#kitchen hell 2022

[thunderheadfred]

so glad i spent a year renovating my entire kitchen so that my sons can have a clean bright place to do Even More Mischief

[astonmartinii]

other side of the moon - chapter one | formula one imagine

pairing: fem retired formula one driver reader x ??? fem retired formula one driver reader x platonic!kimi antonelli

chapter one: an offer you can refuse

years of solitude has led y/n y/ln down a dark path following her career-ending injury in 2022 but one rookie seems dead set on bringing her back into the fray

MASTERLIST | TIP JAR

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“have you seen this?”

it’s too early in the day to be subjected to twitter in y/n’s opinion, but her manager - the one she’s always insisted in not needing - insists upon it. sara’s hand shakes as she hands over her phone, the video already playing loudly.

the video is a poorly clipped together compilation of kimi antonelli, for no better word, gushing about her. it’s earnest and even cute, but not cute enough. the formula one paddock was a vulture pit, one y/n had only escaped three years earlier with her life - barely.

“it’s cool. that’s all it is though,” y/n moves towards the door, picking up her coat and refusing to turn back towards sara, “i’ve told you since jenson insisted i hire you, there’s no way in hell i will ever go back to that paddock. and that’s the end of it, please. i’ll do any stupid vitamin ad or female empowerment talk if it makes you happy, but i can’t go back there.”

y/n grabbed her keys and left the apartment, leaving sara in her wake. sara reached into her pocket and pulled out a tattered letter with ‘y/n’ scrawled on the front in awful handwriting. she left it on the kitchen island and left, understanding this was likely to be her last time in this apartment - there's stupid and there's what she was doing right now, there was no way she would still be employed in the morning.

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girlsonthegrid

liked by maxverstappen1, oscarpiastri and 103,478 others

tagged: yourusername

girlsonthegrid: today we look back at the biggest what if for women in formula one - y/n y/ln. the 26-year-old drove for mclaren from 2020 to 2022 before she sustained a career-ending injury at silverstone. y/ln was the first ever female f1 race winner with her emphatic victory at monza in 2021 and the first ever female formula 2 champion with her win in 2019. her career lasted just 30 races and she hasn't been seen in the paddock or around any drivers since the crash. there have been reports that she has been approached about a mentor role but considering how fast her management rejected and shut down sky sports about a commentary role, this is also unlikely. what would you like to see from her if she ever comes out of hiding?

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user1: i mourn for her everyday

user2: the way she paved the way for so many but can't stand to be in the paddock to see what she did for the sport

user3: i really don't blame her

user4: doriane is the mercedes reserve and abbi is alpine's! her work is there even if she isn't and i know i'll always be grateful for that

user5: she's so overrated, if she didn't crash she still would've been out of formula 1 by now

user6: me when i'm the most wrong ever

user7: i can't believe there are still men to this day that think she wasn't great? literal world champions like max, lewis, fernando, seb and jenson have all said that she could've won a championship

user8: i mean no shade to lando but i think y/n would've made it 100x harder for max this season in that mclaren

user9: the way jenson tried to say that in the nicest way possible in las vegas lol

user10: and max agreed with him LOL

user11: the way it wasn't even proper lando shade or oscar shade like twitter painted it to be but like max just praising his bestie

user12: he does not play about her as he should

user13: i mean he's the only one we know y/n still actually talks to

user14: i can't wait for the tell-all biography that exposes half the grid because like how much have you must have fucked up for her to never speak to you again

user15: when twitter likes were public she was caught liking a bunch of tweets bout mick when he got his first points so like she doesn't even have hard feelings to the guy who put her in the barrier sooo

user16: it was proven it was break failure???? mick did nothing wrong that's why she still likes things praising him

user17: that crash really robbed us of the best ever f1 relationship with y/n and lando

user18: you know that's part of the reason that she doesn't speak to lando right?

user19: because she wished it was him not her?

user20: NO! because she hated that whole 'ship'

user21: and lando leaned into it way too much

user22: it made me a bit uncomfortable and i'm not even y/n

user23: AND she said on the beyond the grid podcast that she thought those rumours were really reductive and relegated her to just a love interest of her teammate rather than a race winner

user24: kimi antonelli please bring her back to us

user25: praying she'll listen to the literal child

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texts between y/n y/ln (bold) and max verstappen (italics)

did u give them my fucking address

my lawyer says to always deny everything?

i also actually have no idea what you are talking about…

i just got home and there’s a fucking letter from KIMI ANTONELLI on my kitchen counter

it’s creepy and a mad invasion of privacy

i did NOT give them your address?

i gave them sara’s contact details so they wouldn’t be able to directly get to you and i honestly thought she would be too scared to ask you

she showed me all the clips of him praising me.

it didn’t work.

it’s been three years y/n…

and it still hasn’t been long enough.

all i’m saying is read the letter, as creepy as it might be, he is just an 18 year old entering the lion’s den you could at least reply to him even if you don’t take up the offer

although i read they were going to pay you £10 million a year??? was that real?

unfortunately it is very real.

i didn’t think i was still worth that much

you are worth that and more, just give him a chance. we’ve both met him, he’s a sweet kid.

for now.

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it was cold in her apartment, y/n hadn’t shut the window from when she opened them that morning. in fact she hadn’t moved from the kitchen since she set eyes on the letter. it was bold she’d give him that.

the letter was crumpled as if it had gone through hell to get to her (it probably had) and the handwriting was a serious reminder of just how young kimi is. y/n had wondered if her maternal instincts would ever kick in like all the older women in her life insisted it would. sure she had felt intense feelings of love for her childhood cats and had cared her formula one cars (regina and heather, they were named after mean girls, because that is who they had to be on track) like they were children. but that true maternal feeling had never come to her, until now.

all y/n could think about was kimi. how young he was, how much he was set to lose. not everyone was her, the worst thing wasn’t going to happen to everyone - it just always seemed to happen to her.

her loud phone alarm jolted her out of her daydream, reminding her to take her painkillers. as she poured herself a glass of water, y/n slammed down the glass and ripped open the letter.

dear miss y/n y/ln my name is andrea kimi antonelli and i am going to be driving for mercedes amg f1 team in 2025. we met very briefly after i won all three races at mugello and lifted the italian f4 championship trophy. i know you were there on mclaren PR but for me it changed my life. you have always been my biggest inspiration alongside michael schumacher (i am italian, you must understand). it was always my dream to race alongside you and maybe even be teammates, i’d even betray toto and leave mercedes to make that happen (please don’t tell him i told you that). i know that can never happen now, but it could happen in another way? i know like me you grew up seeing niki lauda supporting and mentoring the mercedes drivers and i was wondering if you would be my mentor - who cares about george anyway. i know you’ve never come back to the paddock and are unlikely to do so for little old me. but if you could just think about it that would be great, if you don’t ask, you’ll never get! i hope this letter wasn’t horribly offensive, i mean it when i say you’re my favourite!!! love, kimi (p.s. i was at monza 2021, so you could even consider me a good luck charm) (p.p.s you won monza 2021 completely on merit but i was there) (p.p.p.s please don’t think i’m an idiot) (p.p.p.p.s i also loved interlagos 2020 that’s a super underrated drive)

with tears in her eyes, y/n placed the letter back on the counter, grabbed the glass of water and made her way to her bedroom. painkillers taken with a wince, she still hadn’t gotten used to the size of the pills even three years into taking them, y/n shuffled under the duvet.

the offer was there and it seemed sincere. her accountant would tell her that the money was worth the mental turmoil, even if she just did it for one season and returned to her little cave in west london.

there was no doubt she felt something for kimi - a kinship, a frienship or a maternal yearning - but was it worth ripping off all the bandages and opening herself back up to all the scrutiny again?

she would sleep on it.

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yourusername

liked by maxverstappen1, georgerussell63 and 10,567,388 others

yourusername: much to think about these days. like how the fuck this app works now?

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user1: first post in three years and it’s THIS?

user2: i am not complaining

user3: i am savouring every little piece in case she goes missing for another three years

mclarenf1: the queen has returned

user4: no thanks to you

user5: how about we keep my wife’s name out of your fucking mouth

user6: socials admin i know it is not you specifically but i really don’t know how you can post up here like you’re completely absolved of your involvement in this. your car had break failure that broke her fucking back - it is a miracle she is even still walking! and you still don’t accept any responsibility for it

user7: i love y/n but like how is it mclaren’s fault? break failure happens all the time?

user8: well it’s in one part the fact that they were using her as a test dummy because it was a new faulty part that mclaren was experimenting with that was on her car and NOT lando’s and the fact that to this day when they feel like it they’ll heap guilt onto mick schumacher

user9: without being disrespectful there were two formula one careers that were ended that day because mclaren have kept to the narrative that it was mick that put her into the barriers eventhough siedel admitted when he left mclaren that it was a faulty break part that caused it.

user10: clock it

user11: yes clock it but maybe on a different post because it’s y/n’s return to the internet and all yall can talk about is the most traumatic event in her life?

kimiantonelli: i also love clairo

user12: what is bro doing?

user13: be quiet he’s our best hope of y/n coming back to the paddock let him cook

user14: name three songs local

kimiantonelli: bags (live), alewife and blouse

user15: this motherfucker might just do it

maxverstappen1: i miss brando :/

yourusername: you know my address

yourusername: use it since you like to give it out so much

maxverstappen1: I DID NOT GIVE THEM YOUR ADDRESS

user16: y/lnstappen friendship is BACK

user17: it was never gone?

user18: but now we get to see it :P

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when she woke the next morning, y/n knew she had to read the letter again before jumping into anything. in her sleep she was plagued with memories of the past, but not the usual ones that haunted her in the dark. there were no flames, no hospitals, no career-ending injuries. no, this time she was transported back to 2020 and her first few races of her formula one career.

march 2020.

the paddock was much bigger in formula one than it had been in formula two with hundreds more people running around, barging through crowds, hitting y/n on the way through and not even stopping to apologise. she had thought briefly that she would be making more noise as the first female racer to take part in a race since forever - y/n even thought that she’d made a bit of a splash during preseason testing, nestled between her teammate lando and alex in the red bull in fifth.

but she was invisible. even with the garish orange path to follow to the mclaren garage, y/n struggled to get through the crowds of people brandishing their paddock passes. her trainer had gone ahead to set up her driver room which left y/n to push through and arrive to briefing ten minutes late.

“i’m so sorry, i got lost and by the time i was going in the right direction the paddock had filled up?”

y/n stammered, not quite able to make eye contact with zak brown. the american wasn’t tall in comparison to the general public but he towered over y/n and the disapproving stare didn’t do much to help.

“just make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

zak snipped, waving his hand in y/n’s direction, telling her to take a seat. y/n rushed to the nearest empty seat and looked for her teammate in the room. lando was sat just three seats to her right on a small table. y/n tried to make eye contact with lando but he avoided her gaze like it was burning him, so much for the ‘big brother’ act he had put on at the car launch.

the engineers stood in front of the screen and started their long-winded presentation about the prospects for the season ahead. y/n pulled her note book out and frantically started taking notes, she didn’t know if that was normal for formula one drivers, but knowing as much as possible couldn’t hurt.

y/n copied down the warnings about possible tyre wear in turn three when she heard some soft sniggers, like someone was trying to stifle their laughter. this drew y/n out of her focus on the presentation, looking around the meeting room to locate the perpetrator.

lando caught her eye immediately. he had a light blush across his face and his mouth was covered by his hand. he looked guilty, guiltier than the rest of the room who were listening intently to the engineers. y/n raised her eyebrow in question.

“i’m sorry are we distracting you two?”

zak interrupted the presentation, turning to look at y/n and lando.

“no, sorry sir,” y/n replied turning her chair back to face the screen. “lando?” zak pressed.

“i’m sorry zak but y/n was distracting me with her note-taking,” lando forced out between his boyish giggles. “i’ve never taken notes, i didn’t realise you would be sucking up to the engineers this early on?”

“i’ve always taken notes? is it a problem? i’m sorry if i was distracting you lando.”

“yeah we’ll see how much those notes help you on track, rookie.”

lando spat over the table. it was uncharacteristically mean for the lando she had seen in the mclaren social content and the lando she spoke with at the car launch. y/n felt tears prickle in her eyes but she swallowed them down, she couldn’t cry yet - or at least not in view of all the most important people on the team.

“right. we’ll get back to business then.”

the rest of the meeting went by in a blur for y/n, but despite the outburst from lando, she continued to take her notes, she would be damned if some comments from lando would fuck up her entire race weekend routine. y/n took her time when zak dismissed them from the meeting, not wanting to look unprofessional.

moving towards the door, y/n’s shoulder hit someone else’s. she looked up to make eye contact with lando yet again.

“you better not make a habit of making contact with me, rookie,” lando said, a slight smirk but a harsh look in his eyes.

“are you like okay?”

“why wouldn’t i be?” lando replied pushing past through the door.

“i don’t know, you’re just a little frosty this morning? did i do something?”

“why would i be thinking about you, seriously? this is my team, know your place and we’ll get on just fine”.

with that lando was gone and y/n was left puzzled. i guess PR really does work wonders, y/n thought before making her own way to her drivers room.

her trainer, luca, wasn’t there when she managed to locate the room but all of her gear was already neatly put away like they had discussed. y/n cracked open an electrolyte drink and opened her notebook to study the meeting points.

there was a loud knock at the door and before y/n could even utter a “come in”, the mystery visitor barged into the room. daniel ricciardo announced his arrival with a packet of tim tams thrown at y/n and a quick “howdy” before he started rifling through her stuff and studying her helmet.

“ah, another cool dude who has a cuddly guy on their helmet,” daniel said, picking up her helmet, pointing at the cartoon version of her childhood cat.

“oh that’s schumi, when we travelled for karting we always brought him up until he died of old age, but i still want him with me whenever i race.” y/n said, nervous that the heartfelt explanation would be deemed uncool by one of the coolest racers she had ever seen.

“oh that’s surprisingly cute, i bet schumi was a big hit in the paddock back in the day.”

“he sure was, he’s how i charmed max into not hating me after i took him out once,” y/n chuckled thinking back to the race where max stormed up to her with angry tears in his eyes until y/n practically threw schumi at him. in just five seconds, max had calmed down and schumi was happily purring in the young dutchman’s lap.

“that sounds like max. but speaking of the other young whippersnappers in the paddock, how is our lando treating you? i bet zak and that can’t keep up with you two…” daniel asked, slumping to the floor, taking one of her drinks from the mini fridge.

“oh. i am getting used to him, we’ll put it that way?”

“he’s not being rude is he?”

“no! well. he insists on calling me rookie and keeps making comments about me crashing into him and made fun of me taking notes in briefing but i’m sure that such the british banter.”

“you’re british?”

“well. um. yeah, you got me there.”

daniel grabbed her hands, forcing y/n to look him in the eyes rather than her very interesting shoes.

“i know lando is like some media darling, but so are you. don’t let him push you around, he may have been in this team a while but you’re just as good as him if not better. you’re here to prove yourself, not to play second fiddle, okay?”

it was the first time someone had actually tried to talk to her properly since getting to the paddock. again, tears climbed to her eyes, but this time she let one creep out. daniel wiped it away.

“we made the mistake of isolating max when he was young and new, we won’t make the same mistake - we can’t have two of you running rampant around here,” y/n let out a wet laugh which daniel returned, “just come to renault if you need anything from me. max will be there for you, you know, and seb, kimi, fernando and all the old men will listen to you. don’t rot in your drivers room or hotel suite and think you’re not wanted here.”

y/n nodded, feeling some butterflies in her stomach. she was actually here - a formula one driver. a seven-time race winner wants her here, world champions want her here. a private-school fuckboy wasn’t going to ruin her first ever race weeekend.

“thank you daniel.”

“i have to dash, but i’m serious, we’re here for you. and i would be honoured to kick that little shit’s ass for you, okay?”

the australian left in just as loud fashion as he came, but in the remaining silence, y/n finally felt some peace. this was her chance, and she wasn’t going to mess it up.

present.

y/n couldn’t let that happen to kimi. the young italian was just so unbelievably earnest in his letter that y/n couldn’t bear the thought of his kindness being taken advantage of. george russell had never been outwardly callous but with his attack on max late last season and his complete radio silence with y/n since her crash made her suspicious.

as she prepared to ask max for kimi’s number, sara (who did actually still have a job) sent her a link.

sara: zak brown believes mclaren has the strongest pairing on the grid with no more childish recklessness like in the early 2020s

sara: do you want us to put out a statement or ignore as usual?

y/n clicked on the link, even though she knew it would just annoy her to the point that her phone might become closely acquainted with the thames.

as the formula one world gears up for the 2025 season, zak brown has already stated his confidence for mclaren this season. the papaya team will be coming into the 2025 season as reigning constructors champions and lando norris and oscar piastri will be aiming to add the world drivers championship to that as well.

when zak brown sat down with us earlier this week, the mclaren ceo did not beat around the bush, stating that mclaren have the strongest pairing on the grid. with red bull promoting liam lawson in a test and, mercedes putting unproven kimi antonelli next to george russell and ferrari gambling with charles leclerc and lewis hamilton, brown might just be right.

in their journey to constructors champions, brown recognised that as a team they had straightened out all of their ‘growing pains’. this is exemplified in oscar piastri completing all laps in the 2024 season.

like they usually do, y/n y/ln’s particularly rabid twitter fans will probably detect some ‘shade’ towards the former driver. brown did touch on the prior mclaren drivers during his reign as ceo, saying that the team had some childish recklessness, but now they have a team that all know their place.

y/n y/ln hasn’t spoken about anything formula one related since her retirement, even forgoing the opportunity to congratulate the team that took the chance on her for winning the championship - something brown did not mince his words on off camera. brown lamented about y/ln’s silence, labelling her a brat and ungrateful for not still thanking him for allowing a woman to compete in formula one.

will mclaren make it back-to-back constructors championships? and will they sweep both championships this season?

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she needed that loud-mouthed american’s head on a silver platter. the letter had almost sucked her back into the world of formula one, only for the man who discarded her like a broken toy when his car had malfunctioned and smashed her and her career into a concrete wall to call her an ungrateful brat.

fuck him. fuck mclaren. and fuck that dumbass reporter for giving him the time of day.

y/n didn’t throw her phone from her balcony but pulled up her texts with max.

texts between y/n y/ln (bold) and max verstappen (italic)

have you read this absolute hogwash

zak brown believes mclaren has the strongest pairing on the grid with no more childish recklessness like in the early 2020s

i 100% get why you wanted to put him in a wall last season

you watched last season?

shut up not the time

did you text me just to call your old tyrannical boss a fraud?

i was going to ask for kimi’s number but now i’m back at square one

noooooooo

i want to be there for him, the way no one was for us.

but this is the bs they write about me when i haven’t been seen or heard from in three years, imagine the shite they come up with when i’m the paddock every weekend

WHEN?

no no no

i’ll give you kimi’s number

contact: kimi antonelli (mercedes)

you decide what you want to do

as much as i would kill to have you around the paddock again… even in the vicinity of george

i want you to do what you are comfortable with

thanks max

i’m not giving you a yes but i’m definitely thinking about it

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fin.

note: omg that's part one??????? i had this idea and have been planning and adding to it for a couple days. no spoilers but there will be multiple love interests, backstabbing and all that lovely stuff - i just love the drama !!! (yes i will finish guilty as sin at some point as well). i hope you enjoy the prose as well - first time writing that way on here lol ?! let me know if you liked it, who you'd like to see her with and what you'd like to see happen!

[bluedelliquanti]

Before I go on vacation, I present my list of my top books for 2024.

COMICS:

Roaming by Jillian Tamaki & Mariko Tamaki

Bunt! by Ngozi Ukazu & Mad Rupert

Ukazu and Rupert are a powerhouse team, and as an art school adjunct, this already funny GN is even funnier (albeit in a way that necessitates a skull emoji in the educator groupchat)

Tiffany’s Griffon by Magnolia Porter Siddell & Maddi Gonzalez

Phobos and Deimos by J Dalton

Delicious in Dungeon by Ryoko Kui

It's a tough task to reach a satisfying conclusion to a series that was as strong as Dungeon, but I think Kui accomplished it!

Fool Night by Kasumi Yasuda

King in Limbo by Ai Tanaka

Over the last year I've been drawn towards comic series that work with a retro, fixed-width inking style, and King especially informed some recent experiments of mine.

PROSE:

Twins by Bari Wood & Jack Geasland

When I learned Wood was responsible for the book that became Dead Ringers, I knew I had to try it. This is the one that wins my "Oh, shit! Wow!! Okay!!!" award for the year (distinctions previously awarded to Cyteen and Manhunt).

