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one day you’ll look back at your worst years and be able to tell your past self that staying alive was worth it and that you’re very proud of them for sticking around even when it was so, so hard
#idk it just hit me while trying to sleep#that im two years past when i thought id be dead#i thought id be dead by 18#but im 20 now and things still aren’t completely good but im proud of my past self for staying around#he did very well and im so proud of him :)#dove talks#delete later perhaps#ok i KNOW im up too early at this point lmao#too many feelings
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maybe my mother was right
maybe ill never amount to anything and am just useless
maybe i should just die before i do any more harm to the people i care about
maybe that tiny part of me that wants to continue living is selfish
maybe its more selfish to want to die
maybe someone somewhere out there would feel sad for a bit before i fade from memory altogether
maybe i should just let myself fade from memory
maybe others lives might be easier if i wasnt in them
maybe i should put in one final effort
maybe theres not a better for me
maybe a better for the ones i care about doesnt have me there
maybe my mother was right
#im straight up not having a good time#dunno if you could tell lol#haha dead humor in the tags of a depression post#im so fuckin tired#legitimately its everyday with this kinda shit in my head#maybe if i can get some of it out itll go away?#<- hopeful thinking#it never goes away#its always just me and these thoughts alone#i really never thought that id live this long i never thought that id even make it to 18 but here i am almost 23 and still somehow going#ahaha sorry to put my depression on your dash it might happen again#im sorry#i was trying to put some humor in these but i dont have the energy to
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i turn 22 in 5 days literally what the fuck
#ik this sounds so stupid btw#but like. genuinely i never thought id live to see 18 let alone 22#like i thought by this point i wouldve been long dead#allie says stuff#tw suicidal ideations#just to be safe
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My little spinoff of the neglected Batfam idea.
Rather than being the 2nd youngest, reader is actually the same age as Jason, just a few months apart. Brought into the family years before him, being the 2nd child Bruce took in.
A bio child, and while I have my own ideas as to how it occurred, I'll leave those aside for this post.
Do keep in mind I'm not a huge DC fan, so I only have baseline knowledge of the Batfam and literally nothing else lol
Dick and Bruce aren't too interested in reader, as the troupe goes. But Jason is! There's a bit of tension at first as he assumes they're going to be a prissy spoiled brat, as Bruce's bio kid.
They don't get to be the closest of siblings, given he's busy with being the newest crime fighting vigilante. But it's the most reader has had in a long time, and at least Jason TRIES to be there for the occasional big life event, despite being a teenager like them. It's more than the adult family members of theirs do.
Then he dies. And neither Bruce or Dick even remember to tell reader when his funeral is. Even Alfred didn't mention it, assuming the death of their family member would be the one thing they speak about, even if it's just to mourn.
Years later and the butler still curses himself for assuming. He knew better, and yet still tried to have faith in the two.
That's the final straw. They missed the funeral of their only family. They had to ask Alfred where his grave was in order to say their goodbyes.
Perhaps due to low self esteem, they don't hate Bruce, or Dick, or later Tim. Of course Gotham is more important than the feelings of one child.
But they aren't family. They're just housemates.
Which is perhaps why, the first chance they get at 18 (technically 17, but nobody in the city cared enough about legalities to actually follow through with checking their ID) they get the hell out of that manor.
Discarding every connection they had to that family. Phone tossed aside, new one with a new number obtained. Even throwing out any contact with Alfred.
And as a result, they miss that Jason is revived just a year or two later.
Not that his first thought is finding them. He was just brought back from the dead, the man has other things on his mind, okay?
But once his thoughts of vengeance have settled down, he starts settling in to the new normal, only to look around and see a sibling is missing.
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send nudes • bang chan
M D N I 18+
Summary: You accidentally send a nude to Chan and well…he takes it as a chance to act on his hidden feelings
WC: 2.4k
Tags: smut, afab!reader, dom/tease!chan, porn with little plot, piv, unprotected sex (just don't), fingering, oral (f & m receiving), creampie, mutual pinning(?), handjob, chan is a tease, reader calls chan; chris, chan, christopher, channie), use of pet names (baby, sweetheart, good girl, etc), not proofread, im prob forgetting some- sorry (brb gonna touch some grass)
“Shit shit shit!” You quickly pulled your shorts back up as panic spread throughout your body. You quickly look at the open messages to see if the picture has been seen yet. Ugh this is why you don’t send nudes! You screamed at yourself. About twenty minutes ago you were flirting over text with this random guy from tinder when it started escalating into pictures being sent, you took a picture and was going to send it to him but you unknowingly sent it to your best friend.
You hadn’t noticed until about five minutes ago when the tinder guy hadn’t replied yet, you noticed the notification of the image sent was under Chan’s contact and well now you’re trying to figure out how to delete the picture.
You already tried deleting it from your messages but that only deletes it on one end not both.
Suddenly the ringing of your phone fuels the flames of your anxiousness. You dwell on whether you should check the caller ID, peeking at the screen your heart drops, it’s Chan. “Oh fuck.” You snatch your phone, not answering it, before running out of your dorm, down the hall towards Chan’s dorm. His dorm isn’t far from yours so by the time you get there your phone is still ringing. As it’s about to hang up you finally answer it, banging on the front door.
The wood door swings open revealing a confused Chan. God you couldn’t even look him in the eyes.
“Hi,” Chan chuckles, not acting like he’s seen something that he wasn’t supposed to, you sigh in relief, “I was about to text you-”
“Don’t do that!” You cut him off, pushing past him to grab his phone. “Hey?!” He exclaims after you snatch his phone, Chan makes a move to grab but you quickly dodge him, opening his messages app.
“Don’t delete it!” Chan huffs out annoyed. You stop, dead in your tracks, Chan takes the chance to take his phone back, shoving it into his pocket. “What do you mean don’t delete it.” You burst, heat spreading throughout your face like a wildfire. When did he see it?! You thought to yourself as you took out your phone and looked back on your messages, it displayed ‘read 1 minute ago’.
“Chan…” You push, when he doesn’t reply simply wearing a smirk on his face you start getting even more flustered, “Christopher! What do you mean don’t delete it?!” Your face is as red as a tomato at this point, your heart pounding so fast you can feel it in your ear.
Chan lets out a bubbly chuckle, you only ever use his real name when you’re either pissed or are in a teasing mood- you are not in a teasing mood, “I’ve got blackmail. And besides, it's fun seeing you flustered.” The smirk he wore was just straight up menacing. “This kind of situation is weird and makes me flustered- Did you just save it?!” You shriek as you watch him take out his phone and scroll through your texts. Chan smirks at you as he shows his phone’s screen, the save button clearly pressed. “Why would even- Chris!” You cry out his name, he finally puts his phone down on the desk by his bed with a shrug.
