digging into the soft flesh. 

“Me too,” you nod as well, straining the arch in your back to get to that angle that makes you see stars. Hughie seems to know what you’re trying to do, always weirdly in tune with your wants and needs. Even the first time you and he hooked up, he just seemed to know what helped you reach your pleasure without asking. 

Hughie takes your right leg off his shoulder, and moves it to his other shoulder to rest with your left leg. And this new position… God. Everything feels tighter, hotter, brighter. 

“Oh my god,” Hughie groans, clearly also loving the change, “So fucking tight.”

Hughie throws his head back with another groan, his fingers digging even harder into your legs. They’re sure to bruise, and you don’t care. A loud moan escapes your lips, and your hands flex, reaching for any purchase as you rapidly approach your end.

“Fuck, Hughie, I-“ you cut yourself off with another moan, your head falling back hard against the counter with a thud. 

“Let go, let go,” He coaxes you, squeezing your legs together tighter.

A dam breaks— you shudder, a low moan, Hughie works you through it, slowing his pace but never stopping; his own release coming quietly, heat pooling in you.

“Hughie,” you gasp, as he finally slows to a stop inside you. He holds you there, a moment of stillness. 

Then Hughie moves your legs, and pulls your leggings back over your ass; he tucks himself back in his jeans as you sit back up and grimace. 

“What?” he asks, coming back to the counter to envelop you in a hug.

“This walk home is gonna be so gross,” you say, already feeling yours and Hughie’s spend starting to drip.

“Well do you think the coast is clear? We can walk back to your place and take a shower,” Hughie suggests, turning his head to peek through the slats in the security gate. 

“We?” you ask, joking with him, “Who says I wanna make a day of this?”

“Uh, well, the best scalp massage below ninth street might be a factor in your decision,” Hughie jokes back, sarcasm laced in his tone. You can’t deny that man has some magic fingers, especially when they’re rubbing shampoo into your hair. You'd found that out last week as you scrubbed blood form each others bodies.

“You make a fair point, Campbell. Lets go.”

[farfromstrange]

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

-> Main Masterlist

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

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

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

Word Count: 12.2k (this is a beast)

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

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

Read Me On AO3!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your heart skips a beat. Could it be…

It is no secret that vampires exist.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You don’t know me, but I know you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yours sincerely,

M.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What, now?”

“Yeah. I forgot I had an appointment.”

“What about Mr. Doherty?”

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

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

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

“But—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

How come you’re not scared then?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Another minute it is then.”

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

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

“How?”

“Accident when I was a kid.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh, my God,” you curse.

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

“I was considering not to.” 

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

“How would you know?” you counter. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Here you are.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You flinch. “What?”

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

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

“No.”

“Good.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes, it would.”

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

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

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

Matthew scoffs. “My parents were both Catholic.”

“I suppose you’re not?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You still came,” he says. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I didn’t, my secretary did.”

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

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

“Wouldn’t it be a suicide mission?” 

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

“I’m not on the record yet.”

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

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

He’s amused. You’re amusing him. 

“Don’t call me that,” you growl. 

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

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

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

“That’s not… Answer my question!”

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

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

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

“My investigative journalism essay,” you breathe out. 

“Published by Columbia University.” 

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

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

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

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

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

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

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

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

Session 1.

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

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

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

“And what happened the year you died?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You swallow. “That sounds… overstimulating.”

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

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

“Like I am the demon.”

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

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

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

“Are you?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re not,” you cut in. 

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

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

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

“It’s what you deserved,” you say.

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

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

“And where is she now?” you ask.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And what’s that?” he asks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do it,” you beg. “Taste me.”

He utters your name again. “Stop.”

“Please.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You cease to exist in all solar systems but his. 

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

“I shouldn’t have—” he begins. 

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

“I couldn’t stop.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Matthew,” you moan. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thinking about you,” you murmur. 

“Me?”

“You.”

“Why?”

“Because I want to be your salvation.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Bite me again,” you beg.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You choke out, “Yours.”

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

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

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

“Session two tomorrow?” you ask.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[ordowrites]

wants, desires

cw: afab reader (pronouns not used), slight not sfw content, mentions of masturbation (m), mentions of oral (f. receiving), mdni, minors do not interact, pining, yearning, fantasizing, self indulgent. slight fluff. no established relationship. slow burn. the reader is not the Traveler, the reader is a Vision user. slightly ooc. fade to black.

word count: 2,781

diluc month!!! i love this man and i wish to squish his cheeks between my hands. tbh for as much as i love to imagine him suave, i feel like he's the type to long and pine before awkwardly try to romance someone. i'm sorry for the length of this fic, i got carried away.

Diluc is a gentleman, he is known for his polite way of talking, and perhaps his standoff-ish personality but he is, all around, a gentleman. Raised in nobility, Diluc was taught how to behave and act accordingly, even if he found some of the rules to be stifling. He remembers his father once telling him that there are even proper and acceptable way to court someone (man or woman, so long as he did it properly, it would be alright).

He never listened to those rules much because he always figured he wouldn't need to court someone, after all, arranged marriages were still very common and everyone had assumed he and Jean would be marrying each other (until she turned down his spur of the moment marriage proposal with a polite smile and multiple apologies). After his father died, Diluc had decided that his life was too dangerous to bring someone else into it. Nobody has seen the hell he'd seen and he wishes to keep it that way.

Until you came into the picture, your smile rivaling the sun and your laugh infectious. You came here from Fontaine, is what you explained, showing your encased Vision. You worked for The Steambird for awhile but decided to move back to your late parents home nation of Mondstadt, because your father had always spoke so wistfully of it. So, you'd quit your nice and cushy reporter job and joined the Adventurer's Guild and are now able to work at its branch in Mondstadt.

He'd memorized every detail you shared with him, because you were just so fascinating to him. Diluc hated the way Kaeya's arm slung around your shoulders as if the two of you have been buddies your entire lives. Rosaria barely graces you with attention, simply electing to enjoy her drink with two extroverts intent on disrupting her peaceful night. You do not care for any rude putdown, allowing it all to roll off your shoulders.

When Kaeya becomes too drunk - supposedly - to carry on a decent conversation with you, Diluc picks up the slack. It's awkward and uncomfortable at first. Your name is sweet in his mouth, he tastes it and swirls it around some and fears that if he speaks it, he may taint it.

Interacting with you was a different level for him, it was strange because you were the first one in his life to make him lose his footing, make him lose his breath, and make him nervous. But not in the same way Adelinde makes him nervous when she places her hands on his hips and gives him a disapproving stare when he tracks blood and mud on her clean floors, not in the way Jean makes him nervous when she challenges some of his more intense ideals. This nervous was different, like if he messes up, that's it. His words are carefully chosen, he practices your name every morning, trying to get used to saying it in hopes that if he sees you around, he can call out to you like it's a normal, every day occurance.

And he does see you around sometimes, in the green uniform assigned by the Adventurer's Guild (truly, you would look much better in the clothes he could provide if you were his-) but you're always too busy to stop and engage in conversation. This does not stop you from waving at him, acknowledging his presence when he accidentally stops and stares for a little bit too long. Sometimes he gawks like a teenage boy and he can't help himself.

Diluc is a gentleman, he knows better than to have thoughts about you - it feels wrong when you creep into his mind too late at night and leave him wanting. His hand around his cock, his fingers working quick as he guiltily thinks what you might look like undone because of him. Wonders what you might taste like, how your legs would quiver around his shoulders while his tongue laps hungrily at your folds, and wonders what you'd sound like when you call out his name in desperation.

When those nights happen, he can't even look at you in the eyes when he sees you next. Diluc knows all of this is normal, but it doesn't feel normal for him.

He has your favorite drink memorized - you aren't a heavy drinker, alcohol wasn't much of a thing in Fontaine unlike coffee and tea. So, always one drink, nothing heavy, but it you like it sweet and fruity. Unlike Kaeya, he lets you have a free drink every once in awhile, tries to relish in the way you look at him with wide eyes and a bright smile. Tries to ignore the way his heart pounds and his breath quickens when you thank him. (You could ask him for the entire world and he will try to get it for you)

Diluc tries to recall all the lessons his father gave him on romance and dating, realizes that many of those lessons are a bit outdated and perhaps, would not work on someone like you. He considers asking Adelinde before deciding that he didn't want the third degree from his head housemaid (who is more like a mother to him).

So, he elects to watch you from afar - learn your likes and dislikes because talking to you is somehow harder than fighting a Mirror Maiden or being involved with a particularly difficult business partner.

And it dawns on him how stupidly mundane and normal it is to have a crush on someone. Diluc wasn't ever sure he was capable of normal. He can't do things normally and he's come to accept this at some point.