The Bezzle by Cory Doctorow

DS9: A Stitch in Time by Andrew J. Robinson

Those of you who read my journal comic from last August might recall that I met Robinson at a Trek convention! I'd learned from reading these books that Stitch was considered a white whale among collectors, and now I absolutely understand why. If you're a DS9 fan and you want to try any book from the original run of novels, try this one. By which I mean, try the far easier-to-find audiobook version.

Translation State by Ann Leckie

A Woman of the Iron People by Eleanor Arnason

Fellow SBCF participant Erin Roseberry had shared this title as an inspiration for their comic, The Maker of Grave-Goods, and I was especially interested in trying a book by a Twin Cities author. What a serendipitous find!

Arboreality by Rebecca Campbell

For the third year in a row, a book nominated for the Le Guin Prize makes the list.

Always Coming Home by Ursula K. Le Guin

This is another book I always told myself I'd try someday, and was it ever worth it! I spent some time talking about my experience with this story (and its accompanying materials that fill out the world) in my talk with Evan Dahm on his show.

See you in the new year! I've packed some thick books for a long flight, so I'm starting my 2025 reading pile right away!

Reruns of my previous two lists, 2023, and 2022, below the cut.

2023

COMICS:

Yokohama Kaidashi Kikou by Hitoshi Ashinano

Out of Style by Devi Putri Megwati

Skip and Loafer by Misaki Takamatsu

The Harrowing of Hell by Evan Dahm

The Infinity Particle by Wendy Xu

Esteban by Matthieu Bonhomme

I covered my ShortBox reccs back in October, but since then I also picked up Pearl Hunting by Hana Chatani when it came to itch.io and adored it.

PROSE: 

So yes, maybe I'm cheating by including Moby Dick since I'm not all the way finished, but Whale Weekly really did end up being a great tool for getting me to crack open my gorgeous Evan Dahm-illustrated copy I've had for a while.

My favorite book of the year is Roadside Picnic by Arkady & Boris Strugatsky. I genuinely did read it the first week of January, but after having it recommended to me for years, I'm thrilled it didn't disappoint. Maybe I am someone who likes Russian novels after all???

Kitchen by Banana Yoshimoto

Such Nice People by Sandra Scoppettone

Cyteen by C.J. Cherryh (I jokingly placed these three in the "READ 👏 FEMALE 👏 AUTHORS 👏" category because they don't have anything in common other than describing some of the most upsetting/bizarre scenarios I've read this year. Cyteen especially! Wowee!!!)

Brother Alive by Zain Khalid

Glory by Vladimir Nabokov

A Different Trek by David K. Seitz, which I mentioned as my vacation book for the Star Trek convention, but it's given me some great suggestions for more books, both fiction and otherwise. Also, I read... 11 more DS9 books this year. 

2022

COMICS:

Fullmetal Alchemist by Hiromu Arakawa

Vattu by Evan Dahm

The Well by Choo and Jake Wyatt

Wash Day Diaries by Robyn Smith and Jamila Rowser

Some ShortBox Comics Fair entries that are graphic novella length and are really good include Food School by Jade Armstrong and The God of Arepo by Reimena Yee et al.

PROSE:

Detransition, Baby by Torrey Peters

The Murders of Molly Southbourne by Tade Thompson

How to Blow Up a Pipeline by Andreas Malm

Manhunt by Gretchen Felker-Martin

Dead Collections by Isaac Fellman

Pale Fire by Vladimir Nabokov

A Psalm for the Wild-Built by Becky Chambers

The Past is Red by Catherynne M. Valente

edit: oh my god I can't believe I forgot Perfume by Patrick Süskind

Honorable mentions from the pile of DS9 novelizations include Revenant by Alex White (for successfully pulling off a Sara Paretsky-style mystery in space) and Dominion War: Call to Arms by Diane Carey (for absolutely unhinged adjective choices).

[darkfemininenergy]

LET’S PLAY THAT GAME ━ ethan landry

pairing: gf!ethan x fem!reader

warning: smut, ghostface phone call, dom!ethan, sub!reader, fingering, rough sex, choking, ropes, spit kink, fingers sucking, dirty talk, gloves kink.

author’s note: english is not my first language, and also my first time writing smut so i hope it’ll be good. if you have any request, let me know !

YOU’D COME HOME from the gym an hour ago, the only classes you had were this morning and you were grateful to have the whole afternoon off for once. you'd had lunch with mindy at noon and then decided to take her home, since the ghostface attacks had hit new york, following the 4 survivors of woodsboro, you didn't want the young meeks martin to go home alone, even in the middle of the day, who knows what might happen, especially when you knew who her uncle was.

now you were in your kitchen after a nice shower, in the background as sound of « how to get away with murder », one of your favorite tv shows, mindy found it quite ironic since you were in a law major.

you were cooking dinner quietly after a bit of studying, standing in front of the hob, dressed in a short, tight-fitting black top and gray shorts, your phone at your side as you wrote to the young meeks martin, who was confiding in you about her feelings for anika.

and that's when your phone began to vibrate, thinking it was mindy, a slight smile appeared on your lips before you grabbed your phone, but this smile slowly disappeared in your face due to what appeared on your screen: unkown caller.

a bad feeling began to take hold of you as, paranoid as you were, you looked around you at the knives just inches from you, spotting the largest of them.

you then answered the phone, adrenalin coursing through your body.

- hello ?

the sound of the oil against the frying pan camouflaged the sound of your series in the living room, as you added spices, waiting for an answer from your interlocutor, the wait was heavy.

- hello, y/n, replied the deep, gravelly, modulated voice.

ghostface.

a shiver ran down your spine, and your body froze, paralyzed as you realized the obvious: you were part of the group of friends of the survivors of the 2022 attacks.

you turned off the gas, stopped cooking. And clicked your tongue against the roof of your mouth.

- well, go ahead, i’m wainting for the “what's your favorite scary movie ?” part.

you tried not to show any signs of fear, but inside you were terrified, imagining yourself already dead on your kitchen floor, but you knew you didn't have time to think about it and passed your index finger between the various knives on the rack in front of you, leaning slightly over the worktop.

the only response you got was a little laugh of amusement, mixed with a hint of sadism, from the killer, and it made your blood run cold.

- you're a bold one, aren't you? now, i think that i'm really going to enjoy this.

- fuck you.

-but you're also a very pretty one... he said with a seductive tone, too bad that i have to correct that filthy mouth of yours, he finished with a voice full of brutality, as if your insult had made him angry.

his change of mood startled you, and you immediately straightened up, then nervously tapped the surface of your kitchen with your freshly manicured nails.

- what do you want ? you asked, trying not to show how scared your voice sounded.

he hums slowly, as if he's thinking, and you can feel the goosebumps on your skin.

- that's a good question... what do i want... ? i want to play a game.

your heart was starting to race, so without thinking any further, you grabbed the largest knife and suddenly turned around with dynamism, all your senses now activated.

- do you want to play a game, y/n ? the modulated voice asked you.

- go to hell, i’m not going to play any of your sick game, you replied brutally.

- you look cute with that knife, tell me, what are you going to do with it, sweetheart ? stab me ? he teased.

you could practically hear the smirk in his voice and it drived you insane as well as the pet name, your grip on your knife was starting to tighten.

- where are you, asshole ? you spat hatefully.

you started to look from left to right, if anyone else could see you through your window, they'd think you were crazy to get so agitated, you leaned over to look towards the right exit which led to the hallway of your apartment, before returning to the kitchen which overlooked your living room.

you put your phone on the worktop behind your hob not far from your fridge, and activated the speakerphone to leave the call and type in the police number before he even answered.

- oh i wouldn't try to call the police if i were you, y/n, it'd be a real shame for mindy and anika to pay the consequences of your stupid actions.

your fingers stopped typing on your screen, not only because of the threat, but also because a detail had caught your attention, how did he know i was going to call the police ?

- h-how.... you began before cutting yourself off, can you see me?

he was sniggering again, and you were really beginning to hate that horribly creepy sound. you swallowed that awful lump in your throat that prevented you from speaking properly and waited for an answer.

- of course i can see you. i must admit that you look good in those, a little bit short though, does your boyfriend know you carry around in your apartment like that, y/n ?

panic-stricken, you hung up, and what a grave mistake you'd made, dropping your phone onto the wooden surface, you clutched the edge of it as if your body were threatening to collapse and you were looking for something to lean on. but then you pulled yourself together and grabbed your phone, never letting go of the knife you'd armed yourself with.

you moved towards the large window in your living room and pulled back the curtain slightly to see if anyone was outside watching you, since your kitchen was connected to the living room and, above all, open, with no door separating them.

but you couldn't see anything suspicious, only the horrible traffic jams of the city that never sleeps and people minding their own business down your street. you weren't the least bit reassured, certainly not, you had no idea where he could see you and you were terrified of it.

then you let out a groan of surprise when your phone started vibrating in your hand again, except this time it wasn't a call but a notification from an unknown number, it was a video.

your hands began to shake as you huffed and puffed to regain your composure, naively hoping to regain an ounce of control over the situation. once you'd opened your phone and clicked on the video, you saw mindy and anika on it, kissing on a sofa, the video had been taken from outside through your window and you pursed your lower lip, anxious, but starting to get angry that ghostface wasn't just threatening you, but also your friends, after everything mindy already endured because of that stupid mask.

and then, another call, again. you stared at your screen for a few seconds, looked around your living room and swallowed, grabbed your tv remote to turn it off, a silence falling over every room in the apartment when you finally accepted the call as you peered into every corner of the room, your stomach burning with fear.

- hang up again and i'll rip their heads off and send them in a box at your door ! shouted the killer menacingly and violently.

the violence of his threat burned your eyes, but you were able to swallow back your tears. you were sure he could feel your panic through the phone.

- not them, don't hurt them, s-stop it, i’ll do anything, i-i promise, you cried, afraid that something might happen to your friends.

- good girl, you see how easy things are going when you start obeying ? his voice softened, but you could still hear the amusement in it that told you he loved what was happening, that he loved scaring you.

despite the fear, the nickname he'd used triggered a reaction you'd never have suspected: a wave of heat spread through your body, even between your legs, and you suddenly felt ashamed.

- now, let's play that game. have you ever heard of hot and cold ?

you simply nodded, tucking a lock of hair behind your ears, knife still sharp in hand.

- words, pretty girl.

another heat wave.

- y-yeah, yes, i have.

- perfect. you want to know where i am, right ? then come and find me. go on.

you frowned, apprehensive about the objective behind this game, especially apprehensive about the moment when you were going to meet him.

- and then, if i find you, what will happen ?

- find me and you'll see, answered mischievously ghostface.

a new silence, neither of you speaking, the silence was heavy for you. you took two steps forward, and turned to look behind you again, the fact of not knowing where he was disturbed you and increased your degree of fear.

- are you scared, sweet thing ? he continued to mock, knowing he had the upper hand.

- shut the fuck up motherfucker, you're gonna pay for all of this, you grumbled in between.

- oh, really? i’m waiting then, he sneered, and you were willing to bet he was smiling.

his words only provoked you and you walked out of the living room, realizing that he couldn't be there, you were surprised to realize that you actually started looking for him, now angry at the way he was openly mocking you. you opened the bathroom door, peering in after turning on the light.

- cold.

you immediately left the room, closed the door and stepped into the corridor, which this time led to your bedroom. but before you got close to it, your steps slowed down, as you became more reluctant to head towards this part of the apartment, what if he was inside ?

- why are you slowing down ? maybe I'm inside.

- fuck it, you muttered.

you continued to hold your knife, getting ready to use it, when you arrived at the door to your room and opened it, you went in, and looked all around, near your desk, in the nooks and crannies, then your gaze fell back on your wardrobe, which was closed.

- are you in there ? you asked, your breath catching.

you heard his breathing through the phone become more erratic, and that's all you could hear as you held it to your ear.

- open it.

without further hesitation, you grabbed both wrists of your wardrobe and suddenly opened them, brandishing your knife in your face the next second.

but surprisingly, he wasn't there, so you straightened up and let your arm fall back down your body, then brought the phone up to your ear to hear your interlocutor, who seemed to love playing with your mind and emotions. he started laughing again, and the more he did it, the more it annoyed you than it frightened you now.

- no, i'm not there sweetheart, i was just messing with you.

- asshole, wanting to play a game without even knowing how to play it, you laughed bittersweetly.

you could sense that he wasn't happy with your answer, maybe even angry, but in any case, he didn't show it and decided to restart the game.

- you're getting colder, keep looking.

since you'd gone in the opposite direction and weren't getting any closer, you decided to return to the area you'd been in when you received the bloody call, retracing your steps, finding yourself in the hallway where your bathroom was once again.

- you're still cold.

you sighed in annoyance, but kept on walking, and when you passed the bathroom door you'd already looked in.

- warm, he warned you, and his husky voice sent shivers down your spine.

the further you went, the more your heart pounded to the point where that was all you could hear now. now you were back in your living room, you couldn't make any sense of the situation, you must have misunderstood his directions, he couldn't be there.

- you're getting warmer, good, very good sweetheart, you're almost there.

and yet, the praise almost made you blush again, you felt butterflies in your stomach and snapped inwardly as you remembered who you were on the phone with.

slightly frustrated by the flirtatious tone, you began to hold your knife out in front of you, preparing yourself better in case you found him.

as well as being frustrated, you were in total bewilderment, you had no idea where he could be, he kept messing with your head and he was very good at it.

he definitely wasn't in the kitchen, nor in the living room, not even towards the entrance, since you'd glanced around.

- keep looking, y/n, it'd be a shame if i find you first, wouldn't it ? tormented ghostface.

you held back from insulting him once more, avoided the living room areas you'd already looked at, and moved towards the only corridor on the opposite side of the apartment where you hadn't glanced.

and to do this, you had to pass through the corridor to your left leading to the front door, when you passed this door, and moved into the unlit corridor where in one of the doors lay your washing machine and other belongings, he spoke again.

- you don't want to turn colder again, don't you ? now, turn around.

paranoid, you thought he was right behind you, so you quickly turned around and took a big step back, the knife right in front of you, your arm raised, and you let out an expletive when you couldn't see anyone again. He was definitely playing with your mind and you'd had enough. You could feel the frustration heating your blood.

you made the choice not to pay any more attention to your footsteps, beginning to believe that he had lied to you and wasn't even near you, that this was just to scare you.

- warm.

but then you stopped, and that's how you noticed you were near the entrance hall. no, it couldn't be.

you headed in that direction, advancing slowly, cold sweat beginning to take refuge on your forehead.

- warmer.

shit. shit. shit.

you noticed the cupboard embedded in the wall a metre from the landing, and realized he was probably here. I'd have heard him, the kitchen's right next door. you had no idea what was going on.

- very very warm, he whispered.

your trembling hand came to rest on the wrist of the hall cupboard, hesitantly, you didn't open it immediately, feeling your breathing quicken.

in a split second, you brought your other hand to the cabinet and jerked it open. but nothing, absolutely nothing.

- fucking bastard, you growled.

you sighed, and slammed the wardrobe doors shut, the sound echoing throughout the apartment after this act of anger and you could hear him laughing in your ear.

pissed off, you returned to the kitchen to the very same spot where you had decided to call the police, still holding your weapon in your hand which was now on the kitchen counter facing the living room.

- now you're boiling.

you held your phone so tightly in your hand that you could have crushed it. you didn't know whether your hands were shaking with fear or anger, or both.

- i’m done with that shit, you growled again, if you want me, come and get me.

- want you in which way, darling ? don't get me wrong, both involve ropes, but it's an important distinction to make before we proceed.

- w-what ?

and just then, you saw a shadow with a very tall figure forming right in front of you.

you immediately dropped your phone from your hands, about to turn and brandish your knife to stab him, but a large gloved hand pressed against your mouth and an imposing body slammed you against the surface.

your scream was then muffled by the hand over your mouth, and your knife was snatched from your other hand, panic instantly seizing you after your weapon was snatched from you, you tried to fight back by reaching behind him with your hands, but his free hand had no trouble grabbing both your wrists and pinning them behind your back.

- i told you it'd be a shame if i find you first, he said mockingly.

the tears in your eyes blurred your vision, you kept squirming in all directions and your screams kept choking against your attacker's glove. then you felt them, your hands bound by ropes.

ropes that burned your wrists, he had to take his hand away from his mouth to bind your hands, and you couldn't control the rhythm of your breathing.

- no no no no no, you protested, naively trying to free yourself from the ropes.

just then, you felt his hips push you against the counter again and his hand slid down your back to force you against the surface, bended you over, he towered over you.

- p-please, please let me go, you tried not to let the tears roll down your cheeks, but your voice betrayed your fear.

- where's that attitude you were giving me earlier, hm ?

- i-i’m sorry, you let your forehead hit the cold surface of the counter, your eyes closed.

- you look so good like that, he murmured under his breath, bended over, begging for me, better than i have imagined.

a new complaint came from the back of your throat, and you started to struggle again, unconsciously moving your hips to push him away. then you felt something against you, something hard, then you heard him growl.

your mouth fell open in astonishment, you must surely have heard wrong, you thought. then you continued to rub your hips against him, your two bodies pressed together, and suddenly his left hand grabbed your hip to immobilize you.

an amused smile spread across your lips, contradicting the tears in your eyes.

- does this turn you on ? do i'm turning you on mr. ghostface ? you said in a playful tone.

- shut up, i'm gonna fuck that attitude out of you, spat the killer.

a groan threatened to leave your mouth but you managed to control it, feeling all wet after rubbing yourself against him and his modulated voice making you feel things you shouldn't feel.

a moan threatened to leave your mouth but you managed to control it, you felt all wet after rubbing yourself against him and his modulated voice made you feel things you shouldn't feel.

quickly, he removed your shorts followed by your underwear, leaving you almost naked apart from your black top, your wet intimacy exposed to the cool apartment air sending a shiver down your spine and forcing you to squeeze your thighs together.

- uh uh, none of that, open those legs for me, he said, slapping one of your thighs.

aware of the extent of your desire between your legs, you spread them slowly and slightly, enough for him to slip his hand in.

his fingers began to tease your crotch, you were about to open your mouth to express your desire, but closed it when his fingers moved to brush over her clit. you breathed deeply and closed your eyes as you felt his fingers gently beginning to knead at your clit and press against your entrance.

you took a shaky breath, clenching down around the finger gently as it was pushed in up to the second knuckle.

you moaned happily, your hips pressing forward. your hips swayed further as he began to move his fingers slowly. his fingers moved in and out of her slowly. then he gently curled them as he moved them, smiling at the cry he drew from you. his thumb gently massaged your clit, and you arched your back silently asking for more.

- you like that, huh ?

you nodded positively, moaning softly, your lip still between your teeth.

- come on, what did i told you earlier, sweetheart ?

words.

- f-fuck, y-yes.

- yes what ? while curling his fingers inside of you.

- yes, yes i-i like that.

he was starting to pick up his pace, you could hear his breathing jerking in turn, getting harder and harder by the pretty sounds you were making and the way you were moving your hips against him. although he'd been using a fairly gentle rhythm, now he was thrusting his fingers into you harder and harder, going even deeper.

causing moans that you could no longer control, especially when he added another finger, unconsciously, you closed your legs once more against the sensation that invaded you, but his other hand forced you to keep them spread for him.

even if you wanted to deny him access to your legs by closing them, you couldn't, his grip was too strong for you to move, it would probably leave a mark later.

when his fingers reached that spot inside you, you tilted your head back, eyes closed. he took advantage of your position to lean towards you, so that his fingers were deep inside you, and your belly was completely pressed into the countertop surface, as were your hips.

he grabbed your jaw to force you to open your eyes and tilt your head back even further, causing you to arch your back even more to the point of slight pain, and with your hands tied behind your back, it wasn't easy, so when you did, you fell into the big, intimidating black eyes of his mask.

but the idea of him fucking you in his ghostface costume, mask and gloves made you wetter, it was so wrong.

you gave him those doe eyes, and he swore he could have cum right now just from the look you were giving him. you half-opened your mouth as if to let out another moan, but nothing came out.

his thumb moved to your lower lip, his hand still gripping your jaw. his other hand continued to penetrate you roughly, but you still wanted more. he could read the desire on your face, in your eyes.

- what's the matter, pretty girl ? do you want my cock instead ?

you nod eagerly.

- please, i w-want it so bad.

the position you were in meant you couldn't breathe properly, your back arched, your head back as you stared into the big black eyes of the ghost mask.

his thumb pressed your clitoris just right, in a delicious way that brought back that exquisite sensation in your lower belly. but suddenly he withdrew his hand, feeling you suddenly empty, you let out a whine.

but he quickly silenced you by pushing the two fingers inside you into your mouth, his other hand controlling your movements through your jaw and forcing you to take his fingers covered in your juices.