“You forget I’m a man.” You stand crossed armed as you stare at your best friend, “Yeah okay, but keeping a nude of your best friend is kinda weird.”
“Would you rather me send you one too?” Chan asks calmly as if it weren’t the most absurd thing he’s ever said. You scoff, eyes blown out by his question, sure Chan’s a flirt and likes teasing you, but it's never actually gone this far between the two of you. Just a simple mistake opened this pandora box.
“Who was that meant for anyways?” The Australian asks, sudden curiosity leading him on. “That’s none of your business-“
“Well you sent me the photo, I should at least get an explanation, no?” Chan raises his brows. “The guy from my date the other day.” You admit embarrassingly, Chan lets out a laugh while shaking his head, “The one that you complained about for the next three hours after your date.”
“I was bored okay!” You throw your arms up in defeat, plopping down on his bed.
A few moments of awkward silence washed over the two of you- well more awkward for you- before your phone interrupted the silence. You checked the notification, rolling your eyes as you opened the message from Chan. Holy shit. The grasp you had on your phone loosened as the electronic tumbles onto your face, smacking you right on the forehead. “You that shocked by the picture?” Chan hums in amusement. You gape at him after massaging your sore forehead, “Well no shit, you just sent me a dick pic!” You shove your phone in his face.
On the screen was a picture of Chan’s crotch area. His gray sweats not hiding the boner he obviously sports, his veiny hands holding onto his intimate area. A sudden realization dawned on you, “Did you just take that?” You stared between him and the same colored sweatpants that he wore. Now it’s his turn to be flustered, sure he had fun teasing you but now thinking about it, it wasn’t exactly appropriate to take a dick pic in front of his best friend even if she wasn’t aware of his actions. Brushing it off, Chan shrugged with a smug face.
“God you’re infuriating sometimes.” You shake your head. “Oh c’mon, you can say it’s hot, your’s was. It’s the reason I’ve got a bone-“
“Chan!” You squeak, your hands covering your face. Chan was too blunt for you sometimes. “You still need help with this?” Chan says, gently guiding your hands down from your face to show you the picture that you had sent him earlier. You pout, thoughts in your head weren’t lining up to how your body was reacting, “Help?” You shake your head in confusion trying to understand what his words meant. Chan hesitantly trailed his hands to your inner thighs, instinctively you spread them apart which he takes as a go-ahead.
“Wait, wait, wait!” You stutter, realizing where this could be going, “We don’t have to do anything, if you don’t wanna.” Chan said, retrieving his hands from your legs. The warmth of his hands still burning your skin despite them not being there anymore. “No, I wanna-” Your mouth moved quicker than you could process, you slapped a hand over it. Chan raised a brow at you in his regular teasing manner, you simply shook your head at him, “Chan…you’re my best friend, I don’t wanna change that.” That was a lie, you did want to change that, you really want to change that, but losing Chan was something that always prevented you from ever telling him how you felt.
“Who says it has to change?” The curly haired boy leans over your body, dipping his bed at the weight. Your hands come up to his shoulders, not knowing whether to push him away or bring him closer. “Chris.” You sigh, eyes closing in thought. “Keep your eyes close, if you want me to stop just tell me…okay?” His words fanned across your cheeks as he spoke softly into your ear. You squirmed at his words but nonetheless kept your eyes shut.
A sudden touch to your thighs made you flinch, the hand hesitantly tapped your knee for your consent, nodding in response. Chan let out a shaky breath as his hands nudged your thighs apart, revealing the wet patch that stained the lining of your shorts. Did you get turned on by the tinder guy? No, it was by Chan and his insufferable teasing, he’s what got your arousal pooling. Chan hums, his breath breezing over your hot skin, sending shivers down your spine. “This okay? D’you trust me?” He asked as his fingered trailed along your throbbing cunt, you bit your lip in pleasure, nodding frantically, yearning for more friction.
Chan begins rubbing his thumb in circles on your clothed clit while his other fingers slip between your slick folds that stick to your panty. Moving your loose shorts to the side, you feel him dip his head down, licking a stripe up your cunt. “Channie.” You whine, hands flying to his curls, entangling them with your fingers. The sudden rush of pleasure has you opening your eyes, the sight of your best friend’s face between your legs, lickking at your most intimate area sends another wave of arousal straight to your core. Your thighs instinctively tense around his face, Chan gaze lifts to you at the action, locking your eyes and you're done. Chan’s eyes stared into you longingly, the smirk that made his way to his face when he sneakily maneuvered your underwear to the side had you writhing under his hold.
Chan continued his assault on your cunt with his mouth, sucking at your clit, swirling iit around your fold. His fingers brought you even closer to the edge as they ever-so-often sunk inside, never past his fingertips as if he was teasing you. That familiar knot formed in your stomach as your thighs began to shake, the movement not going unnoticed by Chan. “S-Stop!” You say closing your legs in an attempt to get him off, he sticks to his previous words and obliges to your command. “You okay?” Chan looks at you, a pang of worry flashing in his eyes, his mouth and chin was wet with what you’d assume is your arousal and his saliva mixed, he subconsciously licks his lips as you stare at them.
You nod in response before climbing onto your knees pushing him back onto the bed, “What are you- Y/N?!” Now it was Chan’s turn to turn pink, his heart pounded in his chest as he watched you pull the waistband of his sweatpants down revealing his hardened cock. “This okay?” You ask innocently, contradicting your actions. “Fuck yeah, this’s okay.” He sighed.
You stared at his dick, the very same one he had sent a few minutes ago, you never thought you’d ever be in this position with Chan. The tip was leaking with precum and the veins on the side evident from the lack of friction, he wasn't too big like the ones you’ve seen in those exaggerated pornos but he’s definitely above average. Your hand wraps around the base of his cock, pumping it a few times, precum coating it making it easier to slide up and down. “Jesus, fuck, you’re so pretty, such a good girl, baby.” Chan rambles as you lean down, placing a small kiss on the tip. Tongue trailing down along the veins before coming back to the tip and taking it into your mouth.