By some happenstance, he learns of your favorite flower and orders a bunch of them to be sent to you - anonymously, of course. Although, he wishes he could have your attention when they arrive at your doorstep from Fontaine, wondering if you're happy to receive them or not.

"Someone sent me flowers," you mention to him, one evening. Lately, you've been coming around more and more without Kaeya with you. You've made your own little group of friends here, easily fitting right in and he always tries to imagine where his place would be in your group of friends and it always spirals to him as your partner, your beloved. Your husband. "The note that came with it was very sweet, but I wish that it wasn't anonymous so I could thank them. I've been missing Fontaine recently."

Diluc swallows the lump in his throat, clears his throat - a strange nervous habit he has.

"Would that not take the romance out of it?" When you give him a strange look, he feels his face grow a bit hot. "I mean, I hear some of the maids talk about how they'd love to have a secret admirer, something about it being more romantic."

"Master Diluc," you gasp. "Are you, perhaps, a secret fan of romance novels?"

"Did I not just tell you I only hear these things from the maids?"

You smile a bit. "You're hard to tease, you know that?"

"My apologies." You blink, confused and he clears his throat again. "So, who do you think might have sent you those flowers?"

You open your mouth to say something, possibly another teasing comment before deciding against it. "I'm not sure," you admit. "I don't often have romantic entanglements. I had one partner back in Fontaine and it ended up as a disaster. We were colleagues and it was so stupid." You sigh. "He was never the type to buy me flowers."

Diluc makes note that he will spoil you proper with flowers when you become his.

After a few weeks, he orders you another batch of flowers - this time a mix of your favorite and another common flower from Fontaine. Rainbow Rose, pretty pink roses that he pictures would liven up the manor, and be in abundance at the wedding the two of you could have.

No, he has to tell himself. You can't get that far.

"What is on your mind tonight?" Diluc asks as he makes your favorite drink. You look at him, as if trying to read him. "That secret admirer of yours again?"

"Yeah. Flowers, again." You say. "No note this time, which is disappointing." You rub your forehead. "Master Diluc, what would you do if you have the feeling some anonymous person was trying to court you?" Diluc gets the feeling you're fishing for answers.

"That has never been a concern of mine." He tells you. "Most women who try to catch my attention are never discreet about it."

"You make it sound like that's the worst possible thing in the world."

"If they were not doing this simply so their fathers could secure a better business deal with the Dawn Winery, I suppose I wouldn't mind it." He doesn't dislike it but none of those women ever really hold his attention, although he's entertained a few of them in his time, the courting never went beyond a few meetings before they'd decide he just wasn't for them.

"You don't strike me as the type to like being given that kind of attention," you admit. "Ever the evasive and strange Master Diluc. Perhaps I have you pegged all wrong."

"Oh?"

"Mm," you say as you take a sip of your drink. "Rich men tend to throw their money and power around to garner themselves a romantic partner. Honestly, it's gross."

"Well, I have never seen the point in doing so." Diluc answers, bluntly, feeling a bit insulted you'd even thought of him that way. "So tell me, then, how do you like to be courted?"

"Well, for starters, as lovely as the secret admirer thing is, I prefer if someone can actually tell me if they have feelings for me," you inform him. "Anonymous flowers once is nice, twice will have me wondering if they even respect my time."

"Ah - would you like other gifts then?"

"No - well, I don't - ugh, that's hard to answer." You push your hair back and he loves the way it falls around your face. He loves that, even though you don't get drunk, you can get a bit more relaxed and looser with your words as you drink. "I mean, I'd like if the person who is...trying to court me as you say, would just tell me and do it properly."

"I see."

"Have you never been in a romantic relationship before, Master Diluc?" Maybe you do know and he should come clean. He swallows, Adam's apple bobbling.

Once, he thinks. Jean and I had this whole fake wedding when we were kids. But that doesn't count.

"Not really, no."

"Oh."

In this moment, he desires to lean over the counter and kiss you. See what you taste like with remnants of that fruity drink on your lips, if you would get angry or if you would lean into the kiss. He desires for his hands to wander, for you to invite him to touch you even further -

"Aw, drinking without me, my delightful friend?"

"Evening, Captain."

"Kaeya."

Diluc is a gentleman, and he is quite the heartbreaker, he knows this. He'd sent many noble women crying by accident - rejection hurts or his indifference is worse. Adelinde would scold him many times for it, reminding him that he should still be considerate of their feelings. But it's never his fault that they get upset for being told he's not interested.

With you, he has fantasized about kissing you, dramatic love confessions (because apparently those are a thing in romance novels from what he's heard Hillie and Mocco say as they worked), or just simply telling you, but it feels wrong to simply confess.

This pining is getting him nowhere, and he worries about sending you more flowers and earning your ire instead.

So, at the advice of Adelinde - after he tried to lamely claim it was Kaeya who was looking for the advice - he starts to write you letters. Many, but none quite fit what he feels. He can give you all the flowery words in the world, but they are not succinct enough. Diluc isn't exactly the best at words, not like Kaeya, who can have both men and women swooning very quickly. He's always held the attention and engagement of crowds and Diluc finds himself envious of that.

Finally, he elects to do something so stupidly simple.

He writes you a letter in the dead of night, exhausted from a days work, requesting if he could court you properly this time around. And he sends it.

Because of course he did.

Because that's what a proper gentleman should do, right?

You are late for your weekly visit to his tavern, and Diluc finds himself wishing he had Charles manning the bar tonight instead of him. Though why should he be acting like a lovesick schoolboy? He is a grown man.

An hour goes by, and you're not in your usual spot and he fears he may have driven you off with that letter that never should have been sent in the first place.

When you do finally arrive, it's an hour before closing and you look beat. But your smile, when you see him, is still as radiant as the sun (though perhaps that's him imagining things, he doesn't know anymore).

"You're...late." Diluc observes as you half slump in your seat, bag dropping to your side. "Are you okay?" Perhaps you haven't read his letter and that's why everything is almost relatively normal.

"I'm okay," you finally answer as he starts to make your drink. "Sorry I'm here an hour before you close, it's been a long day."

He sets the glass down in front of you. "Do you wish to talk about it?"

"Tsarvitch is such an asshole," you grumble. "Tsarvitch? More like Tsarbitch."

"Yes, I hear he can be a bit difficult." You lapse into a silence, watching him. "Do you wish to talk about something else?" You reach down, grabbing your bag and pulling out an envelope with the Winery's wax seal in blue. He has to look away.

"I received this letter from the Dawn Winery," you tell him, pointing to the blue wax seal and the return address. You pull the letter out of the envelope, and it's clear you've read it multiple times since he sent it a week ago. "From someone asking if they could properly court me." He doesn't want to look at the contents of that letter, he was deliriously tired when he wrote it. "Who, at the Dawn Winery, could have sent this?"

"I'm-"

"How come you didn't sign your name?" Diluc can't answer that. He doesn't remember what was going through his head. "My answer, though, Master Diluc, is yes. You can properly court me."

His heart pounds in his chest as he meets your eyes. Of course, the answer was so simple - Archons, why couldn't he have done this in the first place? A few whole months wasted, when he could have spent it with you in his arms.

"Are you sure? I'm-"

"I'm sure." You interrupt. It's not often someone of nobility seeks to date someone who is not a noble, but he can't help it. Diluc just hopes that they won't eat you alive, though he has a feeling you can handle your own when it comes to the more judgmental types. He may have to protect them from you.

"In that case," Diluc says, hoping he won't scare you away. "May I kiss you?"

"Always."

He delights in your answer, moving to step outside of the counter so the damn thing isn't in his way so he can fully and properly enjoy you. He cups your face between his hands, bending down some and pressing your lips together. Soft, sweet - Diluc is a selfish man sometimes and he longs for more when you break away.

You whisper something as he pulls you back in for another kiss. Your hands wrap around his shoulders and entangle in his hair. A small part of him longs to lift you up and take you on the counter, but he needs to take this slow. He is a gentleman after all, properly court before bringing you to bed with him.

Yet, you refuse to let the kiss end this time around, chasing after him.

"I want you," you whisper. "Diluc."

"No dinner first?"

"Ugh, you can make me breakfast instead." That was all he needed for him to quickly close down the tavern. Diluc is a gentleman after all, and it'd be rude to keep you waiting.

[brewed-pangolin]

Fine I'll send another. Captain MacTavish ON THE BEACH. 🥵

I love the beach. I live on it during the summer. It's my second home, I swear. And the way the sea salt air and warm waters can cure the soul is something I just can't ignore with this man. I love this ask so much!!!

18+ MDNI Sexual Themes

You sat alone, comfortably in your beach chair with a cold beer in hand under a magenta colored sky as the sun set beyond the horizon of a turquoise painted surf.