- that's it, taste yourself, take those fingers right down your throat, whispered ghostface.

you felt your taste on his two fingers deposited on your tongue, you closed your mouth to suck greedily on his fingers that he pushed deep into your throat, creating new tears in the corner of your eyes and causing you a gag that seemed to satisfy him.

his fingers were so deep in your throat that your saliva was starting to drip down the corner of your mouth.

His hand that held your jaw withdrew from it, you felt the trace of the fabric of his gloves burn your jaw in the absence of his hand, then just after, you heard the sound of a belt unbuckling just behind you.

claiming only his fingers or his cock inside of you again, you moved your hips back, and felt the brutal material of his jeans, and then, from his underwear, you could especially feel his erection that was right against your ass.

you tried to speak, but with his fingers in your throat and the taste of your wetness on your tongue, those sounds were muffled, but you knew he'd heard you because he pushed his fingers even deeper into your mouth, making you feel a little dizzy.

as he let out a muffled moan against the movement of your hips against him, he in turn thrust against you, feeling your clitoris swell with excitement.

then, a few seconds later, unexpectedly, without any warning from him, you felt his tip right in front of your entrance and quickly, he penetrated you brutally, knocking the wind out of your lungs, causing you to scream due to the impact.

- did i go in too fast ? he laughed, tilting his head to one side, his voice still modified by the modulator.

he started to thrust in and out of you at a pace that made you see stars. his fingers left your throat, and you took a deep breath of air, you were suffocating, and yet his index finger remained between your mouth and your teeth, understanding what he wanted you to do, you bit the material of his glove, allowing him to slide his hand out, removing his glove for him, letting go of the glove in your mouth, you could then observe his hand.

large and covered with veins. You could almost recognize his hand. Your pussy was throbbing and the harsh thrusts didn't help.

suddenly, his hand grabbed the back of your neck and tilted you forward, pushing your chest against the surface where you rested your cheek. it felt so good, you could hear him growling behind you and your whole body wanted to submit to him. his thrusts pushed your belly against the counter, his hips slammed into your buttocks.

for support, he grabbed the ropes he'd tightened around your hands, still holding your neck to make sure you didn't move, you were his to fuck.

you tried to straighten up, but his grip prevented you, so you tried to look over your shoulder, and just seeing him fucking you could make you cum on the spot, his tall figure, the mask, him dominating you.

the erotic sound of his cock thrusting into you filled the room and mingled with your moans and grunts.

- harder, please fuck me harder, you begged, letting your forehead fall back against the counter, eyes closed.

- you want me to fuck you harder ? he said playfully, fine then, i’ll fuck you harder.

he did as you asked, but first by slowing down his thrusts, you then let out some moans as you arched your back, but then he thrust more brutally, deeper into you, all the while being fast. you opened your mouth in pleasure, before going back to biting your lip.

his bare hand grabs your waist and uses it as leverage to thrust into you, leaving you little or no time to adjust as he drives deep into you.

he pulls you back, using his grip on your wrists as your pussy tightens around his cock under his thrusts.

after a few more strokes that made you feel disoriented to the point where it was hard to keep your eyes open. a small noise near you caught your attention, you reopened your eyes breathing hard, and noticed the ghostface mask right next to you, he'd just pulled it off. your eyes widened in astonishment.

- taking it so well, hm whore ? he said in a taunting tone, the modulator was off, god, you feel amazing, he moaned.

and you recognized that voice.

- e-ethan ?

you couldn't see him, but he was smiling and pounding into you, his curly hair falling back on his forehead with a little sweat on his temples.

without you expecting it, his hand on the back of your neck slid down your throat to pull you back to his torso, your hands tied behind your back making the position slightly uncomfortable, but when you let your head fall below his shoulder to look up at him, you forgot the discomfort.

you couldn't believe it, ethan, the shy, dorky guy you were so close to.

- hi baby, surprised ? he smirked devilishly.

- i- you tried to speak, but another of his blows triggered a soft moan.

he laughed again, his eyes never leaving your face, watching as your eyebrows furrowed and your mouth opened in pleasure. he tightened his hand around your neck enough to reduce the air passing through to your lungs, and again he felt you tighten around him.

- look at you, what a little slut. you look so pretty with my hand around your throat.

wanting to look at him, you opened your eyes again, your eyes met and you noticed how dark his gaze was as I'd never seen it before. his hand on your hip began to rub your clit deliciously while he was thrusting in you.

he leaned over and placed his lips against yours to kiss you passionately, not giving you a chance to breathe, you kissed him back without hesitation, which made him smile.

when the kiss ended and you parted, you looked up at him again, his hand still around your neck. you let out at surprised gasp when he forced you to bend over once more, removing his hand from your throat to move it into your hair, which he grabbed to pull you back.

you found yourself in the same position as before, your back curved and your head tilted back. you could see him, but instead of the ghostface mask, you saw ethan's angelic face, who wasn't actually so angelic.

his grip on your hair made you groan, and you'd never have suspected this dominance from mindy's number one suspect.

- open your mouth.

damn.

you opened your mouth as he asked, tongue out, with a doe eyed gaze that made him growl. he leaned closer and spat into your mouth.

- swallow it.

and you did. you swallowed without replying under his eager gaze. you stuck out your tongue to prove it, god, you were sure you looked so dirty like that. his gloveless hand found its way to your cheek, and he patted it before caressing it with a delicacy that contradicted the brutality of his strokes that made you stammer.

- that’s it. you’re being very good baby.

the praise pushed you to give him a fucked up smile. the more time passed, the more you felt that knock in your lower belly. you were close,and ethan could feel it too by the way you tightened around him.

- s-shit, e-ethan, i’m close.

- i know, baby, cum for me.

with his hand pulling your hair tighter so he could get a better view of your face to see you cum, before long, you were cumming and felt your legs trembling under the intensity, and when you came, you let out the prettiest sound without worrying whether your neighbors heard you or not.

he let go of your hair, and both his hands bestially gripped your hips, he was close too, you felt overstimulated but you knew he was going to cum soon so you

let him use you. he muttered "fuck" under his breath, and cummed as he sank deep inside you, stopping his thrusts to stay deep inside you. he tilted his head back, his adam's apple perfectly visible and you didn't have to look at him to know he must be incredibly beautiful like that.

[oddlydescriptive]

Reset, Chapter Four

Series Masterlist

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August 26, 2022- Belgian Grand Prix, Post-FP2

The doors to the big meeting room at the Red Bull Energy Station close with a heavy clunk, the kind that feels just a little too final.

You catch a glimpse of Franz Tost’s profile through the window before the blinds shut with an audible snap. Mattia’s inside too, along with Helmut, and someone from Red Bull proper -  Paul Monaghan, maybe. It’s hard to tell. They’re all just team kits and tension right now.

You don’t know exactly what they’re talking about -  but you can guess. So you sit at a table just outside, within perfect sightline of the door, and you work. Emails first. Replying to the usual press inquiries -  bland, polite, saying just enough without giving anything real away. A short response to AlphaTauri’s PR team, confirming availability for whatever media obligations they decide, should you still be trackside tomorrow. It's almost laughable- polished corporate speak for hell yeah, I’d love to work for you tomorrow- I mean, if you’ll let me. 

Your fingers move over your phone screen with practiced ease, typing out responses, liking comments, keeping yourself busy. It’s a small thing, but it’s something you can control. Media obligations, sponsor tagging, social engagement- none of it means anything compared to what’s happening behind those closed doors, but at least here, in this moment, you can make choices. You can decide which comments to reply to, which messages to acknowledge, which words to put into the world.

Your Instagram is a mess- an avalanche of notifications so dense that your phone actually lags when you try to scroll. Thousands of new followers, a flood of blue-check accounts in your DMs, a mix of heart emojis and excited messages, and of course, the occasional go back to the kitchen comment buried in the mix. You don’t even blink at those. The hate is expected, inevitable. And frankly, it’s drowned out by everything else.

Your fingers hover over a few particularly thoughtful messages, ones that stand out from the noise- little kids in karting leagues tagging you in their stories, saying they watched you today. One girl- maybe thirteen, maybe fourteen- sent you a video of herself in a kart, the caption reading, Girls can be F1 material! Hope I can make a career of this too. 

You press like before you can think too hard about it, then tap out a quick reply. You can. You will. Keep pushing. 

It feels better than press quotes and sponsor reels. More real.

Your other hand, the one not holding your phone, flexes against the tabletop. It’s the only place your nerves show. You will not let them creep into your expression, into the careful posture you hold- composed, focused, unbothered. Your eyes flick toward the still-shut boardroom doors, willing them to just open already and put you out of your misery.

But they don’t.

So you go back to your post. The photo you’ve picked is simple -  just a clean shot of you pulling out of the garage, helmet down, sun catching the nose of the car. It’s optimistic. Professional. Completely concealing the fact that you spent nearly an hour today vibrating in rage at the back of the garage.

You re-read your caption- First taste of an F1 car. Unreal. Ready for more.- and wonder if it’s too hopeful, too eager. Would it be embarrassing to leave it up if they send you home tomorrow? Would it sting to read those words again if this is where it ends?

You post it anyway.

Because fuck it. You are ready for more. Whether or not they’re ready to give it to you is their problem.

The doors to the hospitality lounge swing open, and the world’s easiest, most carefree laughter floats through the air, cutting across the tension in your chest like a blade.

Your gaze flicks up, and of course, it’s them- Red Bull’s boys. 

Max and Checo stride in, and they look… easy. Max’s suit is half-unzipped, arms loose at his sides, the peak of nonchalance, while Checo grins at something one of their engineers mutters as they pass. No frantic debriefing, no worried huddles over data charts, just Max and Checo strolling through like they already know everything they needed to know and it’s all good news. It probably is. You’re sure they put down a beautiful set of laps. The RB18 is a monster, and both of them know exactly how to wield it. There’s no stress, no sense of urgency. Just the kind of relaxed ease that comes when you know you’ve put in the laps, done the job, and that everything is moving exactly the way it’s supposed to.

Must be fucking nice.

You force yourself to glance away before either of them can notice you watching. You’re not here to be impressed. You’re here to stay.

Your fingers still on your phone screen, mid-response, as someone drops into the seat across from you. The movement is smooth, unhurried- like they belong there, like this is their table and you just happen to be sitting at it. You glance up, brain taking half a second to process - who - expecting Mattia, or maybe a media rep- someone relevant to your situation- and then your stomach dips.

Jos Verstappen.

You don’t react, not outwardly. You sit a little straighter, blink once, and make sure your expression stays carefully neutral. His presence is like someone just opened a freezer door -  chilling, unexpected, impossible to ignore. He doesn’t bother with pleasantries. No hello. No introduction. Just a sharp exhale through his nose and, “Strange decision, isn’t it?”

It takes you a beat too long to realize he’s talking to you. Your hand hovers over your phone, thumb poised to type, but you set it down slowly, folding both hands together on the table instead. Careful. Measured. “I suppose that depends on how you see it.”

His mouth twitches- not quite a smirk, not quite approval. Just interest. Noted. He leans back, eyes narrowing slightly, taking stock. “I see one driver who put in a clean session, did the job they were asked to do. And I see another who binned it. And yet, only one of them is in the car for FP2.”

The words settle between you, weighty. You know that he knows it should have been you. Anyone with goddamn eyes knows they shouldn’t have sent Liam out, and that was before he trashed the second car. So why the fuck is he here? You don’t bite. You might not know exactly what Jos is playing at, but you’re not dumb enough to stick you foot in a beartrap just to see if ti closes. If you agree, you’re openly criticizing the team. If you push back, you risk sounding naive.

"I go where they tell me," you say instead, like it’s just that simple. Like this is all above you, beyond you, something you have no stake in.

Jos studies you for a long moment, drumming his fingers against the tabletop. Calculating. “That’s a very polished answer.”

You offer a small shrug, controlled, careful. “I’ve had a lot of practice.”

A quiet huff, something bordering amusement. He’s testing you, pressing at the edges, looking for a crack. For something emotional. You keep your face perfectly composed, let the silence settle. Jos watches you like he’s solving an equation. Like he knows the numbers, knows the variables, but something about the sum isn’t quite adding up.

His eyes are sharp, computing, the kind of look that makes you feel like you’re being inventoried. Measured. Weighed. You’re used to being looked at. Picked apart. Evaluated. You’ve sat across from engineers, managers, sponsors- people who hold the keys to your future, people who don’t waste their time with drivers they don’t think are worth something. You know the game. You’ve played it before. You’ve played it all week.

But this? This is different.

Because Jos Verstappen doesn’t hold the keys to anything you need. Not directly, anyway. He’s not scouting talent. He’s not making team decisions. He’s not trying to sell you anything. He’s just watching. So you watch him back. You watch him the way you might watch an unpredictable car in the mirrors- cautious, measured, prepared to react at the first sign of a sudden move. Because whatever he’s doing here, it’s not charity. It’s not a casual interest. Men like Jos Verstappen don’t waste their time on people who can’t be useful to them.

Jos Verstappen, the one you can read about online, is a cautionary career tale wrapped in the skin of a man who never got over it. A father who forged a world champion the hard way and made sure everyone knew exactly whose hands shaped the clay. 

You know better than to believe everything you read. You’ve seen firsthand how the media builds and burns its chosen heroes and villains, how the truth warps depending on who’s telling it. But you’re not naive- when there are enough whispers, enough half-truths, enough smoke, there’s usually fire.

“I’m sure the team has their reasons," you say, keeping your voice light, nonchalant, as if your entire career isn’t on the line behind those doors. "I can only control what I do with the opportunities I'm given."

Jos makes a noise- short, unimpressed. "Yeah. Their reason is they’re cowards."

You don’t touch that. Not with a ten-foot pole.

Because what are you supposed to say? That you agree? That you want to throw a chair through the glass walls of this building and demand your fucking car back? Or that you trust the process, that you’re grateful just to be here, that you’ll take whatever crumbs they give you and smile through your teeth if they hand Liam the rest of the weekend?

There’s no right answer. So you say nothing.

Jos taps his fingers against the table, a slow, considering rhythm. A hunter observing his prey. Then, after a long, stretched-out moment, he tilts his head just slightly. “I’ve seen worse drivers than you get a shot.”

You blink. That’s… maybe a compliment? 

Before you can decide, Jos is already pushing back from the table. He stands, gaze flicking over you like he’s cataloging something useful. For a second, it seems like he’s going to walk away without another word. But then he pauses, eyes narrowing ever so slightly, and murmurs, almost to himself, "We’ll see."

Then, just as abruptly as he arrived, he’s gone.

Inside the boardroom, the air is thick enough to cut with a knife -  the kind of tension that sticks to the walls, hangs heavy over the table, and clings to the backs of every suit jacket in the room. No one wants to say it out loud. That would make it real. But the truth is sitting in the center of the table like a live grenade, and every man in that room is trying to figure out who the hell is going to be the first one to touch it.

They never intended for her to get this far.

The plan had been simple -  safe. Bring her in for a single practice session, a feel-good story tailor-made for headlines. First woman to drive in a Formula 1 weekend in years. They’d trot her out for media, let the cameras eat her up in her fireproofs, paint her as the scrappy underdog, the token woman making waves in a man’s world. She’d get her laps, smile for the photos, then quietly board a flight back to wherever the hell she came from with a paycheck just generous enough to keep her grateful and a shiny badge for her resume to help her land a seat somewhere far, far away from here. Liam would step into the car for qualifying, everyone would feel good about diversity, and they’d still have their real driver on the grid come Sunday.

That was the plan.

But plans don’t mean shit when reality kicks the door down.

And reality is that she had been undeniable.

Not just competent. Not just “good for a girl.” No. She had put up times that left no room for spin or excuses. She’d gone quicker on inter tyres than Liam managed on softs -  and that was before he dragged both his own ass and a perfectly good chassis through the gravel and into the barriers. Twice.

She hadn’t just done well -  she’d outperformed him cleanly. In a way that made it impossible to justify putting him back in for qualifying without looking like absolute fucking morons.

Mattia Spini’s jaw works, grinding against itself as he stares down at the table like the woodgrain holds the answers. He was there, with her, through every SIM session that bordered on self-harm. All week long. He had seen the numbers, the work ethic, held her hand through the session. His mind’s made up. But he’s not here to make decisions. He’s here to say his piece and let the others do with it what they will. 

Franz Tost’s arms are crossed tight, knuckles pale where they press into the opposite sleeve. Helmut’s silence is its own brand of pressure, a presence that sits heavy at the head of the table like a storm cloud waiting to break.

Because promoting her to qualifying wasn’t the story they wanted to tell.

They wanted her to be good -  but not too good. They wanted to market her -  but not actually race her. They wanted the easy win -  Red Bull Junior Program empowers female driver, champions the next generation, what a feel-good headline -  without risking the uncomfortable reality of having to explain why their actual, academy-raised, Red Bull-groomed reserve driver had been shown up by an unpolished American wildcard.

They wanted the spectacle.

Not the problem.

Because now, they can’t just sideline her without losing credibility. If they shove Liam into the seat after that practice, everyone watching -  every journalist, every fan, every competitor up and down the paddock -  is going to know exactly what it is.

A fix. A cover-up. Proof that it was never about talent in the first place. The optics would be disastrous.

But putting her through to qualifying -  that opens a whole new can of worms.

If she delivers again, if she outqualifies expectations -  or god forbid, Pierre -  it will set fire to the whole development pipeline. It will force conversations they don’t want to have about who actually deserves these seats, about how many talented drivers they’ve ignored because they didn’t fit the mold. And if she tanks? If she spins or bins it or freezes under pressure? Teams up and down the pit-lane get to say, “See? This is why we don’t do this.”

No matter what happens, it’s a risk.

No matter what happens, she’s already blown up their plan.

And the worst part -  the part none of them want to admit, even to themselves -  is that somewhere deep down, they already know what they have to do.

Because no matter how much they want this to be a neatly scripted feel-good PR stunt, the stopwatch doesn’t lie.

She’s fast.

And that’s all that fucking matters.

════════════════════ஓ๑♡๑ஓ══════════════════

It’s been over an hour.

You’ve counted. Checked the time on your phone so many times you’re sick of looking at your own homescreen. Every time the door to the Red Bull boardroom cracks open, your spine snaps straight, only to slump back into the chair when it’s someone else passing through. Engineers. Media handlers. A catering girl with a tray of coffee cups no one will drink.

You’ve stayed planted in the same spot, tapping out responses to press inquiries and running a comb through your own notes -  not because you need to, but because if you don’t keep your hands moving, you might actually shake apart.

It’s a long time to sit with your own imagination. Long enough for your mind to invent every possible outcome, each one worse than the last. They’re sending you home. They’re giving the seat to Liam anyway. They’ve decided you’re too much of a liability. They’ve found some technicality, some loophole that gives them the out they’re so obviously looking for. Some issue with your license or visa or-

And then, finally, the door opens.

It’s Mattia who calls for you, his voice even, no hint of the decision hanging off his words. Just your name, simple and sharp, cutting through the air.

You stand without hesitation, without letting your expression slip even a little. The first step into the room feels like walking into an execution chamber. But you’ve been preparing for this -  for every second of this -  your whole life. You know how to play the part, how to wield control over yourself when you have none over anything else.

You close the door softly behind you, a single breath held tight in your chest. Franz Tost sits at the head of the table, hands folded neatly. Helmut is present, but unreadable. The legal reps are tucked along one side, media relations on the other. Mattia stands near the door, hands in his pockets, his body angled slightly toward you like a quiet show of support.

You don’t sit until they tell you to.

“We’ve made our decision,” Franz begins, his voice clipped, no warmth, no unnecessary padding. “You’ll drive FP3. You’ll qualify the car. And you’ll race.”

It lands like a blow -  not from the words themselves, but from the sheer force of holding yourself perfectly still under the weight of them. You don’t flinch, don’t exhale too sharply, don’t let your hands twitch even though you want to slam your fist into the table and scream fuck yes so loud they hear it in the Haas building at the end of the paddock.

“Understood,” you say, measured and professional, the words flowing smooth like they’ve been rehearsed, because they have. “Thank you for the opportunity.”

You make eye contact with each person at the table. Just a beat. Just enough for each one to feel seen, acknowledged. One second, no more. Franz. Mattia. Helmut. Legal. Media. All the way down the line, calm and deliberate. It’s not just politeness -  it’s strategy. It’s laying the groundwork for future conversations, for the next time you need someone’s support. Let them remember you as composed, mature, the driver who handled herself perfectly under pressure.

No one explains why Liam got to drive FP2, and you don’t ask. Because asking would imply you care, and you cannot afford to care. You’ve won the round that matters. You have the car now, and once you have the car, the rest is up to you.

You stand when they dismiss you, walking out with the same careful poise you carried in. Not too fast, not too slow. Just right.