Rolling his head back in pleasure, Chan gently takes a fistful of your hair so that it doesn't get in your way. You hum in appreciation. Chan almost cums, the vibration of your hum going through his shaft towards that knot forming in his abdomen. Hollowing your cheeks, you attempt to take more of him but Chan stops you, pulling you off of him with a pop. “Why’d you- mmph.” The feeling of his soft, plump lips cuts you off. His lips were gentle yet rough against yours, lust and desire making the kiss messier. Without your lips coming apart, Chan guides you to the bed again, laying you down under him. Lips dancing with one another, he adjusts your shorts and underwear to the side again, prompting a gasp from you, he takes the opportunity to slip his tongue alongside yours.
You moan into the kiss as he presses the tip of his cock to your entrance. Your eyes meet once more, he has that same worry in his eyes, asking if he can continue. “Fuck me Channie…please.” Before your words could fully come out he’s already snapped his hips into you, bottoming out and letting you adjust to his size. “You okay, sweetheart?” The pet name draws out an erotic moan from your lips, you nod frantically as you wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him closer. Chan places your knees atop his shoulders, leaning into you as his hips smack against the back of your thighs. The echo of wet noises bouncing off the dorm room’s wall, Chan has never been more grateful that his roommate, Minho, wasn't in town. “S’close, Channie.” You moan into his neck, your nails clawing at his clothed back. It barely occurred to you that you were both technically fully clothed. “God I like you so much, you know that baby?” Chan mumbled as he drilled into your cunt. “Channie, I like you too- oh my fucking God.” You curse as he reaches your g-spot, hitting it dead on. “Actually?”
“Mhm, shit, liked you for a long time.” You say between moans and whimpers, your climax nearing as your legs begin to shake. “Fuck, gonna make you cum. S’fucking pretty.” Chan slurred as his hand made his way to your clit, rubbing circles onto it. Your orgasm hit you like a truck, you don’t think you’ve ever orgasmed like that before.
“Almost there, where d’you want it?” Chan pants over your whines of overstimulation, “Inside, I’m on the- holy fuck- on the pill!” The sensitivity of your cunt begins to be uncomfortable. Your words send Chan over the edge, spilling his hot cum inside of you.
Chan slowly pulls out before plopping onto the mattress next to you. “You really mean it?” He pants, chest heaving. You look at him confused, your mind too hazy for anything at this point. “You like me?”
“Heh, yeah…I do.” Chan leans over and gives you a sweet kiss on the lips. Rolling out of the bed, Chan comes back to you with a towel and some water. “Thanks.” You smile, taking the bottle of water. “Lemme get you some clothes from the closet.” As he makes his way to the closet an idea pops into his head. Chan snatches his phone before walking into his shared walk-in closet.
The ding of your phone grasps your attention, you reach for it and read the most recent message. It’s from Chan.
Send nudes ;)
#skz#stray kids#skz imagines#stray kids imagines#skz hard hours#skz hard thoughts#skz smut#stray kids smut#stray kids x reader#skz x reader#bangchan x reader#bang chan x reader#chan x reader#bangchan smut#bang chan smut#chan smut#bangchan hard thoughts#bangchan hard hours#bang chan hard hours#bang chan hard thoughts#chan hard thoughts#chan hard hours#skz fic#stray kids fic#fanfic#skz fanfic#stray kids fanfic#bangchan fanfic#chan fanfic#bang chan fanfic
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So I heard the term 'hypochondriac' thrown around throughout my life but never actually knew what it meant so I googled it and um
Obviously i'm not going to try to diagnose myself with anything after doing like 5 minutes of reading but.
Is it not normal to go to sleep kinda half expecting to just die? Like if your body is Doing Something you don't automatically assume you have stomach cancer or are having a heart attack or stroke or something??? I just attributed this to having mild paranoia bc as a kid I was so used to all my alarm bells going off literally always that I just figured I'd be dead by 25
I have! To go think about stuff!!!!!
Actually that's a lie I'm going to just keep assuming I'm dying until it's true eventually
#marble mumbles#i have spasms often which makes art and writing really hard#but i never talked to my doctor about them bc as a kid i was planning to be dead by 18#so i didn't want to bother#and now as an adult im too scared to say anything bc treatments cost money#and im not part of a medical study anymore so i can't use that to get free cat scans#i hope everything blows up tomorrow so i can be free from my job#and focus on getting my life together#i literally just thought everyone panicked every time they had a pain or nausea they couldn't identify#well! i don't have the brain power to worry about this literally at all so im just#i dunno. gonna add it to the current Stress Load i guess. nothing else for it#shrug emoticon#id tag this with negativity but this is my journal blog#ur following this blog at ur own peril
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His favorite game
2k1 | Javier Peña x fem reader | ao3 | Masterlist
Summary: you meet a corrupt security guard. (Un)fortunately, he's hot Warnings: 18+ mdni. Javi's pov, age gap (reader is 22, Javi in his 40s), darkish, dubcon, coercion, power imbalance, degradation, oral (m), piv, creampie
a/n: this is written for @toomanystoriessolittletime 's follower celebration. I got this prompt/plot (darkish Javi P) Congrats on your milestone 🥳🥳
Thank you @aurorawritestoescape for beta-ing 💕 dividers @saradika-graphics
“I can suck your cock, if you want.”
Javi scoffed, until he realized she was dead serious. His dark eyes were on her, as he was leaning against his desk and she was sitting in front of him in a chair. He could see the worry in the shoplifter’s eyes. Concern that he'd call the cops.
So she told him the first thing that came to her mind. She thought he was handsome, anyway, with his brown hair, his slim waist, and his broad shoulders. His uniform, which would look ridiculous on anyone else, suited him well. She was sure he’d be devastating, in a bar, wearing some jeans and a t-shirt. She was also pretty sure she’d try to seduce him, that man in his forties, the perfect dilf. And hopefully ending up with him in his car or in his apartment.
“You wanna suck my cock?” he mocked. “And asking me to forget about the police, right? That's what you're telling me?”
“Yeah.”
He checked her ID, to be sure she wasn't under age.
Then he pointed at his crotch with his chin and lit a cigarette as she got on her knees and pulled his cock out. She sucked his tip, his cock, his balls, and he shot his cum deep into her throat, even before he finished his cig.
That's how it started. A week after his first day at the job.
After he had returned from Columbia, it helped him to forget his past life.
To forget that he didn’t get along with his father anymore, after he had told him that he wouldn’t take over the ranch.
To forget that he had lost himself in every woman he fucked, creating an endless circle.
To forget that he had never drunk and smoked so much in his life.
To forget that in the past some people considered him a hero. It was as if he wanted to prove them all that they were wrong.
To forget that he had given too much to the agency for his life to end up like that.