The rhythmic sound of the waves synchronizing with the beat of your heart as the scent of sea salt and sunscreen etched itself into your skin.

The air was still warm, yet it carried a cool breeze off the waters edge as the slow curtain of dusk crept over the white sanded landscape.

It was perfect. A picturesque conclusion to a hot summer's day.

And off in the distance, with a Yeti tumblr of whisky in one hand and a cigar permanently clutched in his mouth, Captain MacTavish cast out his last line into the crashing surf and placed the warn grip seamlessly into its plastic holder dug into the sand.

The beach had done wonders for him since his retirement only a few years ago.

Soothed his war torn psyche with the constant ebb and flow of the tide. Molded his scars beneath a layer of sun kissed skin that further accentuated the seascape blue of his eyes and made every woman swoon with just a mere glance and a smile.

Yet it was here, under the blanket of encroaching night that you saw the man he had truly become.

A man at peace with himself. Letting the setting sun and roll of the tide absolve him of his past and breathe fresh life into his lungs at dawn's first light.

You couldn't pull your eyes off him anymore, and you were no longer ashamed about how your stare lingered on him.

The loss of sunlight elongating the shadows within the curves of his musculature. Accented by the seafoam swim trunks that hung perfectly on his hips. Creating a more defined sculpture of his frame as he effortlessly strutted along the sand to take his place beside you.

"How long you gonna fish for tonight, John?" You asked quietly, rim of the beer can caressing your bottom lip.

"As long as you'll let me, m'lass."

You smiled, watching him raise his tumbler in cheers to take a healthy swig while gently tapping the ash of his cigar into an empty can.

"Guess we'll be here all night, then."

"Aye. Looks that way."

As he relaxed back in his Tommy Bahama chair, your hand reached out to instinctually cusp the back of his head. Thumb and index finger pressing into the back off his skull, pulling a slight groan from his chest as your touch soothed his sun drenched soul.

"Careful, lass. Y'know what that skillful touch a'yers does to me."

"Mhmm. It's a good thing we brought the boat."

Soap rolled his eyes, glancing between your smirking expression and the vessel anchored just beyond the last sandbar.

"Which one ya love more, hm? The boat, or me?"

You raised a brow at his testing inquiry, firmly pressing into the back curve of his jaw with your fingertips as a hushed murmur fell from your lips.

"Don't ask questions you know the answer to, John. Won't get you anywhere."

Soap growled in response. Placing his hand on your thigh and giving your flesh a firm yet playful grip.

"May have ta shorten th'fishing trip then. Looks like I gotta assert my claim over you again."

"Claim over me, John?"

"Aye. Ain't no way I'm losing you to a gas guzzling bàta."

-

You both lasted no more than another twenty minutes before loading everything into the skiff and jetting back to his prized vessel. Where Soap MacTavish made good to his word and staked his claim over you once again.

Spreading you over every flat surface beneath the bow and docking his thickened cock repeatedly into the deep cove of your cunt.

Master of the Swell Masterlist

This is but a taste of the new WIP I have in store for you, Soap Squad. Johnny's got the 4Runner, the Captain's got a yacht. And goddman, do I have plans to rock that boat.

Tagging those who showed interest. Let me know if you liked to be tagged for further posts. Much love 💛

@deadbranch @ohgeesoap @astraluminaaa @a-small-writer-in-a-big-world @d3athtr4psworld @ghosts-goldendoodle @homicidal-slvt @shotmrmiller @glitterypirateduck @macravishedbymactavish @sofasoap @tacticalanxiety @random-thot-generator @writeforfandoms

[euphoricimagination]

𝑻𝒉𝒆𝒎 𝒑𝒓𝒐𝒕𝒆𝒄𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒚𝒐𝒖

Feat. Kuroo & Kenma

Summary: Kuroo's mom dislike you; Kenma's assistant tries to ruin things :)

Kuroo

You were getting ready in the bathroom while Kuroo was waiting for you in the bedroom while getting ready himself.

He had been wanting to introduce you to his family for quite some time now, and he finally set a date so you two can have dinner with them. Well, technically you had already met half of his family; since he had started dating you in his first year of university you had already met his dad and grandma and have gone to his house multiple time, you even knew Kenma and got along with him perfectly fine.

But you hadn’t met his mother yet.

Since he didn’t grew up seeing her a lot, he wasn’t particularly close to her, but she still was part of his life; so he did want you to meet her. Although he was kind of scared of her reaction.

You were in the passenger seat of the car, headed to his parents home, an uncharacteristically silence between you two. You were clearly nervous, he could tell, so as soon as he park at the front of his dad’s house he grab your hand and squeeze it.

“You’re nervous” he says

“I am” you answer, if there was something he loved about you was how straightforward you were “what if she doesn’t like me?”

“She will baby, I promise. You're amazing and talented and beautiful, you literally are so nice; there’s no way she won't love you!” he caress your cheek sweetly, every single one of his words meaning everything. You smile at him a little more relaxed, kissing his cheek before opening your door to get out “Oi, I should be opening your door!”

“Too late” you grin walking to his side, him receiving you with a slight pout as he takes your hand walking towards the door

“Ah, Tetsurou! Yn! It’s so nice to see you here!” his father says as he open the door, pulling both of you into a hug “How was the ride?”

“Everything was good” Kuroo answers, making you agree with him instantly

he“I’m glad, come on in, the food should be ready soon” he says moving to the side to let you enter. You said hello to his grandma first before heading to the living room; there you found his mother, a young looking woman with short hair who immediately comes to Kuroo, grabbing his face to give him a kiss

“Ahh, Tetsurou, my love. It’s nice to see you again” she says with a smile, which quickly dropped when her eyes landed on you “who are you?”

You exchange a quick glance with Kuroo, who smiled warmly at you “Hi, I’m Yl Yn, Tetsurou’s girlfriend”

“Oh, so you are his girlfriend” she looks at you with an uncertain expression before giving a tight smile to Kuroo

“Anyways…let’s go to the table, shall we?” Kuroo’s dad add feeling the tension on the air. Throughout the whole dinner things were tense, no matter how much you tried to talked to her she either ignored you or answered you coldly.

“Excuse me, I’m going to the bathroom” you say, at some point after the dinner you couldn’t really handle it properly, so you went to the bathroom to try to get some air

“Tetsurou, you really have the worst taste in friends, first that antisocial boy Kenma and now her; you could do so much bet-”

“Shut up” Kuroo spits the words with venom “This afternoon was supposed to be amazing, she was so nervous to meet you only for you to be a pain in the ass!”

“Kuroo-”

“Not now dad. Yn is a wonderful person, she takes care of me and loves me like no other person can, so don’t you dare to treat her like that. And that applies to Kenma too. After all, both of them have been there for me more than you ever had” he blurts out annoyed. You arrived just by the end of his rant, him noticing you immediately and going to take your hand “We’re leaving, love. Sorry dad, sorry grandma, we’ll come back another day”

“It’s okay, darling, I understand” his grandma answers, giving a death glare to Kuroo’s mom “take care you two”

“What happened?” you asked once you were in the car, making him look at you softly

“Don’t think about it” he takes you faces in his hands, closing the gap with a kiss “I love you lots, okay?”

“Love you too” you answer a little confused, happy nonetheless that he cares about you so much

Kenma

You were heading towards Bouncing Ball to give Kenma his lunch; since he barely has to actually go to the company, he tends to forget about it.

You had known Kenma for a long time now. You two met back in high school, you were part of the Fukurodani volleyball team, and since you were friends with Bokuto and Akaashi, you had met Kenma and Kuroo in one of their many practices. Since you were a good mix of Bokuto’s and Akaashi’s personality -not too quiet but definitely not as extroverted- it was easy for both of them to get along with you, however Kenma felt particularly comfortable with you when you asked him about a game that you were playing after noticing how passionate he was about the topic.

After that day he willingly started to join the practices with the Fukurodani duo, much to the amusement of Kuroo, who had already notice how uncharacteristically excited he seemed when talking to you. And being the annoying friend that he is, with the help of Akaashi and Bokuto, he tried to helped you two get together. A successful attempt if he may add.

You were always supporting him, not only you nag him lovingly so he could stop playing and take care of his health, but you also were his first subscriber, his first viewer in twitch, the person that basically built the company from the ground with him.

He couldn’t be more grateful to have you.

So after 5 years of being together, he asked you to move in with him; he wanted to asked you sooner, but he wanted to make absolutely sure that you two shared the same feelings. And right now you were walking towards his company to give him the food that he had forgotten.