It’s only once you’re back in the hallway -  the door shut behind you -  that you let out the shallow breath you’ve been holding. Not a victory, not relief. Just air. You’ve broken no rules, made no mistakes, given them nothing to question.

It’s not joy. It’s not excitement. It’s just one step closer. Because this was never the finish line. It’s just the start.

AlphaTauri to Advance Female Driver to Qualifying- The news hits the paddock like a spark in dry grass, and by the time you make it twenty steps past the hospitality suite, it’s already started. Not a swarm — not yet — but a constant stream. Journalists with handheld mics, camera crews trailing like shadows, voices calling your name in half a dozen accents, all wanting a moment, a quote, a reaction.

It’s the first woman to race in Formula 1 in decades. The headline is writing itself before you’ve even had a chance to adjust your fireproofs. You knew it would happen, you’d prepared for it — but still, the sheer relentlessness of it catches the edges of your nerves, makes you want to recoil, to snap something defensive and sharp.

You don’t.

Because this?

This is your mother’s voice in your ear, her lessons in your bones, her spine straightening yours. This is the arena you were raised to thrive in — the dance floor Marissa LeChriste had owned for decades, teaching you every step, every pivot, every perfectly placed smile.

You know how to play this.

So you stop walking. You smile.

It’s the kind of smile that looks genuine because you’ve learned how to make it feel genuine, just for a second — that trick of letting your excitement bleed through the edges, like you’re still too green to fully mask it. You lean into your drawl, just a little- play up the soft, long vowels you’d picked up from a Texas bred mother and a junior career spent haunting Austin COTA. Like you’re the overwhelmed rookie with stars in her eyes, thrilled just to be here- we aren’t in Kansas anymore, Toto.  They love that shit. They eat it up.

And the questions come — fast, scattered, often the same one asked three different ways by three different people.

"How does it feel to be the first woman on the grid in so long?"

"Did you ever expect this opportunity?"

"What’s the pressure like, knowing how much attention is on you?"

"What does this mean for women in motorsport?"

You answer every single one — thoughtfully, with care, like each journalist is the only one you’ve spoken to today, despite your voice already wearing a bit thin from the afternoon media gauntlet. That’s the key. Make them feel important. Make them feel special. Your mama drilled that into you until it was muscle memory — people will work twice as hard to make you look good if you make them feel good first.

You frame every response to build the narrative you want — not just a lucky girl plucked from obscurity, not just a token woman filling a seat for clicks. No, you shape yourself into something more deliberate. You’re a hard worker. A student of the sport. Someone who clawed her way here and earned every inch. You talk about your time in the sim, the hours spent learning every inch of Spa, how the car feels, how you’re focused on performance above everything else.

You sidestep anything emotional — no sob stories, no tears, no “this is my lifelong dream and I’m so overwhelmed I could puke”. That’s bait for headlines, and you’re not giving them the satisfaction, even if you’re about to vibrate out of your skin.

What you do give them is a quiet kind of confidence — the type that plants a seed in every viewer’s mind. Not ‘Can she do this?’ but ‘I can’t wait to see this.’

And when they push — when one of the older, more jaded reporters leans in a little too close and asks, “Are you just here because you’re a woman?” — you smile, bright and easy, and say, “I’m here because I’m fast.”

You see the flicker in his eyes — the momentary surprise, the half-second where he realizes he walked straight into a quote that’s going to be plastered across every motorsport outlet by sundown.

Good. Let them print it. Let them put that on the front page, let the headlines frame you exactly the way you want to be framed. Sweet, marketable- but make no mistake- you’re here on merit.

You control the story now. And you have no intention of letting it go.

════════════════════ஓ๑♡๑ஓ══════════════════

Series Masterlist

[bunnyluvs-blog]

txt reactions: bf!txt when you wear their shirt (smut)

tags ! Suggestive/smut ,, Somnophila ,, thigh riding ,, blindfoldeds ,, degrading ,, semi public sex ,, eating out (will make a full smut on one member if requested)

Soobin: You always wait for soobin to come home from work. No matter what. However this time, you spent all day hard at work you could barely keep your eyes open on the drive home. You took a quick shower and just threw on whatever you grabbed firsts. Snuggle into the bed, hell it wasn't even your side of the bed. You fell asleep hoping soobin would understand. Well once soobin came home and saw you in his shirt, he was done for. Slowly lifting up his shirt on you, he left small marks and hickeys all over your chest. He knew you had a thing for Somnophilia. And it was one of his major turn ons so why not test it out on his pretty little bunny <3

Yeonjun: While he was in the kitchen making coffee for you guys. You were getting ready for the day. You decided to wear one of your many shirts that you stole from your boyfriend. This one he wore to the ama 2022 award show however. it was too long to be worn as a normal shirt. So you threw on some small shorts and a belt to make it a semi-dress. Without the shorts- if ur raised ur arms ur ass and everything else could be seen. You made your way to your boyfriend, wrapping your arms around him. A soft "hi baby" leaves his mouth as he turns around to face you. Only to see the opening of ur chest pushed up against him. You're ass peaking out since you were on ur tippy toes ? Did he forget to mention how pretty you look in his shirt with your cum running down his leg ? He will just have to show you then.

Beomgyu: God fuck how were you this perfect? Blind fold covering your face as he fucked you in his shirt. The soft fabric didn't even cover much since well- he unbuttoned the whole thing after he got you where you are now. You're moans filling the room as the shirt sleeves slide off of you. "Aww look at you, you're so small my shirt can't even stay on you" he said in a mocking tone as he fucked you harder. He was always one to talk down on you when you were just so submissive too him. He didn't even have to fight u to get the blindfold on. You just listened to him like the dumb pup you are.

Taehyun: "What are you some kinda fucking whore?" God was he pissed off. You looked so damn good while you guys went to the park for your date. A short skirt, Knee socks, and his damn shirt unbuttoned almost to where you could see your chest. Well now the shirt is well off of you. The Starbucks restroom door locked as teahyun bends you over the skin. "Showing over everything damn thing you have, and in your own boyfriends shirt." He hasn't even touched you where u need him most. Hes just been hitting ur ass over and over and over again, you're sure your screams can be heard from the people outside. He pulled your head back by ur hair. "You. Car. Now. You're gonna sit and not whine or beg until we're home. And if you do I'm not gonna let you fucking cum at all." Oh boy did your plan work

Huening kai: you were snuggled up on the couch with hyuka just watching a movie. You've felt as if your plan to make him fuck you failed. And you were just so fed up. You wore his shirt after hearing what your friends bf did to her after she wore his. And damnit you wanted that treatment too. Little did you know hyuka wasn't doing any better then you were. Every 2 minutes you had to pull the shirt back up from falling off. Your damn chest being flashed to him so much. This last time tho, he couldn't take it. Flipping you onto ur back and pulling your panties down to your ankle. Hyuka was done with waiting. "Huen ? What are you doing..?" You ask as if you had no clue. "Im gonna take you let me eat you please..pleaseee you look so good in my shirt I can't hold back" You didn't even get s chance to answer when he licked your clit slowly <3

Reminder !! If a story is requested from one of these I'll probably do it !!

[penwieldingdreamer]

Love Confessions and other truths

Whoa, this one got out of hand I guess.

Thank you everyone for the likes, comments and reblogs. This fandom has given me so much joy and inspiration and he's definitely hard to resist not to write for.

As you know, I tried to keep the appearance and description of the reader as vauge as possible, you guys will be able to come up with your own picture for the reader, only thing I pictured: female reader, living in London with her british mother and american father, single mother of two girls Lottie (5) and Millie (3), and two years older than Austin.

Summary: Austin confesses his feelings for you, but you keep the truths about your feelings under wraps, until friends come up with good intentions and meddle in your relationship.

Words: 5.6k

Warnings: fluff, some swear words, maybe a few tippos - if so, please let me know

Happy reading and enjoy. And please let me know what you think, if you want to be tagged or taken off the taglist for this.

Dividers @cafekitsune

Tagging: @sqrlgrl22 @buckysteveloki-me @rlinda6 @imusicaddict @fortheloveoffanfic @unicoreads

Dec. 2022

With a groan you pulled yourself up on the couch, your leg propped up on a mass of pillows. 

“You doing okay, baby?” 

Were you okay? You didn't really know. A few days ago you injured yourself walking home from the store down the road from your flat. Winter had taken hold of the city and the streets were very slippery. Of course you thought your running shoes were enough to last that short walk. 

Well, your bandaged knee and ankle spoke for themselves. The ice patch had you out of commission for the time being, thankfully you only twisted your ankle and partially tore your ACL. It was dumb and unnecessary, but a few weeks and you'd be good as new. 

“Hurts like hell, but it's better than yesterday.”

Your mother leaned over and laid a kiss on your hair. She had been helping you with the girls, keeping them occupied and stopped them from running up the wall. “It's only a few more days. Doctor Burnes said you'll be able to walk better by next week, just keep it elevated for now and take your pain meds.”

“Hm, yeah, by next year I'll be a normally functioning human again.” It was a joke but also a semblance of truth. 

Only a few more days and you'd ring in 2023. Hopefully a better one than the last. With Trevor finally paying on time, Lottie still having fun at school and Millie enjoying her time at Kindergarten.

“How's Austin? I haven't heard from him in a while.” She asked, busying herself in the kitchen.

Last you heard he had told you that he was busy with pre awards parties and dinners and planned to go on a trip with Kaia during the holidays. “Don't know, you probably should ask the girls, they've been keeping tabs on him. I just provide the source to let them talk with him.”

Chuckling, your mother shook her head. “They really love him, huh? He's great with the girls.”

“They do. If he's not calling every third day, Lottie takes my phone and calls him herself.”

Your mother had listened to the excited squeals of your daughters when they had their evening calls with the actor. Once she had asked you about your feelings towards him, treading dangerously but you shut her down really quick. He was in a relationship, younger than you and you definitely didn't want to jump into another relationship, even if your last had been years ago.

Was this really what you wanted? 

Every time you talked to Austin, you felt your insides flutter like millions of butterflies. 

No, he's happy with Kaia, with his career. He doesn't need you to distract from all this.

“Mummy, mummy, mummy! Look it's Austin!” Lottie ran towards you, jumping onto the couch and hitting a painful spot on your knee. Her eyes widened as she heard your gasp and shrank back from you. “Careful baby, your mum isn't in the best shape right now.” Your mother reprimanded gently and you saw your daughter’s lips tremble slightly, the phone in her hand to show Austin watching attentively over the FaceTime app.

 “I'm sorry mummy, I didn't mean to hurt you.”

You pulled her back against your side, sitting up on the couch so you were propped upright again instead of laying down. Kissing her hair and breathing in her scent, that still reminded you of the time she was a baby, you brushed your hand along her back. “I'll be okay, baby, now what's this about Austin calling?”

“Hey darlin’, you doin’ okay all the way over there on that island?” 

You knew he was trying to keep in all the questions he had when he heard your mother and Lottie talk, but even as good as an actor he was, he couldn't keep the concern shining in his ocean blue eyes.

“I'll be fine, Aus, nothing a few days rest and a hearty meal won't fix.”

Squinting, he shook his dark blonde locks, giving you a disapproving look. “Lottie said you fell, hurt your knee and ankle.”

“Don't worry about it. My mum is helping out for the time being, keeping the girls entertained and me off my feet.” You sent him a reassuring smile, playing with Lottie's locks. “How are you? Are you taking care of yourself?”

“Hmm, yeah. It's warm, the sun’s shining and I'm relaxing at the beach.”

Your daughter giggled at his playful retort, her body jumping so hard, you had to hold onto her so she wouldn't fall off the couch and hit her head. “Austin! You're so funny. He's so funny mummy, right!”

Humming, you nodded your head, but you saw dark shadows under his eyes, not from lack of sleep but from his anxiety and his brain turning in a million directions as he once told you. “Why don't you help granny while I talk to Austin for a minute. You can come back and show him what decorations Millie and you made for Christmas. How's that sound sweetheart?”

With a deep sigh she nodded her head and skipped into the kitchen, telling your mother that you sent her away to have a grown up talk with Austin.

“She's getting quite sassy for her age.” The actor commented, sitting back on the lounge chair in the cabana, the blue shirt he wore pulled down at the neck to reveal a sliver of his chest making you swallow against the dryness of your throat.

“She is. Seems to be your influence because she never acted like that before she met you.” You accused with a smile before turning serious again. “Now what's this about? Shouldn't you be enjoying your mini getaway with your lovely girlfriend before the award marathon?”

Nodding his head, he put his arm behind his head, leaning his phone against his propped up leg. His free hand scratched along his chin and you knew with whatever in his mind right now, Austin wasn't enjoying his time with Kaia. 

“I've got a lot on my mind, I guess.”

“Want to talk about it? You know, I've got time before dinner.”

A mixture between a groan and a sigh left his lips as he stared into your eyes, making your insides twist with something you hadn't felt in so long, something warm and soothing. “I think I'm stuck in a kind of predicament.”

“Okay, something with your next project? Or the upcoming awards?”

“No,” Austin shook his head. “It's you.”

Wide eyes stared at him as you tried to comprehend what the actor just told you. “M-me? I mean, why?”

“I've been thinking about you and I can't stop it. I should be happy with Kaia, but all I'm thinking about is if I'd have a chance with you, if you'd be my girl and I'd get to call the girls and you my family.”

You shook your head in denial. His confession was making your head spin. You were friends, nothing more. “Austin, you, you've got Kaia, it's not fair to her. I, this can't happen, I'm sorry.”

His hand tightened in his sandy blond locks, trying desperately to keep his composure and you knew his anxiety was ready to make itself known. “I know. I tried so fucking hard. But God forbid, I want you… so much.”

“This…Austin, it’s…I can’t, I’m really sorry. I can only be your friend,” You felt the burn behind your eyes, the tears building up and threatening to make you blind. Yet you refused to let them fall. The crestfallen look on his face made your heart ache but you knew there was no way a relationship would work at the moment. “You need to focus on your career on all those amazing projects you’ll be able to make and we can’t distract you.”

Shaking his head, Austin sat up again, his phone now close to his face and you saw the tears building in his own eyes. He was an amazing actor and yet he could be read so easily. “I can focus on my career with you. I want you, I want the girls, I want everything!”

With each word his voice got louder, until he nearly screamed it for everyone to hear. You could make out a shadowy figure at his side and swallowed thickly. Probably not the best topic to talk about when his girlfriend was just a few feet away and they should be happily engaged in other activities during their couples time.

“I can be friend, Austin, nothing more. You want to talk to the girls? They made Christmas decorations with Elvis on their stars.” He nodded his head, brushing his long fingers under his eyes and you could feel the dredd pool deep in your stomach. Keeping the sniffles to yourself until you were safely tucked away in the bathroom, you called Lottie and Millie and with some grunting and heaving, you managed to get off the couch.

Your mother's eyes followed you before you pushed out your daughters’ excited squeals and Austin’s playful responses. 

Your heart ached and you felt your stomach clench, thinking back on his words. 

What had you gotten yourself into?

He was an amazing guy but you feared you weren't the right one for him. 

Putting your hand over your mouth, you tried to muffle your sniffles, the tears wetting your cheeks on the way down as you felt your heart shattering.

“So, she said No?”

Before he called you, Austin had finally sat down with Kaia and discussed what had been plaguing him the last few months.

He knew it wasn't fair to be with her and think about the what ifs of you being there.

Of course she wasn't happy, their relationship lasting not even a year, but the model had already seen a change in him. She was sad and cried when they talked but knew neither of them would be happy if they continued like they did.

So they agreed to end it there on their mini getaway, agreeing to be better off as friends, still supporting the other on their dreams.

Kaia sat on the end of the lounge right at his feet. She leaned on his knee, watching Austin closely. He always wears his heart on his sleeve and she could see the defeated look all over his face.

“I'm sorry.” Pushing the heels of his hands against his eyes, he tried to keep.the tears at bay, being the sensitive man he was. “She told him she could be my friend, but nothing more.”

“She's lying.” She finally mused, thinking back on what she heard you say during the call. “She was ready to break down and admit it, Aus.”

Pursing his lips the actor watched his girlfriend, well ex closely. “But she said”

“It's not what she said, it's what she didn't say. The way she behaved.” Kaia sent him a smile. “She's just as in love with you as you are with her. No woman in her right mind wouldn't be in love with you. I mean look at me, we had a great time together.”

Awkwardly scratching his fingers along his chin, the actor breathed out a sigh. He was loath to admit that it had been an amazing time with her but life was throwing him curve balls left and right it seemed. “I'm thankful for our time together and I'm sorry for the way this played out, but I”

“We're staying friends, Aus, I'm not letting you off that easily. I'll be helping you get your girl, besides maybe that way mom will be distracted the next time I FaceTime her and the girls to ask me when I'll be deciding to grace the world with little Crawford models.”

“Oh god.” He chuckled, throwing his head back with a laugh. “Please don't. Enjoy what you're doing right now. You'll know when you find the right guy.”

Kaia hummed, drawing an invisible pattern on his propped up knee. “I thought that was you, but you know the last few months we've both been so focused on our career and things we both clearly have different thoughts about, that it hasn't felt like in the beginning. And I guess ending this while we can is the best decision for us.”

“I'll have to talk to Kate, make sure there's no dumb rumors circling and we get a joint statement out there to keep it as low as possible.” His free hand gently brushed along her shoulder, before settling on her back and drawing Kaia into a tight hug. “You don't know how much this means to me. The last time, with Nessa, being friendly wouldn't have been possible.”

The model reached her hand up, brushing a stray tear away that had slowly made its way down his cheek. “Have you been able to talk to her at all? Clear it up after all that time?”

He shook his head. “Honestly, I don't know what I would tell her, she didn't want to listen the first time and I guess she's happy now. Why wake sleeping dogs when you can keep the peace?”

“Well, that is a good reason…for now.” She shrugged her shoulders. “Let's focus on your darlin’ and how to get her to admit she is head over heels for you.” Winking, Kaia got up and moved inside the villa they had rented for the week, determined to get her mission, to shove you into his arms, started.

If there was one woman she was going to step aside for it was you. She had known you had feelings for Austin for a while but you never acted on them and she had to give it to you: for her you were more sister and close friend than some of her friends in LA.

Feb. 2023

“Hey, Ash. How's everyone? How's my favorite niece?”

The corners of his mouth raised up at the light chuckles coming from his phone. Austin was back in London for another night of awards. He still couldn't believe he had won all those awards like the People's Choice or Golden Globe and gotten nominations for Elvis alone. Hell, he was nominated for the BAFTA and the Oscar. This was beyond anything he ever thought and yet, looking out over Hyde Park he felt his gut churning. He wished he could talk to his mom, to Lisa-Marie who had given him so much strength before he lost her suddenly a few weeks ago. She had the same calming energy as his mom and after getting to know her he was drawn to her, happy for every moment he shared with Elvis’ only child. 

You still hadn't stopped seeing him as just a friend, calling him and congratulating on his win, listening to him when he got the news of Lisa's passing. He didn't think it possible but he fell even more and Austin wasn't sure he'd be able to recover easily.

“She's your only niece for now but Juju is doing great, really everyone is.” Ashley told him with a grin. “How're you Mr. Golden Globe winner? Heard your in the run for a BAFTA and Oscar.”

“It's unbelievable, I…phew, still can't believe it. I called Nessa, I wanted to talk to her and…thank her, you know, for what she did back then. Didn't want her to just read it in the press. I-I wished mom could be here. And Lisa.” 

His eyes watered. Austin had so many moments he was taking on alone again. Kaia was back in LA filming while juggling the runway as well but she loved it and every time they talked he could hear the lightness in her voice. 

“I'm sorry Aus, you know they're hella proud of you. Your mom is always there, Juju was in the garden a few days ago and this huge butterfly just plopped down on her nose and I knew Lori was there looking after her. And I bet Lisa will shine down on you as well. You made something really special.” She pulled him out of his dark thoughts, the small smile returning to his plumb lips. “And I'm sorry about Kaia, I know you guys were super happy. But you're still friends right? Are you going to be okay, want to talk about it?”

“Hm, yeah, I think so. Right now I wished I wasn't going alone tonight.” 

Humming, the actress sent him a smile. “You're not alone, babe. Baz is there and Kate, she'll make sure everything goes smoothly.”

Running his hand through his hair, Austin sat down on the plush settee in front of the bed. “I know, it's not them, it's…I'm grateful for them but there's, I wished she was there with me.”

“Oh!” Ashley's eyes widened with a grin spreading on her lips. “You still haven't gotten further with her?”

“No,” he sighed. “I even sent her love songs, ones I sang myself, tried to talk to her again when I called the girls, but she's insistent.”

“Don't worry, she'll come around.” The actress winked and Austin racked his brain about what she was going on about. He hoped she wasn't doing something he might regret in the end.