So since that first time, he took the habit of spotting women he could easily convince. The easy targets. Either too shy, or on the contrary those who weren’t shy at all. He really liked shutting up brats with his fat cock.
He loved the hunt, he loved spotting those who wouldn't say ’no’ to him. Either because they wouldn’t dare, or because they would easily take the challenge, the thrill, the chance of blowing him off in his office.
Javi sees a group of women passing in front of his security office. Twenty-somethings. He can notice these types of groups from miles away now. Young women who think they deserve everything because they’re pretty. Or rich.
He watches them laugh as they walk past him. Look at him. They must think it sucks, being a security guard at a mall.
He leaves his office and follows them inside, at a decent distance. He watches them laugh, loudly exchange comments, barely hiding the way they are making fun of people who don't fit their standards. It only makes him smirk. He's seen so many of these brats pass by.
His steps are soft, light. No one would think he was following anyone.
He's dressed in his black uniform with the word "security" on his shoulder and his back. He pauses at the same time as them. Swirls his toothpick between his teeth, watching them.
The group finally splits up. Three of the young women head to a clothing store. The fourth, you, waves goodbye to them and goes to a record store.
He’s watching you, as you look at the vinyl record covers, then the posters on the wall. And finally, some walkmans. You don't know it yet, but you’re his target. Separated from your friends.
You leave the store, your big purse slung over your shoulder, open.
He thinks that he really wants to wipe the smile off your face. So he steals a Walkman from the store, grateful that the mall management still hasn’t installed the anti-theft devices there.
This isn't the first time he places an object in a woman's bag, just to get her in his office. To see how she reacts. See if she offers to suck him off, too.
He slips the Walkman into your bag, then lets you head for the exit, letting the detectors beep loudly when you’re about to leave. He quickly runs towards you, as you’re looking confused. He asks you to open your bag and you do it, sure of yourself, but then you see the Walkman.
“Come with me, miss. You'll explain yourself in my office.”
You object the whole time walking there, saying you didn't do anything.
He’s already hard.
He closes the office door behind you and leans against his desk. Finding yourself alone with him in this office makes you a little uncomfortable, and you shift on your feet. He takes his time, letting your anxiety build, his gaze fixed on you. Cold. Frowning. Like an adult who’s about to lecture a child.
“So, miss. I have to call the police, you know.”
“I didn’t do anything!” you reply.
“Well, is that your purse, miss?”
“Yes, it’s my purse. But I didn’t steal this. I can buy one if I want, I can afford it.”
“Have you never heard of kleptomania?”
“No, what is it?”
“What, you don’t have enough money to pay for college?”
You roll your eyes, deeply offended.
“Anyway, like I said, I have to call the police,” he says, reaching for his phone.
“Wait!” He pauses and turns back to you, raising an eyebrow. “Mmm?”
“Can’t we… can we work it out?”
“Work it out? How do you want to work it out?”
“You take the Walkman and bring it back to the store. We forget all of this,” you say, sweeping the air with your hand, as if it was just a nuisance, something insignificant.
“So you can steal again in a few days? I don’t think so.”
“I told you…,” you start to say. Then stop. “Can I offer you some money then?”
“I don’t need your money, miss. And I’m not sure you understand how serious this is.”
You bite your lip, and he sees your gaze fall to his crotch and he tries not to smirk. It's almost too easy.
“Wait! I can… do something for you, if you want.”
“Like what?” he says, keeping his tone neutral. He sees you hesitate. Sees the way you swallow. He leans toward the phone again, forcing you to break.
“Wait! I could do something.”
He raises his hands, as if he doesn’t understand what you're talking about at all.
"I could...." you start to say, motioning at his crotch with your chin.
“What? I got a stain or something?” he asks, looking at the spot you pointed to.
“Suck your cock,” you whisper.
“Excuse me, what?” He sees you roll your eyes and adds, “I didn’t hear you, miss.”
“I could… suck your cock.” Your eyes set downward as heat reaches your cheeks.
He doesn’t answer, he makes you wait for his reaction.
“If you want,” you add.
“You’re telling me you’ll blow me, and in exchange I won’t call the police?” he asks, as he has done dozens of times before.
“Yeah,” you breathe out.
“How old are you?”
“Twenty two.”
“It’s the first time I come across not only a thief, but also a slut, that wants to suck my dick to get away with shoplifting,” he lies to you.
“And this is the first time I’ve come across a security guard so corrupt that he’s willing to accept it.”
“Watch that mouth.”
“Or what?”
“Or I will fuck it.”
The way you squeeze your thighs together doesn't go unnoticed.
“Say it.”
“Say what?”
“That you wanna suck my cock to leave this office free.”
“I… wanna suck your cock, so you won’t call the police.”
“Good girl,” he praises in a tone you haven’t heard from him before. Directive. Dark.
“Now come here. Get on your knees and beg for it.”
You turn to the door, worried that someone might come in.
“Don’t worry. Nobody will interrupt us.”
You walk over to him, as he’s leaning against his desk, and kneel down.
“I said, beg for it.”
“Pl…please?”
“Oh you can do better than that. Your father ever taught you good manners?”
No one has ever spoken to you like that, and the tingling between your legs makes you stop breathing for a few seconds.
“Please, can I suck your cock, sir?”
“Much better. Maybe you’re a quick learner.”
“Fuck,” you whimper.
“You like that, huh?”
You don’t answer, eyes fixed on the ground. He grabs your chin between his thumb and index finger and makes you look up at him.
“No need to be shy or deny it. You’ve squeezed your thighs together twice in the last 2 minutes. Take out my cock, miss,” he orders.
You comply and unzip his pants, before sliding them down his thighs. He’s hard. You pull it out of his boxers and stare at it. Holding your breath again.
“Think you can handle it?”
“I… I don’t know.”
“Well, you’ll have to. Come on.”
You wrap your hand around the base of his shaft and lick up the precum that oozes out. Giving it a few licks.
“Don’t tease. I saw you, with your friends. Thinking you're better than everyone else. I hope you can do better than that with your mouth, now.”
His degradation turns you on. You take him in your mouth, struggling to wrap your lips around his tip. You feel your panties soaking wet. You apply yourself, sucking the head, licking his shaft and his balls, which are resting heavily against his thighs.
“Keep looking at me when I’m letting you suck my cock.”
God, you think. You're so turned on that you’d let him fuck you right now. You lick his shaft, tongue flat, eyes fixed on him. Tears well up in your eyes when he forces his way down your throat.