Once you arrived there you enter without any problems, almost everyone in the company knew who you were by now. That was until you arrived outside of Kenma’s office, where you found the new assistant outside

“Hi, what can I help you with?” She asked you with a small disdain in her voice, barely even noticeable

“Yeah, I came to see Kenma” you say

“I’m sorry, Mr. Kozume explicitly told me to not let anyone enter”

“I’m his girlfriend, he told me to come?” you said confused, while he does ask to not be bother, you were always the exception to that

“Sure you are, darling, sure. Please leave before I call security” she look at you with an annoying smile. It was clear that she didn’t believe you, and that she most likely liked your boyfriend

“I…what?”

“I told you already, if you actually were his girlfriend I would kn-”

“Why is there so much noise?” Kenma opens the door with a frown, which deepens when he sees you standing there “What’s happening?”

“Mr. Kozume! Nothing much, just this…girl claiming she’s your girlfriend. But that’s not possible…”

“She is my girlfriend, and I was talking to her” he looks at the assistant almost annoyed as you walk towards him. You could feel the piercing eyes of the assistant in the back of your head

“Mr. Kozume, I will be careful if I was you! It’s clear that she doesn’t love you! She’s just using you for your money!” she adds quite desperately, which makes you chuckle as you lock eyes with Kenma

“Yeah, sure, that’s why we started dating in our high school days, because I had soo much money back then” he drops sarcastically while rolling his eyes. You see the assistant face go all red as her eyes goes between both of you “Anyways, come here babe. Next time let her in no matter what, got it? She’s the exception to every rule”

You went to his side and started walking towards his office while he mutters how annoying people was, even at his own company; you turn around to see the girl looking at you with anger, which made you smile at her before kissing Kenma cheek “Thanks for defending me, hun”

“Of course, I’ll always protect you”

[midnightfantasiez]

Twisted Love | 다섯 (chp. 5)

SUMMARY: you were certain that you would never find love nor ever lose your virginity throughout university, that is until a man named Lee Sangyeon came into the picture and offered to become your tutor; in exchange for keeping your grades up, and most importantly, teaching you everything you needed to know about sex. it was all just for fun & games, that is until one of you started to develop feelings for the other.

PAIRING: tutor!Sangyeon x afab!reader

GENRE: smut (18+ MDNI!!)

WARNINGS: sangyeon is a jerk 🤕 (but not for long), hakkie is the sweetest ever best friend we all need in life, arguments (reader causes a public scene), lots and LOTS of crying, self-doubt, cursing, slight thriller-ish at one scene so buckle up, kissing, shower sex, sexual tension, dirty talk, petnames (baby, princess), pussy rubbing, breast play, fingering, cum tasting, hair pulling, squirting (like a couple of times actually 😃), multiple orgasms, unprotected sex (again, pls be safe irl folks), p in v sex, slight manipulation, rough sex, teasing, some teasing & fluff towards the end

WORD COUNT: 5,579

A/N: and she is finally here!! im so sorry for not updating it for so long (irl has just been a wild ride for me pls understand 😭) yes it is the final chapter of the series, but do read till the very end for a surprise!! 👀

send me an ask/comment to join the series taglist! those in my permanent taglist will automatically be added!

You have no idea how many days have passed since you last stepped outside your apartment. 

The only thing keeping you sane is gobbling up your whole box of ice cream, which you’ve kept in the freezer for months and completely forgotten about until now. You were practically living on your bed, and you refused to step away from your comfort place other than to use the bathroom. 

If it wasn’t for Haknyeon keeping you alive, you were certain that you were going to rot away and not eat anything nutritious for weeks. He has been coming over every single day without fail—from keeping you company, cuddling while watching some Netflix, and just helping you out the best that he could.

You needed that, especially after what went down with Sangyeon. 

Haknyeon was the first person you had contacted when it all happened, and sure enough, he came rushing to the auditorium to find you curled up at the corners, screaming your lungs out. As much as he was tempted to go after Sangyeon and rip the hair off that man, he resisted the urge and decided to care for you first. 

He was able to help calm you down by bringing you to your favourite boba shop right after that. Then, he took you for a little walk in your local park for a good half an hour before he brought you back to your apartment. 

He got you undressed and even prepared a hot shower bath filled with your favourite lavender bath bombs—you were pretty used to that since you had showered multiple times with him as a kid. 

Everything else was a blur after that, and the next thing you knew, you were practically in bed for a week now. 

Sure, you weren’t going to sulk forever, and you couldn’t live on like this. You needed to get back up on your feet, but you didn’t know exactly how. 

That was until Haknyeon brought something up that set off all of the alarms in your head.

“I don’t know if I should be telling you all this, but I think you deserve to know that Sangyeon is leaving for Tokyo in two hours.” 

Your heart instantly stopped the moment you heard those words. You kept repeating it several times to make sure that you had gotten every single word right and that you weren’t hallucinating. 

Without much thought, you quickly grabbed your coat that was hanging by the hooks of your door and blotted out of your apartment. Instantly, you flagged down a cab that happened to pass by your area and told the driver to head straight to the airport as fast as possible.

Why exactly did you do that? Clearly, you were still upset and heartbroken with everything that happened with Sangyeon. 

The rush of adrenaline was the only thing that could explain the situation you were in. Slowly, your chest tightened, and there was this urge just to let it all out towards your tutor—well, ex-tutor, and also the one whom you have had pretty much spent most of your time with for the past semester. 

You needed to clarify something before he left, and there were so many unanswered questions that you felt had to be addressed before it was too late. 

What was supposed to be a half-hour drive from your apartment to the airport felt like six excruciating hours instead. By the time you arrived, you rushed straight through the gates, not caring that the staff were calling out to you to stop.

You only had one goal: find Sangyeon before it’s too late. 

You didn’t even bother looking at the huge screen that depicts which gate was boarded for Tokyo. You just ran through each one, scanning the crowd in hopes of finding the man you have longed to see. 

Sure enough, he was finally at the very last gate towards the end of the hall, carrying a huge backpack with his earbuds in his ears, following the crowd to start queuing to board the plane. 

As you finally calmed down and tried your best to catch your breath, you didn’t even bother waiting till your breathing had finally stabilised for you to scream at the top of your lungs, not caring if you had gotten the attention of almost everyone in the hall.

“You scumbag!!!” 

It took Sangyeon a few seconds to look around and see what was going on until his eyes landed upon you, and you were clearly talking to him. Soon, the rest of the passengers followed to focus their attention on you both—some even taking out their phones to record the entire commotion. 

“What the actual fuck was whatever happened back at the auditorium all about? You really think you’re so full ahead of yourself? Have you not ever considered that there’s more than just you in this whole agreement thing we had?” 

Sangyeon instantly shut his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath. He knew that a conversation or even a confrontation about his actions back then would most certainly come to light one day. 

To be fair, it was his fault for leaving you on the edge and not explaining the whole situation properly before he made his final decision. Hell, he even left you confused and bawling your eyes out all alone back there, which was something he definitely felt guilty about.

But he didn’t know what to do or say. He felt that it was the best decision to make sure that he would no longer step further beyond the line you both have established: it’s all purely for business and not for pleasure. 

Unlucky for him, you did not reciprocate his feelings. 

With another deep breath, you continued your statement, filled with rage. “Did I not mean anything to you for the past several months? Did you treat me like I’m some sort of rag doll you can play with and toss away whenever you want to? I did my very best for you. I aced in all of my tests, and hell I even made sure that you were happy inside and out.”

With that last sentence, you finally felt your cheeks burning so hot to the point that you felt like you might faint any moment. But you had to press on, especially if you wanted to get things over and done with once and for all. 

“But have you ever checked up on me? Have you ever wondered if I felt the same way? Did you even bother caring and considering my well-being? Or my feelings regarding everything that happened?” 

There were so many moments where Sangyeon felt as if he could interject for a moment to give you his response, but you were not having any of that.

You didn’t need to hear anything from him. You just wanted to make sure that you were the one who was going to spit all the facts and shit into that wrecked mind of his. 

Just when you thought that things couldn’t get any better, tears began pouring out of your eyes, and your breathing became heavy and disrupted as you tried your best to choke back those tears. 

“Why did you even make me agree to all of these, Sangyeon? If you were just going to play with me like that,” you sobbed as you wiped your tears away with your sleeves.

At that moment, a couple of airport staff finally made their way towards you and kindly escorted you to somewhere you could sit down and relax for a bit before you were truly about to pass out from everything that had just happened.

Before you took a step forward to head towards the exit to the next terminal, you turned your head back to have one final glance at the male himself before muttering something under your breath.

“I wished we had never met, and I would never want to see your face ever again.”

A couple of days have passed since that fateful day, and it all felt like a fever dream to you.