“Good morning my little poppets, I come bearing breakfast.” Your father called in his fake british accent from the front door of your flat. Your daughters squeals erupted with shouts of grandpa and you watched them run around, laughing softly at their antics. Your mother helped you in the kitchen, preparing the cake for Millies's birthday the next day.

“She's so excited for tomorrow.” Your mother laughed, mixing the cake batter and winking at you.

“That she is. She can't wait to be four, kept asking me when it was time for bed so her birthday would come sooner.” Chuckling, the two of you glanced back at the doorway waiting for your rugrats and your father.

“Mommy! Look what grandpa brought me!” Lottie called running over to you, holding up an Elvis coloring book. Your father followed closely with your youngest propped up on his hip. Somehow you had a feeling her obsession with the King of Rock'n'Roll was only fueled by Austin and your father. 

“Found it in that web shop and she wouldn't shut up about this Austin being Elvis in that new movie, so I thought I'd do ya a favor. That way she'll keep quiet for some time as well.” He ruffled her hair and grinned down at his oldest granddaughter.

Shaking your head, you were just about to retort when your phone chimed with a new message. You guessed it was Austin, telling you he had arrived safely at his hotel and was preparing to surprise Millie tomorrow with a visit.

Meet me at the Four Seasons. It's important. K

Kaia? Why was she…You hoped Austin was okay. You hoped she was okay. Of course you had read the news on their break-up, feeling guilty about it all and you knew Austin’s decision on that but you wanted to talk to her, explaining that you never intended, never encouraged him to start feeling anything for you. 

Swallowing the lump that had formed in your throat, you casually replied and asked her when she wanted to meet you. The reply was immediate and you felt that gut wrenching anxiety.

Was she going to blame you for the break-up? Oh god, this wasn’t going to end well.

Get here as soon as you can. K

And you did. You had asked your parents to watch the girls, not knowing how long the talk with Austin’s ex would take and what she really wanted. Anything was possible. Kaia had always been super nice to you and the girls, but there was no way of knowing if her thoughts about you had changed now after the end of their relationship.

So, you made your way inside the hotel, hands clammy and knees chittery from the dark thoughts swirling inside your head. The front desk loomed over you and you raked your brain on how to approach this, they probably wouldn’t just let anybody know information on

“Hey, Y/N.”  

Turning around with a soft gasp, you saw Kaia sitting together with two women watching expectantly. Taking a deep breath you clutched your bag tightly, a lifeline if you will and suddenly you felt stupid for being overly dramatic but you couldn’t help it. “H-Hey, Kaia. I’m sorry, I came as fast as I could and well, honestly I don’t know why I’m here, but I’m really sorry and I never meant”

She giggled softly, stopping your rambling and put her arm around your shoulder to pull you over, sitting with her and the women. “God, you’re such a sweetheart. I’m not mad. I was bummed, sure, but I guess we wanted different things in life so it’s all good.”

“But you, you said it was important and I thought you were going to hate me and I’m rambling again, sorry, I’m just nervous.”

Chuckling, one of the women got up and offered her hand. “I’m Sandra and this lovely lady is Sofia. Kaia asked us to get you ready for your date with Austin.”

Wide eyes turned to the model, your hand tightly gripping the offered appendage. “M-My date? I don’t…I think you’re mistaken. There was never any word about a date, besides we’re not even a couple.”

“Yet and yes, you’ll be going on an awards date. Aus has been moping the last two and a half months and to be honest, I want cheery, cheeky Austin back as my friend. So, we’re going to doll you up and I definitely know you’re going to blow him away.” She smirked at you, grabbing your arm and pulling you along to the elevators. 

“But” Your protests were cut short as the doors closed and the four of you made your way to Kaia’s hotel room. With it still being morning, Sandra told you there was enough time to get ready without any kind of stressing out - at least time wise, inside your brain was another story. You kind of felt like the girl from that Disney movie Inside Out. So many feelings at once.

“Right, so Austin is still up in his room, Tom and Jamie are going to join him later, we’ll be down here and get you ready. If you want you can take a shower first, relax a little and calm down.” The model suggested grabbing the champagne bottle from the large table inside her room - well more like a suite, if you were asked.

“I-I need to call my mum, she’s taking care of the girls right now. I thought I’d not be longer than an hour if you let me live.” You shrugged, anxiously biting off the skin on your finger.

Sofia grabbed your hand and pulled it away from your mouth. “Stop that, you don’t have anything to worry about.”

“So you say. You guys are gorgeous looking with killer bodies. Those dresses belong on you, not little ol’ me.” Your shoulders slumped. “The last time I remotely dressed up was for a date a year ago and the only positive thing he said to me was that my eyes were looking a bit tired and I should make sure to get enough sleep. I haven’t seen the inside of a gym for over three and a half years when I tried to train off all that baby weight and then just gave up. My ass is too big, my boobs are saggy and”

“And you have two wonderful kids that you love to bits. You look gorgeous with the right tool, believe me. Me looking like that is the combination of good genes and hard work.” Kaia pointed to herself. “There’s days I’m super happy to just sit down, doing nothing and enjoying the greasiest food I can get. But then I remember I have to get back to the Fashion shows.”

Taking a deep breath you nodded your head. “I still need to call my parents.”

“I’ll do that, you take a shower and drink that glass of champagne, believe me, it works wonders.” Kaia suggested, pushing you towards the en-suite and taking your bag. “Now, chop chop, we haven’t got all day.”

After your shower, Jamie, Austin’s hairstylist sat you down in front of the large vanity, all tools and makeup stashed on the table. You couldn't remember if you ever dreamed of something like this - your wedding maybe, but on a day like today, definitely not.

“What do you think about this one?” Sandra held up a gorgeous tulle dress, long sleeved and rhinestones all over. It was perfect, just not for you.

Shaking your head, you forgot Jamie was still fighting with your hair. She had been adamant that the last time a female sat in her chair had been back when she was training. The pull on your temples as she combed it was enough of a reprimand to sit still.

“It's the fourth dress you said no to. What is wrong with this one?” The stylist sighed and turned to Kaia who was shrugging her shoulders, obviously giving up on reasoning right now. “The first”

“My boobs are to big for that one.”

“Why do you think I've got Boob-Tape? The next was too low cut, the slit on the other one too high.”

“I just, I don't think this is me. Can't it be just a simple black dress, no fancy feathers, stones or whatever. For all I care, run down to Primark and get me a slip dress and I'd be fine with that.”

Sofia gave you a stern look, brandishing her powder brush as if it was a weapon to hit some sense into you. “Absolutely not. You're going to be the dame of the ball, you hear me. Everybody will be so jealous Austin is having you in his arms.”

Taking a deep breath you reminded yourself that the four women wouldn't let you say anything else. So you sat and let them flit about and do their thing.

“Okay, I've got one more dress, if you don't wear that, you'll have to walk about in your underwear.” Sandra smirked at you, holding up a black evening gown. “I think this one will be what you want. It’s Saint Laurent and paired with those gorgeous black Jimmy Choo heels you’ll look amazing.”

Your fingers brushed along the dress, feeling the cool silk underneath, that’s when you saw the back. The fabric was bound together in the back but if you wore that, you’d not be able to wear a bra. “My boobs are going to fall out of this one.” You moaned looking at the stylist and the model.

“Nope, that’s where the boob-tape comes in. Now let Jamie and Sofia swing their magic wands and get you in this dress ASAP.” Sandra commented, winking at you.

Kaia chuckled next to her, taking a sip of the coffee room service had brought half an hour ago. “You know, that sounded a bit dirty right there, Sandy.”

An hour later you found yourself at the back entrance, hair and makeup on point, pictures taken for your parents and hands clutching the bag like a rope. Kaia smiled at you, her arm linked with your own. “You, you're going to come with me, right?”

“I'll be at the show, but I'm taking a different car.”

Panic seized you, gripping her hand so tight she winced slightly. “I can't go there alone, I don't even what to do.”

Shaking her head, Kaia pulled you into a hug. “You'll be fine, I promise. Now get in the car, Austin will be in in a second.”

“Aus” Your eyes widened, but she already shoved you inside the car. Swallowing against the dryness of your throat you leaned back into the seat. Even sitting down you felt like your knees were going to give away. Then the door on the other side opened and you felt your heart stutter. He looked so handsome in his suit and bow tie.

“Darlin’?” He smiled, his hand reaching for you. “I, what are you doing here?”

“I-I, Kaia, she said I should meet her here and then suddenly they were on me, dressing me up and telling me I was your date for tonight.”

Austin's smile widened as he leaned closer. “I'm not complaining at all, but, are you okay!”

“I don't know.” You shrugged, grabbing his hand in yours and giving it a light squeeze. Thank god the privacy screen was up or you probably wouldn’t have had the courage to talk with him right now. “I keep thinking that I might have hit my head, that maybe Kaia really hated me and I'm up in that room and wake up soon.”

He chuckled softly, shaking his head. “I assure you, you're very awake. Because if you aren't then I'm asleep as well and it would be such an amazing dream.” Leaning in, his lips brushed against your cheek. 

“I'm sorry about before.” Your eyes watered, leaning your forehead against his own, the fingers of your free hand brushing along his chin, the light stubble scratching your palm. “Truth is, I never wanted to fall in love with you. I loved before and was hurt badly in the process. But you were so different and you were in a relationship. Your a celebrity, I'm just me, I'm a nobody. And the girls, they are my world and you were the only one putting them first, not even their own father does that.”

His Adam's apple bopped and you could see his emotions swirling in his ocean eyes. “You're not a nobody, darlin’, you're somebody to me and if I'm honest with you, I never wantesnto fall in love with you either but Lottie and Millie made it hard not to fall in love and in the end all I wanted was the three of you with me.”

Your eyes flitted between his eyes and plush lips, the butterflies dancing inside your belly until you used all your courage and sealed your lips with his, no thought left to the carefully applied lip gloss Sofia used on you. It had taken you months to admit to yourself what you really wanted and now you finally found it. 

Austin's arms wound around your waist, pulling you closer, only just stopping before you straddled his waist. He moaned into his mouth, your arms slinging around his shoulder, fingers playing with the hair in his neck.

“I love you, Austin and I'm sorry I tried to push you away.” You confessed, breaking the kiss.

“I'm happy, you came to your senses. You’ll be my lucky charm tonight.” 

Smirking, your fingers brushing over his lips, taking away the gloss you left there with your kiss. “I'll try to be the best lucky charm you can have.”

“The best and everyone will be jealous of me having the most beautiful woman of the night in my arms.” Chuckling, Austin’s hand moved up along your bare back. “I love that dress.”

“Hm, I think I like it as well.” You had to give it to Sandra, she was a master of her art. She truly made you irresistible to him. "Oh, you want to call the girls before you head off to the carpet?"

“Yes, I missed them today.”

He brushed his lips against your temple, leaning against you as you grabbed your phone from the clutch his stylist grabbed for you.

“Mummy! Austin!” Lottie called loudly, jumping off the sofa to sit next to her little sister who was coloring a page of her Elvis coloring book. “Granny said you were going to a party tonight and we could stay up to watch you win that award.”

“Lottie, I don't think that's what granny really meant.” You admonished, but knew they'd probably be too tired to watch it all once the ceremony started.

“Right, little lady, you listen to your mama, no staying up late just to see me, okay? I'll meet up with you tomorrow, take you girls out to have some ice cream, how's that sound?”

Your heart swelled, listening to him talk to your daughters that way. He truly was made to be a dad one day and you hoped this was actually what he really wanted.

“Now, I'll be heading off to the red carpet, take some nice pictures for you and then you can watch the start of the show. If there's a camera I'll send some kisses your way, okay? You be good for your grandma and grandpa and listen to what they say.”

They nodded their little heads, accompanied by aha’s and uhu’s before they sent Austin off with big kisses and loads of good luck. You waved your goodbyes at them and enjoyed the rest of the ride talking about his upcoming projects and the rest of awards season.

Of course you were his lucky charms that night. He won his BAFTA and you couldn't have been prouder of him than you were at the moment he accepted his award.

The video of you running into his arms and kissing him soundly was one of the most viewed of the night, but in that moment, you couldn't care less if everyone knew about you.

[farfromstrange]

Halloween | Matt Murdock x F!Reader

PART 5 of The Vault

See this post for more information on my Valentine's Day Special & Follower Celebration, but these fics can be read separately!

Pairing: Matt Murdock x F!Reader

Summary: Matt hasn't been paying attention to you lately. So, on Halloween, you decide to try and get his attention in a way he can't refuse.

Warnings: SMUT (18+ MINORS DNI), Dom!Matt, choking, praise, degradation, unprotected p in v, no foreplay, slight orgasm control, mentions of oral sex, use of "good girl", Matt looks like a bore in the beginning, there is a stranger who can't take a hint, a very common Halloween costume, protective!Matt, cliché tropes

Word Count: 4.7k

A/n: This is... well, let's just say that you can tell that it was written a while back and then rewritten in parts by Me today because the smut lacked depth, BUT I do kind of like it. It's a Halloween fic, so apologies about that. For this, I got inspired when I bought my "I'm Not Daredevil" sweater in 2022. Plus some general horny thoughts during my first Kinktober on Tumblr that I didn't participate in (2022). I hope you like it anyway.

He hasn’t paid enough attention to you lately.

Between work and the nights spent protecting the streets of Hell’s Kitchen, he is hardly home. He tries to be, but he fails almost every time. The bed is starting to grow colder, and his scent lingers only half-heartedly in the atmosphere. You miss him. You miss his touch, his skin, his voice but most importantly, you miss the spark. It has been two weeks of Matt being slumped, but that is more than enough to drive you crazy.

When it gets colder outside, you need your boyfriend by your side, to hold you and cherish you like he usually would. You miss being desired by someone. You miss being the center of his world. Not that you want him to ignore his responsibilities forever, but just for a few hours, you want him to yourself wholeheartedly. Missing him when he isn’t gone is the worst feeling, and it often leads to tensions in your relationship. 

Matt can be so selfless that it sometimes starts to look and feel like he is being selfish by going after what he deems to be right. He doesn’t realize it though, not until he is hit over the head with it and suffers a concussion.

As Halloween rolls around the corner, having an absent boyfriend grows into a problem you can no longer ignore. And you don’t want to, either.

Karen decided to throw a party, and she sent out invites to her closest friends months ago to make sure everyone could somehow fit it into their schedules. She has invited everyone she knows and encouraged those to bring their friends as plus ones. Costumes are mandatory.

Halloween used to be your favorite holiday, but this time, you aren’t even sure if you can make it to the party without getting pitiful glances because your plus one has to be busy—the plus one that Karen also invited separately because he is her colleague and friend. 

Matt doesn’t seem to care much about Halloween, especially not this party. Even though it’s not only important to Karen but to you, he has expressed how much he doesn’t want to go because he can’t neglect his Daredevil duties for one night. Not right now. 

When you reminded him a few weeks ago, he told you that the 31st of October is boring and overrated, kissed you, and then you both went to bed. 

You decided that night that it was time to use a different set of weapons. If Matt knew, he would go crazy, but that is what you aim for. You want him to go crazy. Crazy for you. 

The first step of your plan sounds easier than it is: convince him to come with you.

“You going to Karen’s party?” he asks you one evening before going out into the night.

You answer curtly, “Yeah.”

“Got a costume?”

“You know I do.”

His lips curl into a smirk. “Are you going to let me feel it? Or do you want me to guess?” 

“I want you to come with me.” You help zip his Daredevil suit back up. “I want you to put the mask down and come with me. Karen invited the both of us,” you say. “She’s gonna be asking questions.”

If it’s the disappointed cadence of your voice or the fact that he’s curious about what you’re going to wear, you’re not sure, but when he suddenly agrees, you’re taken aback. “I’ll join you guys later,” he murmurs. “Right now–“

Your excitement falls flat again. “The city needs you. Yeah, I know.” 

You’re starting to grow sick and tired of that sentence. He doesn’t deserve this. He is trying his best, and you act like a needy child. You’re angry while he is saving lives and making sure the streets are a little safer. But you stood by for weeks without complaining once that you felt a bit neglected. You always show him unwavering support. Even now, you want nothing more than for him to do what he needs to do, but you do so with a bitter aftertaste. And a lot of misplaced jealousy. 

Not having him close is torture. You need him. Even dressed in protective red leather, he looks too hot to handle, and that makes you crave him even more.

You brush off the ache in your core and focus on getting him dressed for the night. You don’t want him to get hurt.

“You going to wear the costume?” you ask.  

He cocks an eyebrow. “You mean the sweater that says ‘I’m not Daredevil?’”

“Yes.”

“I don’t know.”

“Come on, it’s a joke only the four of us will understand. It’s perfect!”

“It’s not that I don’t want to,” he says, his unfocused eyes darting up toward the ceiling. “I just… How about I just put a suit on and say I’m James Bond?”

“Please?” You wrap your arms around his neck. 

He sighs warily in response. “Will you tell me what your costume is?”

“No,” you answer plainly.

That’s the second part of your plan; wear the most revealing costume you could wear, and drive him crazy when he does appear at the party and hears you mingling. When he smells your bare skin, and when he realizes that you’re getting all the attention he should be giving you. 

“Please,” he copies your pleading tone, lips pursed into a frustrated pout. The conflict in his eyes is not yet covered by the red mask. 

He’s contemplating. For a moment, he considers staying. He wants to spend time with you; he wants to go to the party and have fun. You love Halloween and he would do anything to make you happy, but he can’t. The city is busier than usual. Louder. More intense. His ears can’t seem to catch a break. He tries to focus on you, to tune out the noise, but he fails miserably every damn time.

He doesn’t sleep, not much, and he barely eats anymore because he drowns himself in work so deeply that he forgets his basic needs. He just needs it all to stop. He has to go out to get some semblance of relief—to fight, to get his fists bloody, and come home exhausted enough to get a few hours of shut-eye before the cycle inevitably repeats itself.

It has been like this for weeks now. He is always overstimulated, always overworked; he can’t even kiss you sometimes because the thought alone burns his skin. It hurts that much.

He isn’t going to stop. You know that. You understand, but even the devil’s advocate grows tired sometimes. 

You’re so tired of the distance. You are so tired of him not talking to you when something is bothering him, and you’re tired of having to pretend it doesn’t bother you. 

Still, neither of you want to start the conversation. It’s a series of petty attempts to gain attention, a constant tiptoeing around each other until one of you caves. 

You peck his lips. “You come to the party, you find out,” you say. “You don’t, I guess I’m showing all of this ass for nothing.”

His ears perk up. “You’re what?” 

“Nothing,” you wave him off. 

“No, what did you just say?”

“I said you should come to the party.”

“After that. Is it—I swear to God if you’re wearing something short…”

“Then what? You gonna drag me home and spank me?” You scoff, trying your best to hide the fact that this is exactly what you want him to do.

The silk of your dressing gown hits the floor. It’s time to play even dirtier than before. Your plan is made to be adaptable, after all.

Matt stops breathing. “This isn’t fair,” he growls.

You smirk. “You should go.”

“You’re torturing me, you know that?”

“You decided to go out tonight,” you counter.

“Because I have to.”

“Do you?”

He curses under his breath, “Fuck. Okay, whatever game you’re playing, sweetheart, I need you to stop.”

You’re nowhere near satisfied. In all of your naked glory, you take a step forward. “Or what?” 

“Or,” he says, and his voice lowers barely above a dangerous whisper, “I’ll stuff your cunt with my fingers until you’re begging me to come. And then, just when you’re about to, I’ll pull away and leave you to take care of it yourself because I know you won’t be able to come without my help. That’s what I’m gonna do if you keep teasing me like that.”

Your jaw drops. You’ve got him right there, with his teeth buried in the hook, but he knows that if he lets the trap fall shut, you win. This isn’t just a desperate attempt at getting his attention anymore—you’ve got that now. This is turning into a game. 

Matt smirks, hearing the uptick of your heartbeat. He thinks he’s so smart. Reaching out, he cups your bare pussy with his rough palm, eliciting a sweet moan out of your mouth that shoots right to his cock. “Already so fucking wet for me,” he purrs. 

His touch feels like electroshocks shooting right into your bloodstream. It has been way too long, and you’re already burning for him before you can even fight back.

You want to beg him to keep going, but as quickly as he has put his hands on you, he retreats again. 

Matt marvels at the feeling of your slick between his thick fingers. He takes a whiff. Your arousal is so prominent in the air that his face contorts in agony. And then, he slides the digit into his mouth. Your distinctive taste explodes on his taste buds, and he moans, “Delicious.”

The show he’s giving you is utterly erotic, and it takes everything in you not to drop to your knees and take his aching cock out of his suit. 

Pressing his lips to yours in a bruising kiss, he whispers, “I’ll see you later.” 

He’s gone before you can protest.