“You wet?” he asks, his cock in the back of your throat, his hands holding your head against him. You try keeping yourself back from gagging, and nod.
“Get up,” he says, releasing you. “Take off your clothes. Show me.”
You undress mechanically, then he grabs your hips and presses you against his desk, forcing you to spread your thighs, as he slides his body between them. He presses his hand against your pussy and hisses.
“You're dripping, baby. You need it bad, huh?”
You nod.
“Say it.”
“I need it, fuck! That's what you wanna hear?”
He smirks then grabs his cock in his hand and thrusts into you in one go, and you can't help but scream.
“Quiet,” he says, jaw clenched, covering your mouth with his hand, and starts fucking you hard.
“Watch it. Watch how I'm splitting you in two,” he says, finally removing his hand.
“Fuck, fuck,” you mumble as you look down and watch his cock plunge into you, soaked by your wetness.
“Pussy’s squeezing me so hard, fuck. Turn around,” he says, as he grabs your arm and bends you over the desk. He thrusts in again and grips your hips, slamming into you.
“Worth it?”
“Wh… what?” You can barely breathe, let alone speak.
“Whoring yourself for a Walkman?”
“Shit… I didn’t fuckin’ steal it.”
“I know,” he growls.
“What?!” you exclaim, trying to stand up, but he grabs your shoulder and presses you roughly against the desk, the weight of his body on your back, as he keeps pounding into you fast and hard.
“I wanted to wipe that smirk off your face. Make you beg for my cock. I know a slut when I see one,” he says in the hollow of your ear. He slides his hand down to your pussy and brushes your clit with his finger. Slows down the pace. Fucks you gently, trying to get what he wants.
“Now you’re gonna come on this cock. You’re gonna give it to me, like a good whore, baby. ‘cause that’s what you’re good at.”
“You’re… a fucking freak,” you pant. But you don’t fight, don’t resist. A part of you thinks it’s hot, the way he got you. And you want to come, need to come, he’s fucking you too well. You let your orgasm rush over your body, your pussy clenching on his shaft. He freezes deep inside you and comes, covering your walls in white ropes.
He stays pressed against your back, his hands tight around your wrists.
“I knew I picked a good one, today,” he smiles against your ear.
Javi p masterlist
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oh sweetheart pt 3
pairing: boxer!ellie x f! jesses sister!reader
word count: 5.4k!!! longest part yet yay
rating: 18+ (smut will be coming in later parts)
warnings: dealer! boxer!ellie, weed, alcohol, boxing, kissing, joel is dead in this, talk of abusive relationship, smoking, they’re drunk but eveything is consensual ofc! lmk if im missing anything
summary: you and ellie share a moment and both of you admit it :)
author notes: hi everyone thank you for all the love on this series <<<333 this is a good one! not all the way edited yet but i wanted to post cause i finished it 20 minutes ago! sorry for the wait but i think maybe some smut in the near future ;) requests are open and id love any feedback. thank you for 200 followers and over almost 2000 likes!! this is unbelievable and im so grateful! pls let me know if u want to be added to the taglist!!!
part 3 | part 4
series masterlist | main masterlist
from the river to the sea, palestine will be free 🇵🇸
READ: this account stands with palestine, and so— i require everyone who interacts to educate themselves, and support/donate. READ THESE; 1 and 2, HELP HERE, BOYCOTT. silence is complicity, do not scroll past this.
DO NOT BUY THE REMASTER, TLOU2, TLOU1, OR ANY GAME FROM NAUGHTY DOG! neil druckmann (the creator) is a zionist. PLEASE READ THIS. AND REBLOG THIS.
finally friday is here, it feels like you’ve been counting the minutes until you see her again. you woke up around eleven am and put water in the kettle to make yourself some tea as you went to the bathroom to get your morning routine done, paramore playing over your speaker in the bathroom. your routine is something you’ve started to build since you moved to try and keep your anxiety at bay, not all the time it works but its a good way to get your day started. you started with washing your face, brushing your teeth, then brushing the bedhead out of the mess you call hair.
a couple minutes later, you hear the kettle hiss and you make your way back to the kitchen and turn off the stove. you picked your favorite mug out of your cabinet and make your tea. leaving the kitchen, you went back to sit on the couch and think about a million different outcomes that would possibly happen tonight when you see her. you wonder if you’re reading too much into the way she talked to you, was she even flirting with you at all? or just being nice? did she just feel bad about seeing what happened outside her gym?
your phone buzzed in the mist of your thoughts on your and you read a text from dina telling you they’re leaving for the gym around 7 and if you wanted a ride. before responding you pulled up the weather app on your phone and decided you could walk there, its a warm summer day out again and by the time the sun fell, it would be cool enough to walk and it was only about 15 minutes from your house, that and leaving open the possibility that she would want to drive you home again.
you texted her back saying that you would just meet them there. you looked at the time seeing its about eleven thirty so you still have a while until you have to leave. you decided you were gonna be productive today. you did laundry and washed your sheets, did the dishes, vacuumed, cleaned the bathroom and made a sandwich for lunch even thought by now it was 4 o clock. as you were walking around your apartment, you made a mental note to try and find some nice thrift stores around to help you decorate your place. you made your way to your bathroom to shower for tonight.
you love taking long showers, its your guilty pleasure. thanking god that your landlord pays your water bill as you dried off from the shower, put on your strawberry lotion, a big black t-shirt and fuzzy socks to hang around in while you did your hair and minimal makeup. you couldn’t stop thinking about seeing her tonight. new girl was playing on the tv in your room as you finished the final touches on your face. doing light everything since its hot but still wanting to look nice for the occasion: finally seeing her again.
four episodes later and its 6 o clock so you change into a pair of black levi shorts and a green top. your hair and makeup still looked good from earlier so nothing to touch up but you still triple checked yourself. you wish you could have smoked today to help beat the nerves but you wouldn’t have anything until tonight, smiling to yourself thinking of you and her on the phone both laughing when you asked if she was bribing you. you slipped on your converse, grabbed your bag, and locked the front door behind you and started making your way to ellie’s gym.
you got there around seven and you didn’t see jesses car yet but you did see hers. ellie’s beat up 2000 green honda cry sat in a spot towards the back of the parking lot. memories of you leaning on her window practically admitting you liked when she called you sweetheart and the peaceful feeling of comfortable silence you both held.
you heard someone call your name in the distance to turn and see dina getting out of the car, you were so concentrated on ellies car you didn’t even see them pull in. you made your way over and greeted them with a hug as dina wrapped your arm in hers and dragged you in with her, jesse following behind. you tried to calm your nerves but it just wasn’t working. not nervous about being here, even after what happened outside with the man last time, but of seeing her again. you’ve only spoken to her a handful of times but you thought of her more times than you can count.
as soon as you made it closer towards the front door, it was loud, like the first time you were here. loud people, loud lights, loud everything but now knowing it was ellie’s changed it. jesse held the door as dina went in first and you both followed. florescent lights beamed from above you, shining on the sweaty bodies in the gym. it was just like it was the first time you came. your nerves followed you everywhere, but it was worth seeing her again.
you went in and dina guided you guys to the same table you had last time. you wonder if they sit here every time. you looked around for ellie but you didn’t see her anywhere. you saw her car so she has to be here.
dina and jesse got up to go get drinks from the makeshift bar while you sat and waited for them to bring back your drink. you looked over to them waiting their turn when you heard something behind you.