The moment you returned to the comforts of your apartment, Haknyeon immediately rushed towards the front door to grab you in his arms before you finally passed out. When you awoke from your deep slumber, you had a little wet cloth on your forehead with a thermometer in your mouth, suggesting that your body was feeling a tad bit hotter than normal. 

Thanks to Haknyeon’s help, he was able to nurse you back to health, and the two of you decided to go about with your normal daily routine. It was finally winter break, so you kept yourself busy with all of the Christmas markets that were up and about throughout Seoul—going from booth to booth to try out all of the latest food trends that Haknyeon had desperately wanted to try since coming back to Korea.

Both of you had a lot planned for the upcoming semester: a more relaxed schedule since you were in senior year (which meant there were more individual study sessions for you both), getting a new part-time job to cover the uprising fees, and planning for the senior year’s graduation afterparty. 

You were grateful that Haknyeon’s schedule was more or less similar to yours and that it gave you both more than enough time to hang out after classes or even during the days when you both would go on with your part-time jobs.

Spending some time at the local pub after a long week would be the way to go for you two to destress and just party till dawn—just a little way to escape from all of the troubles from university. 

However, Haknyeon had just received a call from his family that he needed to get back as fast as he could to help out at the farm, so you decided to send him off at the airport.

You certainly felt a lot of mixed emotions here, and that was mainly why Haknyeon didn’t want you to come in the first place. 

But he should’ve known that you, as his best friend, was not going to say no. You insisted that you were going to see his plane take off, and then you would only return back home.

So he tried his best to make the most out of his time with you while waiting for his flight—finding the best matcha latte in all of the cafes to buying a tangerine plushie from one of the vending machines available throughout the airport (since he convinced you that you could hug it to sleep every night so that you wouldn’t miss him too much). 

Even till the boarding gates, your best friend wasn’t too sure about leaving you all alone back in Seoul, given the events that had happened for the past several weeks. As much as you kept telling him that you’ll be fine all on your own, he wasn’t convinced in the slightest bit.

In the end, the only reason you made him finally pack his bags to leave for the airport was that you promised to FaceTime him every day without fail and reply to his texts as much as possible.

I expect an answer within an hour! I should be your first priority amongst everyone else in your contacts!

Haknyeon kept repeating those words to make sure that you would always have your phone close so that he was certain that you were still alive and well. You gave him a smack on his back before pushing him forward to his line that was slowly boarding the plane.

Right after you both waved goodbye and witnessed the plane finally taking off for Jeju, you finally decided that all was well and it was time to head back. 

The first couple of days weren't too bad. Sure, it definitely felt way too empty and quiet without your loud best friend around, but calling him every day was reassuring, to say the least, that you were able to speak to someone. 

Unfortunately for both of you, Haknyeon soon discovered that he would be a lot busier than he expected, so the most that you both could do for the next few days was just texting one another during the night. There was no way you could blame him—he had to look after his family business, after all. 

However, that eerie silence was slowly creeping into you now, and the nightmares were slowly coming back to haunt you. 

Lee Sangyeon. 

As much as you tried your best not to think about every memory you’ve had with him, they just seem to come crawling back all the time for you. Even if you tried to keep yourself busy with something, that lingering feeling just doesn’t seem to go away in the slightest. 

Because frankly, you could still smell the scent of his cologne every night you slept in your bed. 

And you hated that. You hated so many memories you have gotten with your tutor throughout your entire living space. You could turn to the corners, and you would see you and Sangyeon cuddled up with a blanket.

Or you could turn to look at the couch, and you would picture yourself lying down while Sangyeon is hovering over you, showering you with kisses as a reward for essentially being his best student.

And of course, the bedroom. 

The place where the both of you would be so intimate with one another, the warmth of your bodies as he was pressed against you, and the way his tongue would twirl around yours. 

And that goddamn mango flavour that always lingers on his lips. 

You missed his presence so much. You missed how he would touch you, making you feel loved and safe. Most importantly, you missed all the aftercare he would give you after every session. 

Unbeknownst to you, tears were once again beginning to form at the corners of your eyes, and you quickly rubbed them and told yourself that you were no longer going to let him take control of your life.

You have finally let out everything you wanted to say straight to his face that day, and it was a chapter closed in your books. 

You figured that you probably needed some time away to figure things out and take a break from the bustling city. Instantly, you turned on your laptop and searched for the cheapest available hotels nearby, and you were able to snag the final cheapest room at one of the seaside apartments in Busan. 

It would be a much better place to relax before the new semester kicks off the next week, and you were ready to start anew this time. 

No more sex, and no more absurd contracts. 

With that, you added the bookings to your calendar before you prepared yourself a warm hot bath for the night. 

T-minus 2 days till a solo trip to Busan. 

It was the night before you were going to leave for Busan the next morning. You have sorted out the travel route that you were going to take to reach the city: walk to the nearby station at 5:30am, take the earliest train at 6am and arrive at Busan around 8:30am. 

It was that simple. And you were going to hunt for as much local food in town then. 

You figured that you’re just going to take a long, hot, steamy shower to give yourself that love and self-care for the night before your big trip the next day. So you went on with your normal routine: get in the shower, adjust it to the right temperature, and pump out some of your favourite cherry blossom scented shampoo- 

Thud. 

Suddenly, your entire body froze as you clearly heard the sound coming from the front door. Half of you began to panic, but the other half was anticipating whoever had just entered your apartment. 

If this were anyone else, they probably would’ve freaked out and thought that there was an intruder in the comforts of their home, which would be a fair enough point since it would be alarming to hear that someone had entered your apartment when you knew that you weren’t supposed to be expecting any visitors for the day. 

But your apartment complex had pretty strict security checkpoints, and nobody was allowed to enter on their own and would require you to register them at least a couple of hours before their arrival. The only ones who would be able to pass through with ease without your approval would be those you have registered in the database as “close visitors”. 

The only plausible explanation was that Haknyeon had somehow finished up all of his tasks in Jeju and was going to surprise you with his well-known pork bellies that he had harvested from his farm. Your best friend would always bring back goodies for you after all. 

Taking in a deep breath, the face of horror quickly vanished from your face. You plastered the biggest smile you could possibly get and peered your head out from the curtains in your shower.

“Haknyeon, what did I say about giving me surprises-”

God. 

This can’t be real. Well, it couldn’t be. 

Supposedly, he was gone for good, and you have vouched that you will never see him again. And if you ever did, you wouldn’t want anything to do with him anymore.

But you should’ve known that after spending the past several months together most of the time, he would’ve been registered in the database as he would often visit almost four to five days a week. 

Instead, the male stares back at you with slightly puffy eyes, suggesting he is in a horrible state as you were a week ago. Gently, he finally mumbled a few words and gave you these puppy eyes that you had always found absolutely hard to resist.

“Can I join you?” 

You just kept your mouth shut. You couldn’t say anything then, and who could’ve blamed you? You were still trying to process the entire situation that was happening right before your eyes while trying your best to not let your emotions get the best out of you. Instead, you duck your head behind the curtains, letting the waters drench your hair as you stare at your bathroom floor.

The male instantly took the silent response as a yes, and you could hear him unbuckling his belt and slowly undressing himself by tossing his clothing all over the floor before slowly pulling the curtains apart and joining you in the shower. 

There was this awkward silence and tension between you two before the male decided to gently place one of his hands on the right side of your shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze that made you heave a loud sigh. 

���Y/N…”

No response from you. How could you have said anything? After everything you have said to him at the airport and how you have curled up in bed crying your eyes out for the past several weeks. 

You could hear that the male himself was just as conflicted as you were, especially as you could feel his left hand trembling ever so slightly as he placed it on your left shoulder. 

“I know you probably don’t want to hear my voice, nor would you ever want to see me again. But please, let me do it one last time. At least, let me make things right one more time before it’s too late.” 

You scoffed. “Too late? Haven’t you already ruined everything from the start? In fact, you even have the audacity to show up here again after all that you’ve done?” 

“I know it just doesn’t sit right with me, and this horrible guilt is eating me out, and I can’t bear to think what would happen if I just leave it as it is,” he whispered, and he slowly lowered his head to the point you could feel his breath on your neck. 

This can’t be good, and you embraced yourself for what was to come.

And it turns out that your instinct was right. 

Slowly, he brushed his lips against your wet skin before leaving a trail of kisses from your shoulders and up to your neck. As much as you tried to glue your mouth shut, the heavy breathing definitely gave it away which made him increase the pressure he was exerting as he began sucking your skin. 

No. You promised that you wouldn’t be carried away any more. You were done with making outs and sex, even with other guys out there if you were ever stuck in one. 