He’s not the only one who has tricks up his sleeves though, and you’re more than ready to seek your revenge later tonight and finally get what you so deeply crave from him. He has to let go eventually, and he has to pay attention to you for longer than five minutes. You both need it.

Dressed in your costume and with a bottle of liquor, you make your way to Karen’s apartment. You’re determined to make this night last. Well, at least long enough for Matt to arrive, and then it’s showtime. 

Your friend greets you with a welcoming hug. Her small living space is already crowded, and you make your way through toward the table with the drinks. You can feel several eyes on you. Without your coat on, the costume you’re wearing leaves little to the imagination. You wonder if Matt can smell you across the city, wherever he may be right now. Maybe he does, and maybe he can tell what the thought of him is doing to you. Maybe he can tell that this is exciting you and he will cut his patrol short tonight. But you know he isn’t paying attention to you. He only does so when he fears that you’re in danger.

“And who are you supposed to be?” a low voice asks beside you.

You turn to find a tall guy dressed as a werewolf approaching the punchbowl to your right. 

“The tag said ‘slutty witch’,” you answer. “But I find the term a bit… problematic, so I’m a witch who likes to wear very short clothes on very cold days.”

He chuckles. Underneath his makeup and the fake fur, you can’t make out his features, but it’s not like you care anyway. “Well,” he says, “you’re a very beautiful witch.”

Oh, now he’s flirting with you. 

Your plan for tonight includes mingling to draw attention to you and make Matt jealous when he gets here, not flirting with strangers. You would never do that to Matt. You also don’t feel the need to flirt with anyone who isn’t your boyfriend, even though the attention does make you blush for a moment— mostly out of discomfort. 

You’re not interested in this man. Werewolves are only your type when they’re fictional, and even then you will always prefer your devil over hairy mythological creatures. 

You take a sip of your drink. “I accept the compliment,” you say. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” the man answers. He takes another step toward you. “Are you here alone?”

You take a step back. “Yes, and I’d like to keep it that way.”

“Playing hardball, huh?”

“No, actually, I’m just not interested.” 

“Nah, I don’t believe that. Is it another guy? It’s a guy, right? It has to be a guy.”

You glare at him. “Why? Because you’re so hot and irresistible and can’t take no for an answer?” Your voice drips with sarcasm. 

He leans toward you, and he’s getting dangerously close to your personal space. “You think I’m hot. You said it,” he says. 

Thankfully, he turns around to pour himself a cup of punch before touching you against your will. You wouldn’t hesitate to snap his neck like a twig. 

Your heart is pounding as the adrenaline mixes with fury in your veins. You forget about Matt and the fact that you dressed like this for him. He will appreciate it, and his opinion matters most to you. You just hope that this guy will leave it be so you can join your friends on the other side of the room.

“No offense, dude,” you tighten your grip around your cup, “but I think I’d rather be anywhere but here.”

Karen and Foggy are mingling somewhere, and you know that you’re definitely safe with them. 

The werewolf smirks. “Can I come?” 

Before you can tell him off, the very thing you thought wouldn’t happen happens. 

“I believe the lady said she’s not interested,” Matt pipes up behind you.

So he was listening to you from across the city. His locked jaw is an indication that he is fuming inside. More than fuming. He’s about to explode.

Oh fuck. 

He appears next to you, and one look at him makes you beam. He is wearing the red sweater with the big, white “I’m Not Daredevil” written on it. He even put on the antlers. 

The werewolf takes a good look at him when he wraps his arm around your waist, and he finally retreats. “She’s all yours,” he says. 

“Yeah, she is,” says Matt. You can’t see his eyes, but the rest of his face is expressive enough to give the other man a faint idea of what he is capable of. As innocent as he may look, he isn’t.

There’s a certain dominance he carries that could make any grown human being weak in their knees. You are the only one who would voluntarily do so and thank him, and beg him for more. 

Once the werewolf has disappeared, Matt turns you toward him. His feral demeanor slips for just a moment. “Are you okay?” he asks softly. He cradles your face in his hand, his thumb brushing your cheekbone, and you once again find yourself on fire.

For you, he put the costume on. For you, he came. And everything you have been struggling with these past weeks while he was absent feels so stupid now because he has been trying from the start, you just didn’t want to see it because you were so upset and needy. 

You nod weakly, leaning into his touch. “He was just…weird,” you murmur. Reaching out, you touch his sweater. “You’re wearing the costume.”

Matt shows the faintest hint of a smile before it completely fades from his face again.

“Yeah,” his answer is breathless. “But what the fuck are you wearing?” His hand slips from your waist to your exposed thighs with a low growl. A shiver ripples through him.

“A costume.”

He brushes over your ass, and there is hardly anything there to cover the fishnets you’re wearing. If he grips a little tighter, he will hold your flesh in his hands. Just a little lower and he will touch your wet cunt. Your scent is overwhelming, and the feeling of your skin in the crowded room makes all the lights in his brain go dark as they burst. He’s already so hard in his jeans. 

“Was this your plan all along?” he asks. His grip on your cheek tightens, and the other hand grabs your ass. “Get me to come with you just to hear your thighs brush against each other? To smell how wet you are with barely any fabric covering your pussy? Did you want me to bend you over in front of everyone just so I’ll touch you? Are you that desperate?”

You’re in trouble. Big, big trouble—and it’s exactly what you wanted. To be fair, it stands in a slightly different light now, but it’s Halloween. Things always go differently than planned on Halloween.

You swallow thickly, fluttering your lashes at him as innocently as you can. “You’ve been so busy,” you confess, “and I just missed you. I missed you so much, baby. I had to do something to get your attention.”

He bares his teeth. Those gorgeous teeth behind those gorgeously plump lips. You can only imagine them on yours. You can only imagine what it will feel like to have him between your thighs now, wildly licking at your slick folds while thrusting his skilled fingers in and out of your cunt. God, you want that. You need it. The thought alone is enough to make your thighs clench, and you cross them. You’re positively dripping. 

“Listen to me,” he demands, and his grip moves to your chin. “You’re going to finish that drink, alright? You’re gonna drink up, you’re gonna say goodbye to Foggy and Karen, and then we’re going to get out of here so I can fuck that feeling of inadequacy right out of that beautiful head of yours. Are we clear?”

You stare into your reflection in his glasses. The blood is rushing in your cheeks. You don’t trust your voice; all you can do is nod.

“Good girl.” His hand drops from your face. 

You’re shaking. Your knees are weak, and your legs feel like jelly. You breathe and you live solely for him. He has a power over you that is almost embarrassing to admit to. 

When you try to down the rest of your punch in one gulp, Matt stops you. By slowing you down, he’s teasing you. You suppose that you deserve it, but you’re not sure how much longer you can wait. 

It takes an agonizing while for you to finish your drink, say goodbye to your friends, and call a cab. Matt keeps his hands to himself. It’s so unlike him, but it gives you an idea of what’s to come, and the anticipation is killing you.

The door to his apartment hasn’t even fully shut behind you when he flips you around and pushes you against the wall, chest first. He does it with such force that your palms burn upon landing. You gasp.

“You’ve been teasing me all night,” he rasps into your ear. “I put this costume on for you. To be nice. If I’d known you would make it your mission to make my dick hard in front of dozens of people, I would have fucked you before going out tonight.”

You know that he wouldn’t have, but the thought still sends shivers down your spine. Not a single coherent thought is left in your mind.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t–” you break off into a moan.

Your tights are torn in two by his eager hands, and you moan when he pulls you back against his hard cock. You can feel his straining against your pants against your now bare skin. You want to reach out and touch him, but he won’t let you. 

And then, his palm lands flat on your bare ass cheek. He doesn’t even bother to take the rest of the costume off.

“You didn’t mean to?” he asks. “Are you sure about that?” 

You buck your hips. His dark chuckle grazes your ear. 

“Answer me, sweetheart.”

“I meant to,” you cry out when his hand comes back down on your red ass cheek. It stings, but the pain shoots straight to your middle where it settles in your needy core. “And I don’t regret it.”

“That’s better.” 

“Please.” You don’t know what you’re begging for, but this aching emptiness is driving you crazy. You need his cock, and it’s becoming pathetically obvious.

Matt gives your backside another slap before pressing you further against the wall. “Don’t ever doubt that you’re the most important thing in the world to me,” he says. “But slutty witch? You know what that does to me?”

You can’t help but smirk. “Yeah.”

He tears the underwear under your skirt in two. 

“If you want to be a slutty witch,” he presses his lips to your ear, “then act like it.”

Without a warning, without preparation, he thrusts into you. Your lips part in a lustful moan. 

Matt is relentless. One arm wraps around you, the other around your throat. He thrusts his hips upward, filling you to the brim with his cock. He pulls out just enough to move past your G-spot and directs the tip of his cock toward that spongy spot that makes you see stars. 

His name tumbles from your lips like a mantra. Matt, Matt, Matt… 

Your chest deflates. The corset of your costume is so tight, you can’t breathe. Your nipples ache underneath the fabric. They want to be free. They want to be touched. 

“Matt,” you beg. 

He doesn’t hesitate to open the ties at the front, pulling you free from the metal cage. 

The air gets knocked out of your lungs. He tightens his grip, locking the oxygen in your windpipe. Skin slaps against skin, moans fill the air scented with the stench of sex and every time his cock penetrates your tight walls, he pushes you further to the edge of the precipice.

From around your waist, he moves his arm down and his hand to your pussy. He catches your clit with precision. His thrusts speed up. They hit deeper and harder, and your eyes roll back into your head.

Matt, Matt, Matt…

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he grunts. “Such a good little slutty witch for me, sweetheart. Push back against me.”

He doesn’t have to tell you twice. You move your hips back to meet his thrusts. He lets out a moan of his own, digging his teeth into the soft flesh of your shoulder.

“That’s it.” He rubs in rapid circles over your clit. Your body is begging for a release.

The wall feels cold against your heated forehead. His fingers tighten around your throat again, causing you to clench around his cock. He twitches. You can feel every desperate drag of him inside of you, and he only keeps on giving you more, and more, and…

Your hand finds his against against the wall. The warning of your impending orgasm gets lost, but he doesn’t need verbal confirmation for something that he can feel every time he thrusts into the walls of your cunt that are hugging him so tightly, he is holding on by a thread. 

As if to distract himself, Matt lands another harsh slap against your bottom. “Who do you belong to?” he asks, feeling the flesh jiggle under his touch. 

You moan. “You, Matthew. Only you!”

Your screams of pleasure are music to his ears. He repeats the motion of his hand. You will have imprints on your skin tomorrow, and he will proudly feel them before you have to go to work. Leaving his mark on you is an exciting thought.

His balls tighten. He won’t last much longer if you keep squeezing him like that—if those thoughts keep popping into his head, and he barely manages to keep himself from coming right then and there, coming deep inside of you and fucking his cum into you until you#re overflowing. 

The pain from the sloppy spanking—he isn’t capable of seriously hurting you—floods your system and your pussy at the same time, amplifying the lewd noise echoing in his otherwise silent apartment. With the added wetness, the circles he rubs over your clit with his calloused fingers become impossibly faster. The sensitive bundle of nerves starts to scream; you can barely take it anymore, but you need his permission to come. In this scene, at least. You must always wait for his permission when he punishes you like this. 

You have a safe word for a reason, but you’re too blissed out to care. You love what he’s doing to you. You love how it feels, and you love how well the little pain he introduces you to every time mixes with the pleasure that consumes you whole. 

He buries his nose in your neck. You smell of sweat, salt, and his shampoo. It makes you feel better, you told him. To him, it’s a sensory dream. You complete him, and your scent complements him in ways he doesn’t fully understand. All Matt knows is that it makes him feel good, and not just because he gets a little possessive sometimes. It’s a warmth that runs deeper than the words of the English language could describe.

Again, he flicks your clit. “I want you to come,” he finally says the five words you have been waiting for. “I want you to come all over my cock, and I want you to scream my name so this entire city knows who’s taking care of you.”

Your pussy clenches around him again, and with a shout, you come undone. Your legs shake as the coil in your lower stomach snaps, tearing down your walls. You spasm, and you cry out his name. No feeling could ever be as powerful as the orgasms that Matt manages to give you. They are like tsunamis, and they know no mercy. They are a force of nature that no one can control. You know it will happen, but you never know the force of it until it happens. And every time it does, you feel like you’re floating in a world far from home where only he, his godly hands, and his cock exist. 

Matt fills you with his cum after a few more sloppy thrusts. He comes hard, and it doesn’t seem to stop for quite a while. He’s leaking onto your thighs at this point, but the stickiness is only another reminder of him, and it makes you feel warm inside. 

With your breathing slowed to a more acceptable pace, you allow yourself to lean back against him. “Wow,” you mumble. 

He catches some of his cum from the inside of your thigh. “Yeah,” he says. “Wow.”

You greedily open your mouth. The salty essence of him spreads over your tongue. He’s the only man whose taste you would carry with you proudly for days. 

The kiss Matt delivers to your cheek is sweet. 

“Did you like my—” 

He cuts you off, “Yeah. Too much.”

“But it did work,” you say. 

“You could’ve just talked to me.” 

You look over your shoulder, you notice that he’s still wearing his costume, minus the glasses. His hazel eyes are full of hurt. Shame. Guilt.

“I’m sorry, I just didn’t think you’d listen.”

“I always listen,” he says. “Even when you think I don’t.”

You whimper at the loss of his cock when he pulls out. Matt doesn’t turn you around right away, and for a split second, you fear that this will turn into an argument. 

Instead, he sweeps you up into his arms.

“Don’t disappear on me again,” the plea is whispered directly into his ear.

His hold on you tightens, carrying you toward your shared bedroom. “I won’t.”

“Thank you.”

“I love you.” The sincerity in his voice lights the candle in your soul that threatened to go out. 

You answer without missing a beat, “I love you too.”

“Do me a favor?”

“Anything.”

Matt throws you down on the mattress. “Keep the costume.”

Halloween might just become his favorite holiday, after all. 

Matt Murdock Smut Tag List: @acharliecoxedfan @gpenguin666 @linamarr @mcugeekposts @itwasthereaminuteago @norestfortheshelbywicked @yarrystyleeza @littlenerdyravenclaw @etanordoesbullsh1t @thychuvaluswife @harleycao @schneeflocky @imjustcal @pipsqueakkitten @merlinbtch @sya-skies @amberritonicole @ravenclaw617 @pigeonmama

[death-ofpeace-ofmind]

Emergence - Noah Sebastian

Emergence // Burial Plot sequel //

TW: Language, mentions of DV, mentions of past addiction ((If i missed any please let me know))

BURIAL PLOT

Banner by @alwaysfightforwhoyouare & @xmads-omensx

Word Count: 780

AUTHORS NOTE: I’m sorry this is so short

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Tags: @alwaysfightforwhoyouare @lil-garbitch @blade-dressed-in-red @heyyoplayer @collidewiththesav @supersquirrel1996 @shayeanna-ashlie @klutzy-kay24 @dontwantthemoney @xmads-omensx @miwomens @astronoids @renegadebirch @follow-me-down-to-wonderland @lacy1986 @chey-h @saythatuwill @runningincircl3s

Y/N

December 23, 2022

7:30 PM

I had arrived at my best friend’s birthday/Christmas party. I decided to wear the blue dress I got engaged in with a pair of black doc martens. Looking almost identical to the night I got engaged. I walk in, with Meghan’s gift in hand.

“Y/N!!” Meghan basically yelled. She already had her favorite drink in her hand. A Smirinoff Screwdriver, “You made it!” She ran up to hug me

“I told you I wouldn’t miss it.” I chuckled hugging her back,

“Yeah, but I wasn’t sure since he’s here” She said, pulling away from the hug

“He’s already here?” I asked her, “Yeah, he did about 20 minutes ago.” She told me, “Welp, there’s no turning back now” I said, feeling a little nervous.

She basically drags me into the kitchen, handing me a black cherry White Claw, “You know me so well,” I chuckle, popping open the can and taking a drink. “Always. Did you tell Noah that you were going to talk to him?” She asked. I stopped dead in my tracks, “Yeah, I did, but I need to drink first before looking at him” I said. “Fair enough” Meghan said, chuckling, “He really has changed, Y\N”

Meghan dragged me into the living room where everyone else was. “Guys! She’s come out of hiding!” She said, point at me.

“Holy shit! Y/N!” Nicholas said, “Where have you been this past year and a half? Are you still a teacher?” He asked, walking up and hugging me. Noah, on the other hand, looked like he had seen a ghost. “Yeah! I’m teaching high school history now!” I said, hugging him back. “Hell yeah!” He said. I made my rounds of hellos making some small talk with everyone. After everyone got settled back down and into the party, Noah walked up to me. His long hair was now cut, his muscles toned up, and wearing a silver chain around his neck.

“You promised me five minutes?” He asked, visibly nervous. I pulled my bottom lip in between my teeth gently, “Yeah, I did” I told him. “Think we can step outside? Somewhere a little more quiet?” His voice was soft, I nodded my head.

He led me outside to Meghan and Matt’s back patio, the music muffled by the sliding glass door. “Thank you for giving me the chance to talk to you,” He started, “It means a lot..”

“It’s not really like I had a choice” I said,

“You could’ve said no,” Noah said, “But anyways, I just wanted to tell you I'm sorry for all the hell I put you through, you didn’t deserve that.”

“You’re right, I didn’t.” I told him, finally looking up at him.

“I was so caught up in chasing that next high, I lost sight of what really meant the most to me, and that was you.” He admitted.

“Noah, you destroyed me, absolutely shattered me. And every time I thought things were changing and getting better, you would retort right back to old ways. That’s what hurt the most, not the amount of times you put your hands on me, every time I would think we were getting better, it all got fucked up again.” I told him, my tone a little more serious, “I was supposed to marry you, Noah. I gave you everything, and you gave me nothing.”

“Y/N.. I can’t change the fuck up I was in the past. But I can show you who I am now, if you let me.” He said, pleading a little bit.

“Noah, I don’t know. How can I trust that after the amount of empty promises I was given?” I asked, “You just have to trust me.” He said.

“Trust you? Again? No. I made that mistake once and it landed me in therapy for six months.” I said absolutely flabbergasted.

“I’m ten months sober, Y/N, I’m in therapy myself. I promised you and myself I would never be the same man I once was.” He said. I searched for any signs of dishonesty on his face, and I found none. “Just give me one night, one night to show you who I am now. Just one.” He says, his brown chocolate eyes.

“One night isn’t going to fix the three years of hell I endured, Noah. I’m sorry, but it’s not.” I said

“I understand. But it’ll show you a glimpse of who I’ve become.” He told me.

I knew he wasn’t going to stop asking until I said yes, I took a deep breath, “Fine.. One night.” I said, giving into him, “One night. Don’t make me regret it.”

“Oh, princess, I won’t, I promise” He said, a hint of satisfaction in his voice.

[kathlare]

colliding realities

Lando Norris x Amelie Dayman

Summary: Max reveals that Amelie, whom Lando thought might still be a possibility, is now with someone else. The news hits hard, forcing Lando to confront the painful truth that his hopes of reconciling with Amelie may be forever out of reach.

Wordcount: 1.5 k

Warnings: none

full masterlist // request over here!

September 22nd, 2022 - London, United Kingdom

Lando’s London apartment had a familiar hum to it. The type of hum that came with the absence of anything truly exciting—just a bunch of guys lounging on the couch, a game on TV that no one was really watching, and the clinking of beer bottles as Max, Tom, and Martin drifted in and out of conversations.

Lando was leaning against the kitchen counter, grabbing a bottle of water. He’d been zoning out, trying to ignore the way his friends kept glancing at him with these weird, knowing looks. He had caught it a few times already. Tom would nudge Martin, both of them exchanging some silent dialogue that made the air feel tense and full of unspoken words. Max, on the other hand, was doing his usual thing: sitting back, pretending like nothing was wrong but looking like he knew something was about to blow up.

It was hard to ignore, but Lando wasn’t in the mood to dig. Maybe it was just the tiredness from travel or the dull ache in his chest that never seemed to go away these days, but he wasn’t in the mood to deal with whatever it was.

He twisted the cap off the water bottle, taking a long drink, his mind wandering. But as he finished, he could still feel the eyes on him.

Sighing, he pushed off the counter and headed back toward the living room, where his friends were huddled together like they were plotting something. He barely made it to the doorway when he overheard a snippet of conversation.

—Max, you have to tell him.—

—Yeah, seriously. It’s been long enough. He needs to know.—

Lando stopped dead in his tracks. His stomach sank a little. What the hell were they talking about?

His feet froze, but he didn’t want to be obvious, so he slowly leaned back against the wall, careful not to make a sound. He couldn’t quite make out everything, but the pieces were enough to make his curiosity flare.