“hey sweetheart,” she whispered close to your ear, and before you could respond she pulled out the the seat next to you and sat down.
“hey ellie,” you said almost startled. she was wearing a pair of skinny jeans, a black t shirt and all her tattoos were showing this time. it was almost mind blowing seeing her and you couldn’t even explain what it did to you. you don’t understand why a girl you barely know has this effect on you.
“i told you to call me el,” she said and laughed kindly towards you, “i have the stuff for you” she finished.
“oh thank you, i’d hope so considering that’s the reason i came,” you joked.
“wait you mean you didn’t come to see me?” she said sounding fake hurt.
“that was just a plus,” you flirted. dina and jesse came back to the table with the drinks before she responded to you and they both greeted ellie as they sat.
“hey els we didn’t see you before we ordered the drinks, i can go get one for ya?” jesse asked her.
“nah i’ll wait til the next round, thanks though” she told him. she smiled at you and the conversation started between all four of you, before you knew it an hour and a half passed, you had more three more rounds and just enjoyed your friday night. the match started and you find it so convenient that you can still see the ring from where the table is so theres no need to get up and watch considering its not ellie up there.
you watched for a bit until it was coming to the end, cheering erupted and ellie told dina and jesse that she was going out for a smoke, before she got up, she leaned over to you and whispered “you coming sweetheart?” softly in your ear, her face inches away from yours, then she moved back and smiled. she held out her hand and you held it as she pulled you up with her as you blushed so hard, you swear you turned into a tomato.
your eyes stayed on her hand holding yours and the beautiful moth tattoo covering her arm, not believing that she’s actually touching you again. you followed behind her as she moved with you through the gym towards the door, as you walked out still hand in hand you saw the side of the building, it was the same place she defended you the first time you met her.
she lead you over to a bench that you never even realized was there. your hands broke as you both sat, she went pull out her cigarette pack and the lighter from her back pocket when she noticed you were staring at her still. she smirked as she opened the pack, and surprisingly pulled out a joint. she put it in her mouth and brought the lighter up to it before telling you “its not polite to stare sweetheart.”
you blushed and looked away as soon as she said it. she laughed and she passed the joint to you, you told her you just couldn’t help it. and you really couldn’t, she’s breathtaking. the way her freckles danced across her whole face, her eyes had a small tint of brown circling her iris, the scar on her right eyebrow, the way her lips just sat perfectly on her face. you so badly want to reach out and touch them again.
you hit it a couple times, you are sure your cheeks haven’t been back to normal since you saw her and you wonder if she’s noticed. you passed her back the joint and she staring at you taking in every detail of you too as she brought it to her mouth and took a hit. blowing out the smoke she smirked, and said “i can’t either sweetheart.”
she leaned back against the bench, legs spread a little as she handed you the joint and asked, “so what brought you here besides jesse?” she acquired. you told her about living in brooklyn, above the cafe you worked and how your time spent there wasn’t totally great but the real reason was running from a shitty past, you weren’t ready to tell her specifics but you told her that’s why you left, you had to get away from what happened there but it was more like who. she told you she understood and then she told you “well i’m glad you’ve made your way here sweetheart.”
you don’t know if it was the alcohol or weed but you sat outside on the bench for another 20 minutes, smoking and laughing as you talked about so much: you talked about the tv shows you’re both watching, the albums you had on repeat, the guilty pleasures you both had and what you both did in your free time. you spoke to one another like you’ve known each other for years. it just feels so good to talk to someone like this again.
she learned that your parents live in portland, so moving coasts was a big deal but you felt like you were on auto-pilot growing up and you knew you had to get out when you could, she learned that you dropped out of college two years and haven’t made any plans to go back but you would like to. you told her a couple funny stories about you and jesse growing up and she laughed at them all.
you found out that she plays guitar and that she spends time drawing and journaling. you learn that ellie was adopted when she was 14, she grew up in boston, and she has an older sister named sarah but that she doesn’t come around much anymore since she gotten married. she told you that her dad passed away from a heart attack about a year ago and since then, her and her uncle tommy.
“im sorry to hear about your dad els” you sympathized.
“its okay sweetheart, just fucking sucks sometimes.” she responded softly as she put the joint out next to her and slipped it back in her cigarette pack. instead this time she pulled out a cigarette and lit that this time. she slid it in her pocket before she stood up off the bench, offering you her hand again and said you should probably head back inside.
you grabbed her warm hand and stood up to follow her, you started the walk towards the side door but before she opened it, she turned around to you and faced you.
“hey sweetheart?” she asked.
“yes els?” you waited for her to continue, her hand still covering yours.
“im glad you came sweetheart, this was nice, i mean as nice as it gets sitting on the side of this place,” she laughed softly, you felt like she was closer than ever but maybe because you just wanted her to be, “you know, id love to do this again.. and maybe play you something on my guitar.. if you want.” she said almost nervously, feeling the urge to look away from you.
“i would love that els.” you said, looking up from staring at your hands together to smiling in her face. you cant believe she asked you, part of you prayed she would, you knew there was a connection here. she realized it too. your eye contact never faded as you stood here.
“great, im looking forward to it more than you know,” she told you sweetly. she let go out hand and you felt slight disappoint in your heart as you assumed she was going to turn around and open the door and this moment would be over. instead, she brought her hand up to your face and let it rest on your cheek as she brushed her thumb over it. the touch of her warm hand sent sparks through your body this time and you couldn’t be bothered moving as she grew closer to you.
“you have no idea how much i wanna kiss you right now.” she whispered, from only what felt like two inches away from your lips. fuck, you thought silently. she was so close to you, you could feel her breathe as she spoke.