At that moment, you hated the fact that deep down, you still craved his touch, and you absolutely missed this so badly. Internally, you want to moan out loud about not wanting him to stop or tell him that he could go on, but you weren’t ready to say it straight to his face. 

Again, he took the silence as a cue to move on, and he moved his hands down to cup your breasts and gave them a little massage. You tilt your head back slightly as you glued your eyes shut, fighting against all the odds going through your head. 

Maybe you shouldn’t have done that because the next thing you knew, he was slowly snaking one of his hands down to your clit, and he began rubbing them gently. With that, your consciousness finally decides to fail you, and you elicit a soft moan as you mumbled his name for the first time in weeks. 

“S-Sangyeon…” 

Just like that, he knew there was a possible gateway to make things right, and he could perhaps talk things out with you. Using what he knew best to take control of your mind and body, he used the hand that was still on your breast to pull your hair back slightly and crash his lips onto yours. 

That was it. It was the favourite flavour you loved so much every time you locked your lips together. 

You wanted more, and this time you were going to make sure that you were going to devour every last drop of it from his lips. Naturally, one of your hands started moving straight up into his hair, tugging it slightly as you pushed your tongue into his mouth, both having a little tug of war to see who would exert their dominance best. 

As he quickened up his pace by rubbing your clit, you moved your remaining free hand to the back to rest it on his cock, stroking it up and down which caused the male to moan into the feverish kiss you both were having. 

Neither of you was backing down, and you prefer to keep it that way. You were going to show him that you wouldn’t give in easily, and so did he. 

It didn’t take long for you both to start panting as you felt that you were about to reach your climax. So when you both finally came and squirted on each other’s hands respectively, Sangyeon responded with a final kiss before turning you around to pin you against the wall before bending down to lick all of the remaining liquids that were flowing down your thighs. 

Immediately, he takes one of your thighs to rest it on his shoulders so that he is able to gain more entry to your clit—sticking up his tongue into your g-spot as he moves in and out quickly. 

At this point, you can no longer control the moans you have held back for so long, and the entire bathroom is filled with so much more than just the sound of running water from your shower head.

Pulling his hair with both of your hands, only turned Sangyeon on more as he inserts two fingers into your pussy, making a knot form in your stomach, indicating that you’re about to cum anytime soon. 

“Y-You’re so…you don’t deserve any of this- AH!!!” 

God, you were squirting so much more than you did before. You always knew that he was the best at pleasuring you orally, but the moment he stood up and pushed your thighs against the wall, you knew that the worst was yet to come. 

The sad-filled eyes from before were replaced with lust, and you stared at him blankly while trying your best to catch your breath. But before you could think of a comeback in your dazed state, Sangyeon places his tip against your clit and starts rubbing it to give you some time to mentally prepare yourself before he pushes it all the way in. 

“Y/N…I miss you so bad,” he panted before pushing it all the way up that instantly made you shed a tear from that motion, giving you a little time to adjust as he gently gave you a little peck on the lips to assure you that everything was going to be okay. 

When your breathing has finally calmed down, he begins his pace slowly, pushing it in and out while you slowly take in his length. 

As all of this was going on, the tears that you had desperately tried your best to hold back began streaming down your face—definitely making it look a lot more dramatic with the warm, hot shower dripping down your face at the same time.

“Y-You don’t love me, Sangyeon…you really don’t…this is all a lie…” You panted in between thrusts as you muttered those words. 

And god, did they sting. 

“How can you be so sure?” He asked while fucking you deep.

“Y-You just- want my body- nothing more-” 

“I wouldn’t have dropped and ditched everything I had in Tokyo if that was the case,” he firmly said it out loud and clear, causing you to finally open your eyes wide to look at the male as he paused, thrusting in and out of you. 

Slowly, he caresses your cheeks, wipes away the tears that were streaming down uncontrollably, and looks at you rather lovingly, if that was the best way to describe the look he has on his face right now. 

It doesn’t seem like he was joking around, and it reminded you so much of when the both of you would end up cuddling on your bed and couch, taking the time to kiss one another slowly, as if neither of you were willing to let go. 

“Y/N, I was a coward. I loved you from the start when we first agreed to this whole contract we had. I was a jerk for not admitting my feelings, or rather—choosing to ignore them instead. My past relationship traumatised me, and I wasn’t sure if you felt the same about me, and I was scared to receive another rejection in life.”

Now that was something you had not expected to hear from your ex-tutor. Him falling for you first before you did? It was crazy to think that all this while you were the one who was in this whole one-sided love affair throughout the whole agreement you both had. 

There was no way. More specifically, you couldn’t accept it. You had to make sure.

“Y-You like me? But I’m just an ordinary university student who knows nothing about sex  and all-”

He shuts you up with another kiss. “The best companion and lover, you mean.”

“B-But why? I’m sure your past girlfriend was a lot more prettier and better and of course more knowledgeable than I ever will be-” 

“Y/N. You are the reason why I think that Seoul isn’t as bad as it was. You’re the reason that has made me the happiest man out there for the past several months. You’re the reason that made me decide that it was worth finding love again. Most importantly, you made me realise how much I actually love you and want you all to myself.” 

You sniffled. “And you think by having sex with me is going to prove all of that?”

He chuckles for a bit before pinching your now red puffy cheeks. “From now on, all of our sexual acts together will not be in vain, and it’ll be something intimate and ones that we will cherish as genuine lovers.” 

That was more than enough to give you the reassurance that you needed. All of these were the words that you desperately wanted to hear, and now that you have gotten them, you are the happiest human being that you could possibly be out there. 

“Well then, mister-know-it-all, give me everything you’ve got,” you mocked, trying to go back to the bickering phase you both once shared back then.

That instantly put a smile back on Sangyeon’s face, but that slowly faded into a smirk instead, turning him on as you challenged the male. “Oh I will, baby. Just like how you used to scream for my name until the entire apartment is filled with your cries and moans.”

Right as he finished his last sentence, Sangyeon pushed his cock back into you and decided that you had more than enough time to take in all of his length and size. The more you tilt your head back and how loud your moans have been increasing, the more he wants to push it in deeper till your legs become all numb.

“God- Sangyeon- Please-” 

“Tell me, baby. Tell me what you want-” he panted. 

“Cum inside…please make me cum…” you pleaded. 

“Beg for me then. Tell me how much you want me.”

Lord, you forgot how cocky he could get when he’s high in all of this. 

“I want you so bad! Please, please make me cum!” You screamed at the top of your lungs. 

That was more than enough to please him for now, and he finally picked up his pace even faster than before, trying his best to reach his climax. It didn’t take that long for you both to come together, slowly catching your breaths as you both came down from your high. 

With that, he lifts up your chin and makes you look straight into his eyes, signalling to you that he has won the game. On the other hand, you were not going to give in so easily. 

If he thinks he is back in my good graces, then he’s completely wrong. 

Making him catch off guard; you were the one who pushed him back against the wall—this time creeping up onto him with this horrible smirk on your face.

“You want it good, Mr. Lee Sangyeon? I’ll show you who’s a much more dominant figure in this relationship. Clearly, you made the wrong choice to come back to me.”

It had been a good ten minutes since the whole chaos unfolded back in your bathroom, and now you were all cosy and snuggled up in bed, Sangyeon cuddling you as if you were like his favourite plushie from his childhood.

He couldn’t stop planting kisses on your forehead and sniffing the cherry blossom shampoo you had just used to wash your hair, hugging you tighter each minute passed.

“Sangyeon, I won’t run away; you know that, right? So stop suffocating me before I elbow you in the stomach.”

“Now, that isn’t the nicest thing to say to the guy who gave you a nice, soothing bath.”

“Correction, you ruined my lone shower routine.” 

“But you wanted me so badly you didn’t even reject my touch, didn’t you?” He smirked.

“Oh my god, since when did you become so annoying?” You ruffled his hair as payback, but it turned out it was the wrong move because the next thing that happened, he pushed you down onto your bed, turned you around, and made you look straight up at him as he hovered over you while pinning your arms right above your head. 

“Say that again, princess. I didn’t seem to hear you the last time you said those few last words,” he growled as if he was challenging and pushing you to your limits.

But you have made up your mind and said your true thoughts back in the bathroom, so you pushed him when he wasn’t looking for a split second to turn the tables around, to the point that you were sitting on top of him. 

“Remember what I said back there? Mr. Lee Sangyeon? You clearly made the wrong move when you decided to book that flight from Tokyo back to Seoul,” you said firmly as you began lifting his shirt to reveal his well-toned abs as you slowly glided your hands up and down.

He chuckled, enjoying this little act you have going on. “So am I back in your good graces, sweetheart?” 

You narrowed your eyes at him before a smirk was plastered across your face, completely removing his shirt as you threw it straight to the floor and leaned down to whisper into his ear.