—What? Tell me what?— Lando’s voice cut through the air suddenly as he pushed himself back into the room, fully stepping into view.

The three of them looked up, the air immediately shifting to something more tense, like he’d walked into the middle of a secret. They exchanged uneasy glances, and Lando couldn't quite read their faces.

Tom and Martin exchanged a few more uncertain looks before Tom cleared his throat and stood up from the couch.

—Alright, alright, we’ll leave you two to it,— Tom said, his voice laced with a playful but strained tone, as if they were getting out of the way of something they weren’t quite sure about.

Martin followed suit, standing up and giving Lando a quick look before walking towards the door. —We’ll be outside, just... take your time,— he said, his voice carrying a subtle edge of awkwardness.

They both disappeared out the door, leaving Lando standing in the middle of the living room, his heart pounding a little faster now, unsure of what was going on. Max didn’t say anything for a beat, letting the silence hang in the air between them.

Finally, Max rubbed his hand over his face, leaning back against the arm of the couch, his expression shifting into something more serious.

—Lando, mate...— he started, his voice quieter than usual. He looked like he was about to say something big, something Lando hadn’t expected.

Lando crossed his arms, trying to act casual, but his stomach was already starting to churn.

—What’s going on, Max? What do I need to know?—

Max hesitated for a moment before locking eyes with him, the weight of the conversation settling in. Lando could feel it in his gut, the tension thick in the room. Max didn’t just look worried. He looked like he was trying to decide if he should even say anything at all.

Max leaned forward slightly, the words weighing heavy on his tongue as he met Lando's gaze.

—Do you remember the other day when we were talking about those rumors, the ones about Amelie and Rodrigo? How ridiculous we thought they were?— Max asked, his voice steady but tinged with something Lando couldn’t quite place.

Lando's heart skipped a beat. He could feel his breath catch in his throat, but he tried not to show it. It was just gossip, right? Ridiculous rumors. He didn’t believe them for a second. He never had. He had brushed it off in the past, thinking there was no way Amelie would ever be interested in someone like Rodrigo Riquelme. It didn’t add up.

—Yeah, I remember.— Lando’s voice was flat, but inside, he was already bracing himself for whatever was coming next.

Max took a deep breath, his face hardening slightly as he spoke again, his tone more serious now.

—I saw them the other day. Right outside the building, just before I was heading out.— Max’s eyes dropped for a moment, clearly recalling the scene. —Amelie and Rodrigo... they were together. And not just in passing, mate. They were... cozy. Whispering to each other, holding hands. And, honestly, I’m pretty sure they kissed.—

Lando froze, the words hitting him like a punch to the gut. His mind couldn’t process it right away. Amelie. Rodrigo. Kissing.

It didn’t make sense.

Lando had just gotten out of something messy with Luisinha, and now... now he was starting to think that maybe, just maybe, Amelie could be a possibility again. A chance to fix things between them, even if it was a long shot. He’d been single for a while now, and maybe... maybe she would be open to something again. They’d had their history, their connection. He’d felt that pull recently when he thought about her, the old flirtation, the chemistry that never quite died.

But this? This changed everything.

He didn’t let it show. He couldn’t. Max was watching him closely, and Lando didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of seeing how much it stung. Instead, he exhaled slowly, trying to keep his tone neutral.

—Are you sure?— He could feel the knot in his stomach tighten. He didn’t want to believe it, but the way Max was looking at him told him this wasn’t just idle gossip.

—Yeah, I’m sure, mate.— Max’s gaze was unwavering now. —I saw it with my own eyes. They were... well, close— he said, emphasizing the word as if to make Lando understand the weight of it. —And I know it’s hard, but you should hear it from me, not from some random rumor mill. I figured you’d want to know.—

Lando’s chest felt tight, like the walls of the room were closing in on him. He didn't want to admit how badly the news hit him, but the pressure was building, and he couldn't fight it anymore. He tried to keep himself composed, to act like it didn’t matter, but it was impossible.

His eyes flickered to the floor, his jaw clenching as the weight of Max’s words sank in. It wasn’t just a rumor anymore. Max had seen it with his own eyes—Amelie, the one person Lando thought he might be able to try again with, the one person he hadn’t completely let go of... was with someone else. And it wasn’t just some fling. It was real. It was serious.

His thoughts raced, flooding him with regret. He had thought, maybe, if he kept his distance and moved on, there would be a chance for them again. Maybe after everything had settled down, after all the messiness and misunderstandings, they could reconnect. But now, it felt like that possibility was slipping further and further away with every second.

Max, of course, noticed the change in Lando. His friend’s face had gone pale, his expression tight, and Max didn’t need to be a genius to see that Lando was struggling to keep himself together. He had been through enough to know the signs.

—Lando...— Max’s voice softened, but there was no sugar-coating what he had just told him. He took a step closer, his voice lowering further. —I know this sucks, man. But... it’s better you hear it from me, right? I didn’t want you going on thinking she might be out there waiting for you. Because, from what I saw... she’s not.—

Lando’s hands curled into fists at his sides. His heart was in his throat, his emotions twisting in every direction. He opened his mouth to speak, but the words wouldn’t come. Instead, all that came out was a frustrated laugh, the sound hollow and bitter.

—She’s with Rodrigo, huh?— Lando’s voice was raw, cracking slightly as he let out a sigh. —Figures. She deserves someone who can actually... fucking be there for her.—

Max winced at the pain in Lando’s tone. He knew what Lando was feeling. Knew how much he’d tried to move on, how hard he had worked at ignoring the constant ache in his chest whenever Amelie’s name came up. But it didn’t work. And now, seeing her with someone else... it was different. It hurt more than he wanted to admit.

Lando turned away, his eyes staring out of the window. The London skyline blurred in his vision, the lights from the streets below casting a faint glow in the dimly lit room. His mind couldn’t focus on anything else. All he could think about was the image Max had painted for him: Amelie, laughing with Rodrigo, whispering sweet words, holding hands, and maybe... kissing.

Lando had once been the one holding her hand, the one whispering in her ear, the one who saw her smile in a way no one else could. Now that was someone else’s role to play, and that realization hit him harder than anything else.

His breath hitched as he finally let the mask slip. Max could see it, the pain on Lando’s face, the defeat. It was the first time in a long while that Lando hadn’t been able to hide his emotions, the first time his walls cracked enough for someone else to see the damage.

Lando ran a hand through his hair, his voice unsteady as he spoke again.

—Fuck. I lost her, didn’t I? I really lost her for good this time. Didn’t I?— His voice broke as the last words left his mouth. He turned back to face Max, the vulnerability in his eyes a stark contrast to his usual tough exterior.

Max didn’t know what to say. He hated seeing Lando like this, but he also knew the truth needed to come out. He just wished it hadn’t been this way. But there was no avoiding it.

—Mate...— Max said gently, stepping closer, his eyes sympathetic. —You know I’ve got your back, but... yeah, I think you have. I don’t want to be the one to tell you this, but if it were me... I wouldn’t keep holding onto the idea that it could be you and her again. Because from where I’m standing, she’s made her choice. And that choice isn’t you.—

Lando nodded slowly, the sting of it all washing over him like cold water. He swallowed hard, trying to regain some semblance of control, but it felt impossible.

—So... that’s it? It’s really over, Max? She’s with him now. She’s not gonna give me a chance to fix things?—

Max opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out at first. He had seen this happen before, and it was the hardest thing to witness. Lando wasn’t just a guy who had his heart broken. He was someone who had believed in something that now felt so far away. He didn’t deserve this. But life wasn’t fair.

—I’m sorry, mate. I really am.— Max’s voice was softer than it had been all night. He took a deep breath and then let it go, his own emotions held in check. He could see Lando was in a bad place right now, and he didn’t want to push too much. —But you’ve got to let her go. It’s not just because she’s with Rodrigo... it’s because... she’s moved on. You need to move on too, or you’re gonna keep hurting yourself over something that’s never gonna happen.—

Lando’s head hung low, his mind racing with thoughts he didn’t want to process. He had been so damn sure that maybe, just maybe, there was still something there between him and Amelie. But now, as he stood there, the weight of reality settled on him, crushing all those hopes into nothing.

[sweetdispatch]

New Jersey Devils - J. Marino

the trilogy of love | part I pairing: John Marino x fem!reader summary: You and John moved to New Jersey but the two years were pure rollercoaster of emotions for you two warning: NSFW, oral (f receiving), arguments, swearing, mentions of cheating note: i completely forgot to post it yesterday as i planned so thank you @hockeyboistrash for reminding me with this reblog🧸

2022

New chapter for you and John has begun. It was like a dream come true. Your new apartment was fully arranged by you. You made this place feel like home compared to Pittsburgh. Everywhere, you could see framed photos of you two. Cosy and colorful pillows were on the couch in the living room. In every room, you put a scented candle. John didn't mind this because he saw how much joy it brings you. In your free time, both of you were walking around the city, searching places for dates.

When you two settled down and were done with unpacking, you started hunting for a new job. The last thing you wanted was to live on John cost. This brought many disagreements between you two.

“Baby, you have to go to the grocery store and buy things that I couldn’t afford” You said walking into the kitchen with bags.

“Why didn’t you use my card?” John asked with confusion written on his face.

“Because that’s your card and your money and I won’t be spending it”

“I gave you my card so you can pay with my money and not yours. I know you don’t have a lot of savings and you know that I can afford living for both of us”

“That’s the exact reason why I haven’t used it. I don’t wanna live on your cost” You said while you were unpacking bags.

“You are so stubborn, it’s unbelievable. You are not earning money, yet you are spending it when you know that the purpose of me giving you my card is to use it” Sometimes, John hated how independent you were.

“I know that I’m not earning any money, you don’t have to remind me. Also, I never asked for your card so here you have it back” You grabbed your wallet and handed him the card.

“I gave you so keep it” He said and crossed his arms over his chest.

“Why are you making such a big deal out of it?”

“You went to buy groceries for both of us and bought them with your money. Now, you’re back from the store telling me to go there again because you couldn’t afford some of the things. I’m trying to help you and you are pushing away my help when I know you are struggling with searching for a new job and keeping up with your savings” John crossed the room to wrap his arms around your waist. “That’s why I’m making such a big deal out of it. Just let me help you… please” He pleaded.

“Fine. But when I find a new job, I’ll pay you back” You said and he laughed.

2023

Both of you became busy. John started the season with a new team and you got a dream job in one of the corporations on Wall Street. First months were fun but with time, you two started to drift apart from each other. You were leaving the house when he was still sleeping. In the evenings, you were busy with projects and you two didn’t have much time to spend together. You started to skip his games because you were too tired to go. John understood it until he found out that you’re not watching his games even on TV.

“How’s the game against Seattle?” You went to kiss him when he entered the apartment.

“You haven’t watched?” He asked.

“No but I’m willing to listen to your story” You said and John was hurt by your confession.

“Well for your information, we won. Oh and I scored a goal but I guess you don’t care. I won’t keep you away from your serious job” He said with venom in his voice and went to the bathroom. You followed him.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“You heard me” He said, completely ignoring you.

“I’m sorry that I’m busy and can’t drop everything just to watch you and your friends skating with sticks and trying to hit the stupid puck!”

“Sometimes I wish you could drop it” He mumbled under his nose but you heard him loud and clear.

“Fuck you Marino. I thought you support me”

“What about support from you? I don’t feel it either” John knew he went overline with his words when he saw your face on the edge of crying.

“I moved here for you. I’m always here for you. I cook for you and clean the whole apartment so you don’t have to. No matter how tired I am, I do everything so you can have an easier life. I’m sorry that I haven’t watched a couple of your games!” You screamed and left the bathroom.

Then it hit him. John realized that he’s been too harsh on you. You sacrificed your safe life in Pittsburgh just to be with him. He knew you weren't ready to work in her dream destination but you followed him. In fact, he hasn't been doing anything in your apartment because you were always there to do it for him. John knew he fucked up when you haven’t came to sleep in your shared bedroom. Next morning he woke up earlier to go and buy you flowers and breakfast from your favorite place.

“I’ve bought you your bagel” John said quietly.

“I’m not hungry” You ignored him, still mad after yesterday’s argument.

“Look, you can give me the cold shoulder all you want but just listen to me and eat the bagel. You know how I feel about you skipping breakfast” You sat down and started to eat when he continued. “I’m sorry. I’ve been harsh on you. You have every right to be mad at me. I deserve it. It’s just… I feel like we barely see each other and I was just hoping that you watch my games. I know that the work is important to you and I shouldn’t even suggest you drop it. You deserve to be where you are. Also, I want to thank you for everything. I haven’t been saying this a lot but I’m grateful to have you in my life and I’m thankful that you are taking care of me and the whole apartment. I love you”

“Apology accepted” That’s all you said to him and left to get ready for the day.

“I know you have free time today so what’s your plans?” He asked, hoping that you two could go somewhere.

“I have a full list of chores to do”

“Let me handle it” He proposed.

“You don’t have to. I know how tired you must be after the game” You said, mocking him.

“You are tired too. Please, I want to help” After a minute of thinking, you agreed.

“Fine, here you have it” You ripped a page from your journal and gave it to him.

You washed the plate and left him. John really wanted to prove to you that he was sincerely sorry. When he cleaned the apartment and bought groceries, he realized how tired you must be all the time. Not only, you work in the corporation but you also work in the apartment.  After he was done, he went to the bedroom.

“I see it now. You have every right to be tired. I’m so sorry”

“Shame that you saw it after you did what I’m doing every single week”

“I promise, I’ll be here for you from now on. I’ll never blame you for skipping my games”

“Thanks. Can we lay and just cuddle? I missed you”

“Anything for you” He kissed you and grabbed your waist so you could lay on top of him.

After this argument, John knew that he had to be better for you. It wasn’t the easiest task when New Jersey qualified for the playoffs. He was barely home. All the time, he was training and put all his focus on hockey. You missed him but you knew that he wanted to lift the Stanley Cup. Unfortunately, the Devils in the second round. You tried to talk with him about this but he was always dismissive. 

“How are you?” You asked him.

“I got eliminated in the second round, I feel fantastic!” John said sarcastically.

“You know that I’m here for you to listen and try to put your mind on something different?”

“With all the respect, but you don't know shit. Just leave me alone”

And you did. You didn’t want to be his punching bag. You started to feel not wanted in your own apartment and made a spontaneous decision to go see your friends in Pittsburgh. You told John that you’re leaving him for a couple days but he didn’t care. He was still heartbroken after the lost game. You haven’t tried to reach him. You put your focus on your friends and spending time with them. You had a wonderful week, free from all the worries. On the other hand, John was losing his mind. For the first time in three years he was by himself in the apartment that long. He missed his girlfriend.

The week you two spent apart showed him how much you mean to him. John knew that he had to propose to you. He wanted you as his wife. He already saw you with his last name on the back when you were coming to his games and now he wanted you to have his last name for real. He bought the ring and now all was left for him to wait for your return to propose.

John remembered that you didn’t want a traditional proposal so he had a perfect plan for this. When you came back, he suggested that you should pick a movie for the evening. You gladly accepted his offer and laid on the couch next to him. In the middle of the film, he kneeled in front of you.

“What are you doing?” You asked confused.

“The past week without you was terrible. It made me realize how much I need you next to me and how you make my life less miserable. I know I’m being difficult but I love you with everything in me. Will you make me the happiest man alive and be my wife?” He asked, scared of your answer. He was aware of the fact that you might feel too young to be married but he never was so sure about something in his life.

“Yes, oh my gosh, yes! I would love to be your wife” You jumped into his arms and kissed him. He took your left hand and put a ring on your finger.

“I love you so much, future mrs. Marino”

“I love you too Johnny”

On holidays, you two went to John’s hometown but your vacation was ruined when you received a phone call.

“I just got a call from work and I have to come back. I’m so sorry Johnny” You said sadly.

“Do you want me to go with you?”

“No, stay with your family. You haven’t seen them in months. I’ll come back as soon as I can” You kissed John’s cheek.

“Call me when you get there. I love you”

“I will. Love you and I’m sorry about that” You went to his childhood room to pack your suitcase.

You haven’t told John the whole truth. The reason why you left was related to your promotion. You were trying to be manager of your team and you got the job. You had to come back to sign the papers. You were delighted but when they told you that you had to live near the corporation and be available all the time, you freaked out. 

How are you supposed to tell John that you’re not gonna live with him in Newark anymore?

You started to settle down in your new apartment in New York without John’s knowledge. You didn’t want to drop the news during the phone call, but John decided to visit you when you haven’t returned after a week. To his surprise, he saw empty space from your things. He tried to call you but you weren't picking up. He started to think that you made up the phone call and decided to leave him. The fuel to his thinking was the fact that you had been working lately with Tom. He never felt insecure about his relationship until this guy came to your life. Hours later, you saw seven missed calls from John and called him back.

“Hi, sorry but I had a meeting. How are you?”

“Were you on a meeting or just fucking other guy?” He asked coldly.

“In a meeting, why would you even suggest that?” You were shocked by his words.

“I wanted to surprise you and came back earlier but I guess you decided to leave me” He said with disgust.

“Oh no…” You haven’t got a chance to finish her sentence when he spoke again.

“I thought you were better than this. You should at least have the dignity to break up face to face instead of cheating on me. All the time you were just going for my fame huh? Have a nice life with this dick” He didn't wait for your response and just hung up.

You were heartbroken by his words. You ran to your car and drove to his apartment hoping that he was still gonna be there. Luck was on your side because he stayed.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” John asked.

“Let me explain everything” You begged. When he hadn't said anything, you continued. “The phone call I got was from work. I applied to be manager of my team and I got the job. I had to come back to sign a new contract. After this, they told me that I have to live close because I might be called in the middle of the night to show up. They rented me an apartment and I took my stuff to move there. I didn’t want to tell you that through a phone call and I was waiting for the moment to tell you when I fly back to you. I never thought you'd decide to surprise me. Sorry that I went behind your back” You said with tears rolling down your eyes.

Again, John jumped into conclusion and blamed you for something instead of having conversation with you. He felt guilty for even thinking that you’ll cheat on him.

“I’m sorry Y/N. I know it’s not an excuse but when you haven’t picked up my phone calls and I haven’t seen any of your clothes, I just thought you want to leave me” He said embarrassed.

“Johnny, you have to trust me. We’re supposed to get married one day and you think that I would cheat on you?”

“I have nothing in my defense”

“Maybe living apart will be good for us” You said after you calmed down.

“What?”

“Look, we are arguing all the time. We are still gonna live close to each other but both of us will be having our own space”

“I guess you are right but I’m gonna miss you, especially when I’ll be coming back at nights from games”

“Johnny, here's the key to my new apartment. I still have keys to this. We live an hour away from each other. If you ever get bored or lonely or whatever, come to me. I’ll be doing the same thing”

“I love you and I’m so fucking sorry” He kissed you.

“I love you too”

2024

In fact, living apart rescued your relationship. You started to appreciate every moment you two spent together. New season started for John and more work for you. Despite your busy schedules, you had time for each other. You felt that you are falling in love again. When John knew that he had a free morning, he was driving to your place. On weekends, you stayed in his apartment.

On Valentine’s Day, John had an away game in Nashville. Thankfully, New Jersey won and he even got an assist. When he returned to your apartment, you decided to reward him. You kissed his lips while he was laying in your bed and you were sitting on him. He deepened the kiss and grabbed your ass. You took off your shirt and he could see your new black, lacy bra. He immediately put his hand on your boobs and licked his lips.

“You like what you see?” You joked.

“You are gonna be death to me woman”

John got rid of his shirt and pants leaving him only in underwear. You unhook your bra and John in a moment manhandled you to be on top of you. John started to kiss your chest and played with your nipples.

“Stop teasing Johnny” You moaned.

“Someone’s desperate” He laughed.

“Just fuck me already”

“Your wish is my command”

John took off your shorts and panties in a quick move. He kneeled in between your legs and started eating you out. You moaned loudly when he put his finger inside of you.

“Gonna have you ready for my cock baby”

After a couple seconds, he added another finger and you started to beg him.

“Please Johnny, fuck me, I wanna cum around your dick”

He took out his fingers and put them into your mouth. You cleaned them with your tongue and moaned around them. He pulled his boxers down and started fucking you.

“Oh Johnny, right here” You moaned loudly.

“I missed your pretty pussy. So perfect for me” He leaned to kiss you.

John set a ruthless pace. You couldn’t stop moaning and screaming his name.

“I’m gonna cum” You said breathing heavily.

“Hold, I’m almost there” He told you firmly and started to rub your clit.

“Can’t, feel so good” You moaned.

“Cum for me, pretty girl” You screamed his name when your orgasm approached. He cum inside of you and fucked you through your climax.

John fell on the bed next to you and cuddled you. After a couple of minutes, he lifted you and ran a bath for both of you. An hour later, when you two left the bathroom, he helped you dress up for bed and you fell asleep.