“please do it.” you practically whined, you couldn’t take this anymore. all you wanted to do was feel her lips on yours. after you spoke, you felt her thumb move from your cheek to brushing your lips softly. the drinks you had definitely brought out your confident and the want you had for her.
“oh sweetheart,” she purred towards you, “how badly i want to but it has to be more special than this.” she said moving her thumb back to your red cheek.
“just as long as it happens el,” you responded, breathing heavier as your nerves grew in anticipation.
she nodded as she slowly moved her hand off your face and brought it down to your hip and gave it a squeeze, still smiling at you as she reached to open the door and let you through in front of her.
you walk back into the gym and went to find jesse and dina. you saw jesse at the bar and ellie went over to him, telling you she was getting more drinks. you went over to dina at the table and took a seat next to her. you asked her how the match went and she told you same as always and nothing crazy this time.
“you guys were out there for a while, whats up with that?” dina asked while smirking and wiggling her eyebrows at you.
“dina…” you laughed, “we just smoked and talked for a bit.” you replied to her.
“sureeee that’s all, we see the way you look at her!”, she squealed, “and the way she looks at you, it just seems pretty obvious.”
you laughed and told her that nothing happened yet but you did admit to her that you wanted it to.
“stop we knew it!” she laughed loudly and hit the table in excitement. you pulled your hands to your face that was full of embarrassment.
“what do you mean you knew it, was it obvious?” you gasped. your eyes darting towards ellie at the makeshift bar.
“to me and jesse yes.” she told you still smiling over the fact that her two friends maybe starting something new soon.
as you went to reply, the drinks were on the table, jesse and ellie were back already at the table pulling their chairs. the conversation between you and dina came to a halt as you all started talking. you all sat, conversing and finished your last round by the time it hit around 11 pm. you were getting tired and you were definitely drunk after all the rounds of drinks everyone bought. the matches ended an hour ago and you guys were the last few people left besides the lady behind the bar and a couple stragglers paying their tab and chatting.
“hey i think me and d are gonna head out,” he said looking over to dina, who was definitely feeling all the drinks she had, he laughed and said, “this one needs to make it home into bed. can you make it home okay? i can take you now if you need” he asked talking to you.
“no i’m gonna take her home.” ellie cut in before you could respond. you looked at her and smiled as jesse told you to text when you both got home safe. he helped dina up and they made their way to the door. your eyes followed til they left and then you turned to ellie, who was already staring at you.
“that okay sweetheart? that i take you home again?” she asked smirking towards you.
“yeah els, that’s okay.” you blushed as she stood up and put her hand out for the third time tonight. you connected your hands again. touching her had your skin was burning up. you followed her into a back office. paperwork, receipts, and random things littered the room. as you looked around and saw a decent couch, a safe in the corner and a coffee area on a little table and a large desk with folders and boxes of things you didn’t know.
you watched as ellie disconnected your hands to go over to pick up her backpack from the side of the couch and then she grabbed a jacket she had hanging over the deck of the chair to the desk, she slid it over her shoulders then grabbed a piece of paper, writing something non legible from where you were standing. she smiled when she turned towards you and held her arm out motioning to the door for you guys to exit.
the stragglers were gone and the bartender bid ellie goodnight as she walked out the front door. you walked the distance of the gym and made it to the door with ellie, she leaned over and turned the lights off and then held the door opened for you.
you told her thank you and she nodded towards you, “i think we should walk, it’s not far from your apartment.” she spoke looking towards you for confirmation as she turned and locked up the gym for the night.
“that’s okay but how are you going to get home without your car?” you asked. you didn’t want her walking home alone either, you knew she could handle herself but still, the thought made you worry.
“i’m only 5 minutes away from you actually so its not far, ill be back for my car tomorrow.” she told you. you nodded and both of you continued to walk the sidewalk in a comfortable silence next to each other. you glanced up at the sky, noticing the stars and the way the moon beamed over the city. it was so much cooler now than it was earlier and you moved to brush over the goosebumps that covered your arms. ellie noticed your movement and took off her jacket. you turned when you noticed what she was going and told her, “no its okay we’ll be there soon i don’t need it.”
“sorry sweetheart, got to make sure you stay warm.” she smirked as she put it over your shoulders and watched as you put your arms in. you smiled to her as you readjusted it and continued the walk to your place. the smell of her engulfed you and you’ve never felt so comfortable.
“its so beautiful.” you whispered, “and quiet, new york was never like this. they don’t lie when they say the city never sleeps ya know?” you finished.
the city you moved to that you wish you could escape from. the shitty and abusive relationship you wish you could leave behind. the things you tried the most to forget. you never spoke about it, you just ran. the city you wished had better memories connected with it. but now all you want is to create new memories.
when you moved across the country, you told yourself that you’re not getting into anything here because you know you need to heal from the those years of abuse and insecurity so the last thing you expected was to meet ellie and end up feeling this way about her. you don’t want this to happen and you ruin it because you aren’t okay but with her, you feel like you could be okay one day.
“i could only imagine, boston was a busy place too but not the same, it always is quiet here.” she chuckled softly.
“i love it, things finally seem calm now.” you smiled as you looked her. she took in the sight of you in her jacket and she loved it. she can only imagine seeing you wear her t shirts… or nothing at all. she shook the thoughts from her head but she just couldn’t help it. you were the most beautiful girl she’d ever seen. you were breathtaking. she couldn’t believe she’d met someone like you in this shitty small town.
the town where her dad and her moved, and the memories of them together haunted her. now that he was gone, she knew a piece of her was missing. things were incomplete without him. he was all she thought about, the guilt of what happened and how she couldn’t do anything to stop it.
the only time ellie wasn’t thinking about joel was when she was thinking about you, she was grateful that she met you. she didn’t know what this was going to turn into but she hoped it would be something. she sees the effects she has on you and she wishes she really knew how to communicate with you that she feels the same way about you.
you continued the walk in a comfortable silence, both of you wrapped in your thoughts of each another and eventually made it to the front of your building. you turned to face her with a smile,“here i am,” you spoke softly to her, not wanting the night to come to an end.
“here you are, thank you for letting me take you home sweetheart, call it peace of mind,” she admitted.
“thank you for walking me els… do you want to come up?” you said without a thought. you didn’t know if this is was the alcohol talking but you know you didn’t regret it when you said it and you wish that’s what you could blame it on but you knew you wanted this even sober.
“if you want me to sweetheart” she smirked as she responded.
you stepped closer to her as you looked at her, only a couple inches away from her face, watching her eyes move from your eyes to your lips. you knew you both could feel the tension.