“If you’re able to moan and scream my name out loud this time, then I’ll consider reigniting our contract once again.”

You should’ve known for not testing his limits on how much he would always seem to have a comeback for every single remark you tried to make because what he said next was enough to keep your mouth shut as he began taking a strand of your hair and twirled it around his fingers. 

“Fuck the stupid contract, I’m all yours now, baby.”

A/N: and that's a wrap!! im so happy with this sangyeon series & thank you all again for 100+ followers (reaching 200 soon yay!!) big shoutout to my besties @daisyvisions @aimeecarreros @snowflakewhispers for giving me ideas, supporting me, and all the encouragement & very necessary dirty talk to motivate me to keep on going 🤠 (esp elena for beta reading from the start till the end!!) 🩷

before we get the tissues out for being sad, nuh-uh the series is not the end yet. bcs i love it way too much (and sangyeon obv) im def planning to write a couple of bonus chapters in the future!! so theres def some short stories coming soon (i don't have a clear schedule update bcs of my irl work, but i guarantee you that i will try my best to upload it whenever i can!!)

again, thank you thank you for joining me for this series!! 😘🫶

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[yrbladie]

♡ ﾟ˖ ॱ ▎HOW DO THEY MEET AND FALL IN LOVE WITH YOU .ㅤPT 2ㅤ𝅄 🌿 ꒱

˖ ࣪ neuvillette, thoma

warnings ：slight angst at the end with neuvillette with implied body and death (yours), hurt no comfort at the end with thoma, childhood friends to lovers with thoma, got carried away in thoma's piece srry, contains some hc about when he left mond too, gn!reader, reader has hair(?), reader really loves mondstadt lol, spoiler free (kinda), non fluent writer

ㅤYou were a delivery person, meaning you always had to be the one to receive weird requests from all over Teyvat. Varying from bringing a single tomato all the way over to Snezhnaya, to this new request.

ㅤA container with water from the highest peak of Dragonspine. You didn't even know there was water in the highest places there.

ㅤBut work was work, and no matter how weird the request was, it was your job to attend to it being the adventurer you were.

ㅤAnd as you finally carried back the water container to Fontaine again, your eyelashes almost gluing themselves onto your cheeks and your trembling jaw, you swore you would have so many things to say to whoever was the idiot that asked for it.

ㅤBut as you entered the huge office after having to convince the Melusine outside that the policies of your company made you have to see the person who commissioned you directly receive the item so that she would finally let you inside, you regretted even having these thoughts in your head.

ㅤOf course you had imagined that it would be someone rich for being able to afford such a distant trip and an adventurer just for water. But the Judge of Fontaine himself? You would’ve never expected that.

ㅤNow all your insides felt exactly like your skin, ice and frigid cold.

ㅤYou were trembling — not just from the cold— as you gave him the package he had asked for. And no words came out of your mouth to complain about anything.

ㅤYou were ready to promptly leave before you heard a baritone tone of voice call for you.

ㅤ“I thank you for your trouble. And… excuse me if this may sound rude on my part, but I noticed you seem cold, allow me to fetch you a warm drink as an apology for inconveniencing you.”

ㅤYou turned around completely dumbfounded as you stared at Monsieur Neuvillette's stoic face. He seemed pretty serious and looking closely into his eyes, he also almost seemed guilty. He had seen your trembling hands and assumed it was his fault. And it was, just not for the exact reasons he was thinking.

ㅤAt that you finally smiled. Maybe, just maybe you could forgive this man for making you almost freeze to death.

ㅤYou both ended up becoming friends quickly thanks to that encounter, you were always amused with Neuvillette's curiosity towards your adventures around the world and of course, with his weirdly endearing hobby of tasting water.

ㅤYou could even swear that after tasting for a few weeks with him, Mondstadt's water seemed to get a tad bit sweeter than the others.

ㅤAs for Neuvillette, he found your strength so impressive and worth admiring that he couldn't help but want to get closer, despite his position. He had a front to maintain but seeing you acting always so carefree and true to yourself had him wanting to become more like you.

ㅤOf course, he couldn't exactly just throw everything to the air and go live with you in an isolated cottage in the middle of nowhere—although he wished he could.

ㅤBut instead, he could love you, he figured one day. When he looked at your smile and how you paid attention to every small little detail about those around you, and how you always asked what he liked first, how you were always just right there somewhere when he felt like needing you the most, or how you cradled his heart with care on rainy days every time you whispered to the skies, "Hydro dragon, hydro dragon, don't cry".

ㅤHe loved you. And that was the best thing he could've ever done in his long life.

ㅤAnd one day, Neuvillette promised you, as he carefully held your hand, "I promise, my love, I won't ever hurt you.", and you could feel how your heart melted around his warm embrace.

ㅤHe loved your mortal soul and human heart, he loved the hands that gently clasped his and that held his cheeks with care, and he adored the places that you walked upon and the people you cared about.

ㅤOne day, he'll envy even the earth that'll wrap your body and the wind that'll carry your last breath.

ㅤEven then, don't you worry about his love for you, for his love is for your soul, not the body or the heart that exists only at the present time. The soul is enduring, and his soul calls for yours. And he knows, one day you'll be back in his arms or he will go meet you himself, wherever may you be.

ㅤFor all eternity, just as you both promised to each other. In this life, and all others. He'll find you and love you all over again.

ㅤYou both used to be the closest of best friends, in Mondstadt there was no one who didn't know the two kids who were always running around together. You, being the one that always caused trouble, and Thoma, being the one that always took you out of said trouble.

ㅤMany would ask, how did such a pair meet?

ㅤAnd the answer was a silly secret only the both of you were to know.

ㅤYou had received a cute small plush puppy as a birthday gift, given to you by your parents. You were so happy with it that you decided to take your new friend for a stroll around the city.

ㅤYou had cherished the plushie so much that you clutched it tightly in your small hands. Then the vibrant threads of your favorite toy met an unexpected fate when a pair of overenthusiastic dogs that were running around the street collided with you in a whirlwind of fur and excitement.

ㅤAll that was left after the dogs went their ways was the audible sound of a kid crying while their plushie laid torn and forlorn on the ground.

ㅤYou didn't even remember how much you had cried, under a tree while holding to your chest the shreds of what was left of the plushie. All the filling leaking out of its body and all the small you could do was try to hold on to its pieces.

ㅤ"Hey... hey, excuse me. Is this yours?" And when you looked up to see, you found yourself staring right into the empty eyes of a ripped plushie dog's head that was without its body.

ㅤYou ended up crying even harder at the sight, as the boy, who seemed to be just a few years older than you, helplessly waved his hands in front of you, quickly deciding to hide the poor looking piece of your plushie.

ㅤInstead of immediately leaving at the sight of you crying, he sat by your side, while silently helping you to pick the scattered pieces around that kept falling down from your arms. He didn't say anything but you had never felt more comforted before.

ㅤHe waited and waited, right there, never leaving your side, until the loud sobs turned to sniffles.

ㅤ"Sorry to have scared you! I'm Thoma, by the way." And smiled. His smile, it was like a ray of sunshine in the middle of your storm.

ㅤYou couldn't help but smile along with him.

ㅤAs he gathered the pieces of your toy in his arms, he kept a gentle smile on his lips while saying, "It's going to be fine! Mama taught me how to take good care of stuffed animals." and you felt like you could believe his words.

ㅤHe was your knight in shining armor, although armed with not a sword and a shield, but with a needle and thread. And so he began a journey of intricate repair.

ㅤSoon, it was as good as new before you even noticed. The only thing being the red colored thread that now mended the little dog plushie.

ㅤ"Are you afraid of dogs now?" You remembered he asked, your answer being only a meek nod, "Hm, it's okay! But I'm sure they didn't mean to destroy your plushie, they must have also liked it so much that they couldn't help but go after it."

ㅤYou understood what he had meant, but it was still hard not to tremble and clutch your stuffed animal closer to your chest at the sight of a dog wandering the streets close to where you were.

ㅤ"So... why don't you come with me and we can make some toys for them? This way, they'll never even need to go after yours! Here, I'll hold your hand if you're scared." And you happily followed him at that, your fear completely forgotten.

ㅤThe days that followed were filled with adventures and shared secrets, your friendship blossoming like the wildflowers in the meadow where you both often played.

ㅤMondstadt now seemed to be filled with much more laughter in the breeze, the melody of kids' bright happiness surrounding the city freely.

ㅤAs the years unfolded, so did your affection for each other. Unspoken glances lingered a little longer, and the laughter between you held a melody only the heart could comprehend. The stitches that once mended a torn plushie now seemed to mend the very fabric of your emotions, drawing the both of you closer with each passing day.