Season was over for John very quickly. In April, he played last game because Devils haven’t qualified to the playoffs. He was frustrated and unmotivated to do anything. He was living all the time at your apartment and felt jealousy. He knew it was dumb but he was envious of the fact that you can work every single day and be successful when he’s stuck in between four walls. When he finally swallowed the tough pill, you two were back in normal condition. Until another information dropped.

“We have a problem” John started.

“What happened?” She panicked.

“They traded me” He sighed.

“Where?”

“Utah, more specifically Salt Lake City”

“What the fuck? They sending you to another part of the country?” John only nodded and you continued. “What are we gonna do? Gosh, I’m getting déjà vu” You joked.

“Well, you are going with me so we should start packing” He said like it was the most normal thing in the world.

“Absolutely not, I’m not going”

“Excuse me?”

“I’m staying here. I worked my ass all my life to work on Wall Street and I’m not gonna drop my dream job because you are traded to Utah” You crossed your arms on your chest.

“Are you fucking serious right now?” He couldn’t believe what he heard.

“Yes Johnny. I love you but I also love my job here. I don’t want to start over again”

“Oh so I can start a new chapter but you can’t?”

“You picked this life!” You raised your voice.

“And you picked me so get used to it!” John yelled at you and you flinched. He never screamed at you. He was always the calm one in their relationship. When he saw your reaction, he immediately apologized to you. "I'm sorry for yelling” He hugged you.

“I don’t want to move Johnny, can we at least try long distance? If we see that’s not working for us, I’ll sacrifice myself and come live with you in Utah” You proposed.

“Fine. I love you and I trust you” John wasn’t the happiest man to agree to this but he knew it’s the best for you two. He leaned down and kissed you.

They don’t know that next months are gonna be the most challenging time for them. Does their relationship survive long distance and can they have a happy ending?

PART III

[wanderinginksplot]

What to watch during the writer's strike:

Don't pay attention to companies who blame writers for delayed movies and television shows! The WGA strike comes from people who are trying to make things better - not only for themselves and other writers, but the films and tv shows we all love.

While we wait for a resolution, I thought I would share some existing television shows that I enjoy. I didn't bother with too much well-known stuff. Instead, I focused on shows I feel many people missed because of the glut of content that all premiered at once over the last few years. (I may make another one of these for movies later on, but this one is about tv.)

[Update: Movie version here]

Feel free to add on! Just try to give a quick, spoiler-free synopsis for the show and the streaming service where it can be found.

List under the cut!

Netflix:

The Good Place (2016-2020) - A 'bad' woman is accidentally sent to heaven. She and her moral philosophy professor of a soulmate try to save her soul by making her a better person. Genre: Comedy with deeper implications and one of the best endings in television history.

Russian Doll (2019-2022) - When Nadia dies at her birthday party, she's more than a little confused to come back. Especially when it keeps happening. Genre: Time loop drama with a wicked sense of humor and a dash of theoretical physics. Potentially not ended?

Narcos (2015-2017) - The fight of the American DEA and the Colombian army against cocaine kingpin Pablo Escobar and his reign of terror. Genre: Drama with thrilling elements. Lots of violence, some sex and language. Lots of subtitles. Features Pedro Pascal and Boyd Holbrook, if you need some extra incentive.

Derry Girls (2018-2022) - Five teens grow up in Derry, Ireland in the 1990s, amid the final years of the Troubles, a low-level war that lasted roughly 30 years. Genre: Comedy. Some sexual content, some religious content, less violence than you would expect, and the best nun ever to appear on film.

Arcane (2021-?) - Two sisters are alienated when one accidentally kills their adoptive father. Their different paths threaten the fragile peace of a city already on the breaking point. Genre: Drama with elements of action-adventure. Though it's animated, Arcane's animation is beautifully done with tantalizing steampunk elements that will keep you invested.

Disney+:

Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008-2020) - If you haven't seen any of the Star Wars animated series, this is a good place to start. Set in the time gap between Episode II and Episode III, this series helps flesh out Anakin Skywalker and the Jedi. It is also a great introduction to some of the characters and plots of The Mandalorian. (Star Wars: Rebels is another good choice.) Genre: Adventure with some drama. Violence and death are a large part of The Clone Wars, but it's usually appropriate for children. The clone troopers will steal your heart!

Gravity Falls (2012-2016) - Dipper Pines and his sister Mabel are sent to Gravity Falls, Oregon to live with their great-uncle for their summer break. But when Dipper finds a mysterious book in the woods, the pair find that Gravity Falls is far more mysterious than it seems... Genre: Adventure with a lot of comedy. Though it's billed as a children's cartoon, Gravity Falls is an intriguing watch with mystery subplots that will keep anyone guessing. It also features a famously strong and cohesive series ending. I was in my late 20s when I first watched this and I was still invested!

Daredevil (2015-2018) - After being blinded as a young boy, Matthew Murdock trained his other senses to replace the sight that he lost. He uses his skills to protect the helpless in the New York City neighborhood of Hell's Kitchen. Genre: Action and superhero. Features a lot of incredibly choreographed violence. (Jessica Jones is also an excellent show to watch, especially if you think of David Tennant as the consummate 'good guy'. He's got range!)

HBO Max (Just 'Max' now, I guess):

Ghosts (2019-2023) - Petty roommate squabbles don't stop just because you're dead! Alison and her husband Mike inherit a house, then a near-death experience allows Alison to see its ghostly inhabitants. Chaos and humor ensue as the ghosts try to adjust to the house's new owners. Genre: Humor. Ghosts is a British sitcom, but since the writers are comedians (writing and performing in Horrible Histories), the show is done in a style that feels more natural to American viewers. Hint: watch the BBC version, not the American one. They're fairly similar, but definitely not the same!

Pushing Daisies (2007-2009) - A pie-maker with the ability to bring back the dead helps to solve murders. He's helped by his once-dead childhood sweetheart. Genre: Comedy with some dramatic elements. Some of the CGI-heavy moments haven't aged particularly well, but the show has a unique premise and an incredibly talented cast!

Hulu:

Abbott Elementary (2021-?) - This mockumentary series showcases an inner-city elementary school in Philadelphia. The teachers and administration do their best for the kids, but they're constrained by budgets and the limitations of the educational system itself. Genre: Comedy mockumentary. Though Abbott Elementary is fictional, some of the issues brought up are all too real. This is a funny and incisive look at the American public school system.

Amazon Prime:

Fleabag (2016-2019) - The unnamed protagonist of the show struggles through life on her own with limited support from her alienated family and the memories of her recently deceased best friend. Genre: Comedy with lots of dramatic elements. Lots of sexual content and references, some language, breaking the fourth-wall, and several characters you just long to hit. I watched the second season in a single day, that's how good this was.

Unknown Streaming Service:

Black Sails (2014-2017) - This prequel to Treasure Island features elements from the book, original characters, and real pirates from history in a setting that emphasizes realism. Captain Flint and his crew search for a legendary prize... one that might allow them to claim Nassau for their own. Genre: Action and adventure. Think Game of Thrones, but with pirates. Incredibly well-written and well-acted with gorgeous scenery, LGBTQ representation, and just enough historical accuracy to keep things grounded. Black Sails also boasts one of the best endings ever given for a television show.

Like I said, please feel free to reblog and add your own television show recommendations onto this list! There are plenty of things to watch and plenty of ways to support the WGA strike that don't involve giving in to big studios.

[the-most-humble-blog]

Cooking at Home: The Expensive Way to Pretend You’re Saving Money

The Great Cooking Lie

Remember when everyone told us that cooking at home was the ultimate money-saving hack? A way to avoid takeout guilt, eat healthier, and keep your wallet happy? Turns out, that was a scam. By the time you’ve factored in inflated grocery prices, specialty ingredients, and the emotional toll of doing your own dishes, cooking at home often feels like the expensive way to fool yourself into thinking you’re responsible.

1. Grocery Shopping: The Silent Robbery

The grocery store is where dreams of frugality go to die.

Eggflation: Eggs used to be the poor person’s protein. Now? They cost as much as a latte at Starbucks.

Shrinkflation: Food companies are sneaky. That $5 bag of chips? Mostly air. That $3 orange juice? It’s now 75% pulp water.

Impulse Buys: Let’s not lie. You didn’t just buy what was on your list. Somewhere along the way, a bag of gourmet popcorn, a bottle of wine, and three different cheeses mysteriously ended up in your cart.

The Math That Hurts: According to the Bureau of Labor Statistics, grocery prices increased by 13% in 2022 alone—the biggest jump in decades. Your “cheap home-cooked meal” isn’t looking so cheap anymore.

2. Time Is Money—And You’re Losing Both

Cooking at home isn’t just about food costs; it’s also a massive time suck.

Meal Prep Hell: Chopping, slicing, marinating—it’s basically an unpaid part-time job.

Recipe Rabbit Holes: “How do I zest a lemon?” quickly turns into a YouTube deep dive that eats your entire afternoon.

The Cleanup Toll: No one talks about how cooking makes you a hostage to your own sink.

You're Your Own Server, So Get to Work: The average person spends 37 minutes per day preparing food and 13 minutes cleaning up. That’s almost an hour daily you’ll never get back.

3. The False Economy of Food Waste

Here’s the ugly truth: cooking at home often means buying ingredients you’ll never finish.

The Herb Cemetery: How many half-used bunches of cilantro have you thrown out this year? Be honest.

Overzealous Bulk Buys: Sure, the family-size bag of spinach was a “deal”—until it became a science experiment in your fridge.

Shocking Reality: The average American household wastes about $1,500 worth of food per year. That’s a lot of takeout you could’ve guiltlessly enjoyed instead.

4. Cooking vs. Takeout: The Brutal Comparison

Let’s crunch some numbers.

Homemade Pad Thai: $25 for specialty ingredients, 2 hours of your time, and a kitchen disaster.

Takeout Pad Thai: $15, zero effort, and no dishes. You don’t need a degree in economics to see which option is the real winner.

5. The Instagram Myth of Home Cooking

Social media is partly to blame for this mess. Those influencer chefs with their immaculate kitchens and perfectly plated meals? Lies.

They’re not showing you the pile of dirty dishes off-camera.

They’re not factoring in the cost of their professional kitchen setups or $200 cutting boards.

Oh, The Humanity: You’re out here crying over a burnt casserole while @FoodieGuru56 is making soufflés look easy. The system is rigged.

6. The Emotional Toll of Home Cooking

Let’s talk about the mental exhaustion of planning, prepping, and executing meals.

The Pressure: “If I don’t cook, am I failing at adulthood?”

The Guilt: That sad, uneaten bag of kale in the fridge stares at you every time you grab a soda.

The Stress: Cooking is supposed to be relaxing, but when your smoke alarm goes off, it feels more like a horror movie.

7. When Cooking at Home Actually Works

To be fair, cooking at home can save money if you do it right:

Stick to simple recipes with ingredients you already have.

Avoid specialty items you’ll never use again (looking at you, saffron).

Embrace leftovers like they’re a gift, not a punishment.

Pro Tip: One-pot meals are your savior. Fewer ingredients, less cleanup, and more time for Netflix.

Just Order the Damn Takeout For Pete's Sake

Cooking at home was supposed to be a solution, but for many of us, it’s become a self-inflicted punishment disguised as responsibility. By the time you’ve navigated the overpriced grocery store, wasted hours prepping, and battled with your oven, you could’ve enjoyed a hot meal delivered straight to your door.

So, do yourself a favor. Order the takeout. Save your sanity. And while you’re at it, follow The Most Humble Blog for more brutally honest takes and unapologetic truths about the madness of modern life. You deserve it.

[fruity-mega-coconut69]

The Quiet Kid Pt. II.

[pairings]: Tara Carpenter x Reed!Fem!Reader

[Summary]: You managed to save yourself and almost everyone. Just this one time.

[Warnings]: Blood, 'death' (Quinn), swearing.

A/N: i...couldn't do it. I couldn't kill her off, i'm so sorry!

---------------------------------------------------------

After Mindy told you all the rules, everyone decided to stay at the apartment, just to be sure.You and Tara were in the kitchen, cooking , when she spoke up. “ I think you should go and stay with your friends in Atlanta. It’s safer there.” You looked at her with furrowed eyebrows. “You know, considering what happened to you last time.” You smile slightly at her. “ I mean- I-I wouldn’t blame you if……..you wanted to go.” You nodded at her and looked back at whatever you were cooking. “ That’s…I mean-I. “ You pause to gather your thoughts. “ I’m not really concerned about my safety. “ She raised an eyebrow at you. “ I just…don’t want you..or your friends to get hurt. “ She chuckles. “ That’s pretty impossible. I mean to not get hurt. “ 

Suddenly, you hear a gasp behind you. Both of you turn around to see who it is. “ Oh my god, L/N! Are you stealing my brother's girl? “ Says Mindy.

You look down at your foot. “ I-...No- I “ 

“Stop, Mindy. I'm no one’s ‘girl’  “

She rounds the table and goes over to you guys, Chad shortly after who takes a spot beside Tara. “ Sam” 

“Yep? “ Sam says coming into the kitchen. You sigh and start walking out of the kitchen. Tara grabs your wrist and looks at you, confused. “ What’s wrong? “ She whispers. 

You just shake your head and go over to the couch, taking a set beside Anika. As ‘the core four’ talk in the kitchen, Anika turns to you. “Sooo, Tara? “You laugh and shake your head. “ What’s up with her? “ 

“I mean, we all know you have a crush on her.” You nod your head and lean back. “Doesn’t mean anything though. They chose Chad. Which is understandable. “ She looks at you, pity in her eyes. "If it makes you feel better, I vote for you.”

You are about to answer when you glance at the TV. The news is on and the title says, ‘Prime suspect Samantha Carpenter.’ You gasp and nudge Anika in the shoulder, catching her attention. She looks at the Tv and gasps. “ Guys. What the hell? “ She picks up the remote, turning the volume up while the others come into the room. 

“We are hearing from sources inside the homicide division that the prime suspect is none other than Samantha Carpenter, one of the survivors of the woodsboro killings in 2022, seen here attacking a woman on the street last night.” Soon a video shows Sam pushing some random girl in the street while covered with something wet. The others are trying to hold her back.

You look up slowly at Sam, seeing her just staring at the TV. You look at the others who are sighing in annoyment. Your leg starts to shake as your hand curls into fists. You push yourself off the couch and practically run to your room, slamming the door. 

Your breathing starts to increase as tears flood from your eyes. Leaning against the wall and slowly sliding down on it, your shaking hand reaches into your pocket for your phone. You are soon dialing Kirby’s number as you put up the phone to your ear.

“Hello?”

You let out a sob. “Kirby” 

“Y/N? What’s wrong? “ 

“ I-I-...don’t wanna do this again. Fuck!” 

“Hey, hey, hey. Calm down, okay? Just-” Her voice is cut off as you get a notification. You pull your phone down to see a picture. A picture of Quinn, getting stabbed in her room. Gasping, you get up shakily and open your door to see the others already at her door.You join them. 

“Run” 

At that moment, Quinn was seemingly pushed out of her room with ghostface behind her. All of you take a step back while yelling. Quinn’s body fell onto Anika as they both went down. Mindy was quick to get Quinn off of her girlfriend. They looked at the corpse and Anika screamed. 

Suddenly, Chad grabs Tara from your hold and starts running down the stairs. “Guy’s come on! “Tara screams .You all look at ghostface standing still, just staring. 

“Oh, fuck” 

He stepped forward and sliced Mindy’s arm. Your eyes widened as he looked at you, tilting his head.But before he could get to you, Anika grabbed his leg. He leaned down and started choking her. You looked at Sam then started helping Mindy up. Sam ran into the kitchen for weapons. You sat Mindy down and noticed Ghostface getting up with Anika and pushed her against the bookshelf. “Oh, hell no” 

Running over you threw a punch at him as he groaned and pulled his knife out of Anika. He turned around, swung his arm back and plugged his knife into your belly. Your body froze as pain shot through it. He tilted his head at you then pulled the knife out, then pushed it back in. You screamed at the top of your lungs. Suddenly, his head was smashed with a knife holder-thing. 

Sam took a hold of you as Mindy did with Anika. Ghostface was pushed back, causing him to slam into the door. Sam pulled you quickly into Quinn’s bedroom. She let go of you to close the door as you held your hand to your wound while whimpering and groaning, the other two girls too. 

Ghostface banged on the door as Sam tried to hold it shut. Blood dripped down from your hand as you sobbed, squeezing your eyes shut. Anika looks at you and then at MIndy while crying. The banging suddenly stopped. Sam looked back at you guys then at the other door in the room.

“Mindy, bathroom door. Hurry! “ 

She got up, stumbling over to the bathroom, She screamed loudly when she was inside. “Oh, fuck! That guy is dead.” Ghostface appeared out of nowhere and she screamed again, going to shut the door at him. Sam went to help, but unsuccessfully. They stepped back and closed the other door instead. Sam went and got a drawer, pushing it over to the door.

You got up to help, when Anika groaned in pain. Mindy’s head shot up and looked at you with pleading eyes. You hesitated before nodding. She stepped away from the drawer and over to Anika. You went into her spot and leaned against the drawer. Sam looked at you while you put one of your hands over to your stomach. 

She then looked out the window to see the so-called ‘Cute Boy’ shouting for you guys. She went over and opened it. A couple of seconds later you see him picking up a ladder and pushing it out the window. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

“Do you have a better idea? “ Sam looked back at you guys then at him.”Fuck. No” She started reaching for the ladder as ghostface continuously banged at the door as you tried your best to hold it shut. The ladder reached Quinn’s window as Danny shouted. “ You have to come one at a time.” She nodded and looked back at you.

“You three go first. Y/N!” 

“What? Hell nah. Someone needs to hold the door! You three first!.” Sam hesitantly nodded and turned around, getting on the ladder as Danny assured her. 

Mindy glanced at you from beside Anika with a worried expression on her face. Tears streamed down your face as blood dripped from your shirt and onto the floor. Your left hand on your stomach and the other curled at your side. Mindy looked at her girlfriend who was also heavily bleeding. “They are losing a lot of blood!” 

“Say something more positive,” Anika cried out.   

Soon, Sam was on the other side. She shouted out to you guys. “Come on, Mindy!” Mindy’s hand now drenched in blood, held at Anika’s wound. “Anika! Come on!”

Your body shook as Mindy put Anika’s arm around her shoulders, helping her up. They shouted at each other, and eventually Mindy got on the ladder. You looked at Anika’s slouched over body and sighed. “You know you are going to go next, right?”

She looked back at you with wide eyes.”No! You-”

“Just shut up--uh, please! You are going!” Her jaw clenched as her grip tightened on her wound. She slowly nodded. Mindy arrived at Sam and Danny and Anika slowly got on the ladder. Your weak body started to give out as you fell onto the ground. Ghostface’s arms swinging in through the door.

“Anika! Get your ass on the fucking ladder!”You screamed after her, pushing your body backwards with all your strength. She got on, the others reassuring her. You got up slowly and ghostface almost busted through. You gasp and slam your body onto the drawer. Anika was in the middle of the ladder when your body finally gave up and you fell. Ghostface walked in and looked at you, laying on the ground with fear in your eyes.

The others’ screaming stopped as he took your legs and swung you to the side and into the wall. You screamed with agony and your body shook. “Go, Anika! Go!”

Ghostface dropped your legs and made his way over to the window. You cried out and tried to push your body up from the ground. He took the end of the ladder into his hands and started to shake it. The others reached out to Anika. You finally managed to get up and threw yourself at Ghostface. Mindy took her girlfriend into her arms then looked back at you as Sam screamed. “Y/N!

Suddenly, you heard sirens in the distance and he tilted his head at you, just laying on the ground, glaring at him as more tears poured out of your eyes and blood from your wound. His gloved hands clenched into a fist then he grunted and took his knife, leaving you there. You Put your shaking hands on the end of the ladder and pull yourself up. You got on the ladder and started crawling. As soon as you arrived, Sam took your body into her arms and Danny put pressure on your wound. You sat up and leaned up against the wall as Sam spoke to you.

“You did it! You saved Anika! Ar-Are you good?” You nodded your head as you let out a breath of air.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

@dksjskx

[northameicanblog]

The Edge, 30 Hudson Yards, New York: 30 Hudson Yards is a supertall skyscraper in Midtown Manhattan's West Side, New York City. It is positioned near Hell's Kitchen, Chelsea, and NY Penn Station. As of November 2022, the building is the sixth-tallest in New York City and the eighth-tallest in the United States. The skyscraper offers a unique feature: a triangular observation deck known as The Edge. Located on the 100th floor, The Edge includes a bar and event space on the adjacent 101st floor. Wikipedia

[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