ㅤEven after a long time, the plushie that had been stitched up was still holding on, placed upon the desk by your bed. A forever reminder of the day you met Thoma, the boy with a shining smile and sun colored hair.

ㅤAnd only time, with its subtle hands, could reveal whether this story would unfold into a timeless tale of love or remain as a fond memory.

ㅤThe answer to that question arrived quicker than the both of you had expected. With the parting of Thoma's father back to his homeland, Inazuma. Such a faraway land that you had barely known it existed.

ㅤYou thought nothing of it, of the way your friend's eyes would sometimes wander off to the ocean, seeking a kind of solace not even you could give him.

ㅤUntil one day, the boy you had known the longest came looking for you, a guilty look on his face and you knew then that all was over.

ㅤ"Sorry, but tomorrow I'm going to Inazuma to look for my father."

ㅤHis excuse was Dandelion wine, saying that his father would miss it too much. And you wondered if that was truly all.

ㅤThoma's hands had always been warm, but now they were cold as he held yours tightly as you paid your goodbyes to each other. You saw how they trembled as he turned around to join the boat that would take him to far away. Far away from his home, and from you.

ㅤThe town that witnessed your love story seemed to stay frozen in time, a silent witness to the fleeting nature of youthful promises. The cedar trees, though rooted firmly in the earth, could only watch as the love that once flourished beneath their branches transformed into a bittersweet goodbye. With words left unsaid.

ㅤSo many things happened that you would never know, and Thoma was left completely lost in an unknown nation and without his father. Before he got to know the Kamisato family and make colleagues over the land.

ㅤThoma also used to write letters addressed to you, even though he knew none of them would ever reach your hands as the decree started, and some, he never even had the courage to send.

ㅤIn them, he would let his quiet longing show, wondering if you were happy and healthy, if you weren't moping around too much after him leaving. He missed just being by your side while you told him about your day.

ㅤIn some, he expressed his regret. He regretted leaving behind those days of laughter between the breeze, leaving behind the chance of breathing in the smell of flowers in your hair. In those, he apologized more than once, he felt like he should somehow. Maybe he was the only one to blame, in the end.

ㅤIn the letters, he wondered if you had found someone you liked already. If you had found your place after all. If you had made friends. If you were eating well or if you still had your bad habits of taking off anything green from your food to give it to him.

ㅤAfter all, he wasn't there anymore to eat those, so you should eat them in his stead.

ㅤThoma wondered if you were disappointed with him, maybe even angry. He wondered if you knew how he forced himself to stare at your saddened face the last time you both saw each other. To look at your eyes that were getting redder by the second and wishing with his everything that you wouldn't cry, because he knew that if you did, his resolve to leave would wither in an instant.

ㅤStill, he kept his eyes on you, until he couldn't see the shore of Mondstadt anymore. Until all he could see was the endless ocean that seemed to mock the stream of tears that ran across his cheeks. Maybe deep down, he knew that was the last time he would see you. Somehow he knew, and he blamed the gut-feeling you always praised him for, the one that always took the both of you off any trouble.

ㅤAnd the one that above all times, the one time he should've listened to it, he ignored.

ㅤAnd above all the things Thoma wondered about, the one he wondered the most is if he would ever see you again.

ㅤBecause perhaps he still loved you.

ㅤFor you, you never wished for him to leave but you also knew that your presence would never be enough to make him stay. To forsake his worry for his father.

ㅤThere, at the Mondstadt port where you saw Thoma last, you wished you could have held his hand and never had let go. But instead, all you did was gently smile, tell him to write often, and wish him the best.

ㅤAfter months of waiting that eventually turned to an entire year, one day it dawned on you. Thoma would probably never come back.

ㅤAnd you wished, more than anything, that you could say that your life was empty and bleak without his sunlight smile there, but it wasn't. Life had kept going without him. You had made new friends and even found a job with your parents in the nation you loved the most.

ㅤYour life was still happy, and maybe that was what hurt the most. Knowing that it was probably the same with him. And you would be left wondering if he felt as much guilt as you did at that.

ㅤYou did still miss his green eyes that would look at you like you were his entire world. But above all, you wanted Thoma to be happy, wherever he was, whoever he was with.

ㅤYour story with each other was destined to tragedy. And one that would forever remain a cherished chapter in your favorite book.

ㅤThe only thing you regretted the most, was not being able to tell him how much you had loved him too.

ㅤAnd maybe someday you both would meet again, in some corner of the world. But for now, all you both had were dreams and what-ifs. For all the eternity and the freedom the gods had wished upon their nations.

💙 I'm finally done help. Loved to write Thoma's part and that was the first time ever writing something for him, my baby. I pity him for being the only one with an angsty ending in this small series lmao.

ㅤ ⏤ ty for reading 💗

[danikamariewrites]

heyyy, could I please request a Rhys X reader where the reader is feeling quite isolated, all her friends seem to have moved on in life without her and she's just realised how alone she feels. in her head the inner circle still feel like Rhys's friends, and she doesn't have a circle of her own and is just feeling down? and Rhys comforts her? don't mind me I'm goin' thru it lol sorry, thank you and much love to you

Isolated

Rhys x reader

A/n: I feel you anon. I go through this sometimes bc all my friends live far from me and I don’t have any in my hometown so it’s very isolating.

Warnings: hurt/comfort, slight depression

The weather seemed to match your mood today. Glum and rainy. You were sat on a couch in the town house with your knees pulled to your chest as you watched the rain roll down the window.

One of your best friends had moved over two months ago with her husband to the Winter Court to be closer to his family when their baby is born. You were happy for her, but she was the last of your friend group left in Velaris.

You were feeling lonely without them. It felt like they were all taking the next step in life with their careers or starting their family. Not that you didn’t love your life with Rhys. You’re the center of his universe and you can’t even describe how much you love him.

You just felt like you had nothing left to offer your court. But you didn’t want to move, your whole life is here. And you were working here and there with Rhys with court problems. There wasn’t much you could do until you were married and an official Lady.

And you definitely didn’t want a child. You weren’t there yet with Rhys or in the right headspace to be a mother. It would be unfair for everyone involved.

So you just sat around and read all day. Or walked around the city. Just shopping and seeing what was new. The cycle was getting old. If you went shopping in the Rainbow one more time you were going to throw yourself off the House of Wind.

Mor had tried to invite you out with her and offered to just hang out at home, but you declined almost every time. It felt like she was just offering out of pity. You didn’t want a pity hangout.

You love Mor, sometimes it feels like she, Amren, Cassian, and Azriel weren’t really your friends. You liked them and all but they came as a package deal with Rhys. Lately you felt like you weren’t part of that.

You broke yourself from your reeling thoughts as thunder sounded in the distance, lightning following moments after. You unwrap yourself to take a sip of tea sitting on the side table. Sipping on the liquid you grimace at the cold taste.

Letting out a sigh you set the mug back down. Unmotivated to get a new serving. You wrap your arms tighter around your knees going back to watching the storm.

Rhys padded down the stairs stopping when he noticed you curled into the corner of the couch. He gently approached you, laying a hand on your head, smoothing down your hair. “Hi darling.” His voice soft, “Are you alright?” Rhys knew you weren’t. He didn’t want to push or invade your mind without your permission. Rhys was getting close to doing that though. You were worrying him and you wouldn’t tell him what was weighing you down.

You sat there leaning into his touch for a while. You felt tears prick your eyes as you tried holding them back. You kept swelling back the lump growing in your throat as you tried to get a simple ‘I’m ok’ out.

The tears slip out of the corners of your eyes as you keep watching the storm rage. Rhys smells the salt of your tears. He panics and sits next to you, moving his hand from your head to cradle your cheek.

“Hey,” he coos, “y/n, what’s wrong darling? Please tell me. I’ve been so worried about you.” Your eyes slide over his worried face. Letting out a shaky breath you blink the tears out of your eyes. “I’m just sad Rhys. I know I have you, but I feel so alone.”

Rhys’s face dropped into a deep frown. He knew you missed your friends. Though he was unaware how much it affected you until now. “I want life to keep going, and I want to keep doing things. I’m just not in a good place.”

Rhys wiped your tears away and held his arms open for you. Leaning forward you embrace the love of your life, letting your tears fall. “I’m so sorry. I’m here to support you through whatever you want to do y/n. I want what will make you happy.” “Thank you, Rhys.” You sniffled out.

The two of you sat like that for the rest of the day. Rhys helped you come up with new things you could. Encouraging you to step out of your comfort zone and even take Mor up on a night out. He even made you laugh.

You felt like a weight had been lifted of your shoulders after talking to Rhys. You had hope that things would change soon.