“please just say yes.” you sighed wishing you could feel her lips on yours already.
“okay sweetheart, lets go.” she pulled away but connected your hands and it took you a second to recognize that she agreed. you turned around, suddenly nervous about the fact that she’s going to see where you spend your days. you opened the door to the lobby, and ellie held the door as you both walked in. she followed you up the stairs by the front, and you made your way to the front door as you held ellie’s hand in one and used the other to pull your keys from your bag.
you unlocked the door and you brought ellie in with you before the door was shut and you were locking it. you took off her jacket and put it on your coat rack and turned to look at her.
“okay it’s kind of a mess so i’m sorry but-“ you started before she cut you off.
“sweetheart, your place is practically spotless, you should see mine.” ellie laughed.
you laughed as you pulled ellie over to the green couch that took up a lot of your living room but it was a dream purchase and you loved it. you told ellie to take a seat as you walked over to the kitchen and grabbed some water for you both. as you were walking back towards her, she was digging around in her backpack. as you placed the waters down and took a seat, she pulled out weed in a jar and handed it to you.
“here this is yours.” she said.
“oh thank you! i totally forgot, do you want to smoke now- fuck i don’t think i have anything to roll with.” you told her as you went to open the windows in your living room.
instead of saying anything, she reached back into her backpack and pulled out a jar of already rolled joints.
“i came prepared.” she laughed, “and you won’t owe me anything for that.” she said, motioning to the stuff she gave you as her hands were cracking open the jar of pre-rolls.
“ellie- no i’ll give you the cash,” but she shook her head no and brought the lighter to the joint between her lips.
“no, it’s on me, don’t worry about it.” she responded as she took a hit.
“do you give other people weed for free?” you asked, looking at her as she was smoking while sitting next to you on the couch. you wish you could stay like this forever.
“only pretty girls that i like…” she said sweetly as you held eye contact as she handed you the joint.
“oh so you think i’m pretty?” you teased her as you took a hit.
“sweetheart, i think you’re the prettiest girl i’ve ever seen.” she told you. you instantly blush and look away from her, trying not to choke on the smoke you held in your lungs.
“thank you els, i think you’re beautiful.” you said to her. when you looked up, you saw her cheeks tint lightly as she grabbed the joint you held out to her.
“thanks sweetheart.” she said as she put the joint down on a cup at the table you’d been using as an ashtray and she brought her hand up and held your cheek like she did earlier. you couldn’t help yourself as you nuzzled your face into her warm hand. your eye contact only made the tension in the room worse.
“you really are beautiful… sweetheart, can i?” she asked as she looked down at your lips. you nodded and as she came closer, your lips just barely brushing, as she asked, “i need to hear you pretty girl.”
“yes please els- please just kiss me already.” you begged.
her lips were on yours before you could even realized this was actually happening. your lips moved slow together at first but you couldn’t help yourself from deepening the kiss as ellie brought her other hand up and tangled it in your hair as you moaned, her tongue slipped into your mouth, both of you tasting the weed and alcohol you consumed.
one of your hand rested against her chest and the other gripping her arm as you melted into the kiss. both ellie’s hands were in your hair now as your tongues continued to fight for dominance but you let her win and moaned again and she swallowed it as she kissed you.
ellie pulled your leg over her lap so you straddled her, never breaking your lips apart. your lips continued to move in sync as you grinded against her. her hands on your hips moving with you. your lips stay connected until you broke the kiss to come up for air and rested your forehead on hers.
“you okay sweetheart?” ellie panted as she caught her breath too.
“yes els just need a second.” you said as your eyes stayed shut while you tried to control your breathing. you couldn’t believe that you guys finally kissed. the tension was killing you both and now it’s finally happened.
“hey it’s okay, take your time sweetheart.” ellie said as she rubbed a hand along your thigh at a comfortable pace, brushing the cloth from your shorts as she moved it. she brought the other one up to your cheek and lifted your head to look at you. you looked tired and ellie didn’t want to take full advantage of you after you guys had been drinking and smoking all night.
“hey sweetheart, lets get you to bed, we’ll finish this another time i promise.” she said sweetly as you mumbled an “okay els thank you,” and moved off her lap to sit back on the couch. ellie stood up and offered her hand. you stood up and walked both of you to your bedroom.
you moved to sit on the edge of your king sized bed and ellie stood in front of you still holding your hand as you asked her if she wanted to stay the night because it was late and you didn’t want her walking home.
“sure sweetheart i’ll sleep on the couch, and only for your peace of mind.” she chuckled, thinking back to the conversation earlier.
“els we can share the bed, it’s okay, i’ll keep my hands to myself.” you joked and she laughed.
“i don’t think i’d be complaining if you couldn’t but i’m okay on the couch.” ellie insisted.
“els please just lay with me.” you said looking up at her as she moved her hand to rest on your cheek again.
“okay sweetheart.” she finally agreed.
you smiled up at her and you took ellie’s hand from your face and guided her into the bathroom connected to your room. she watched as you bent down and opened the sink cabinet and grabbed a toothbrush. you turned around and handed it to her with a smile. you guys brushed your teeth and then went back into your bedroom.
ellie stood here as you moved across the room to your dresser, and pulled out a t-shirt and a pair of shorts from your drawer and handed them over to ellie. she told you thank you and you smiled at her. ellie walked into the bathroom to change and you walked back to the dresser. you stripped yourself of your shirt and bra before throwing on a different oversized tee and changing your underwear. you didn’t even realize you were soaked after what happened on the couch.
ellie watched you as she leaned against the bathroom door frame as you untangled the sides of your underwear after you pulled them up.
“you’re perfect”, she thought in head before speaking out loud. “thanks sweetheart.” you turned around when ellie spoke, sending her a smile before you moved to your side of the bed, you grabbed the duvet and moved it so you both were able to get in your bed.
you and ellie laid facing each other in a comfortable silence as you were both growing incredibly tired. you felt your eyes starting to get heavy and felt ellie’s hand brush your hair back from your face so you kept your eyes open to look at her.
“el?” you whispered.
“yes sweetheart?” she spoke quietly back to you.
“i really like you… i don’t know if this is too early but it just feels right.”
“i feel it too sweetheart, i like you too so don’t worry,” ellie said softly, hand still holding your face, “now get some sleep, we’ll talk more in the morning pretty girl.”
“goodnight els.” you whispered.
#ellie williams#ellie williams fanfiction#ellie williams smut#ellie williams x reader#the last of us#tlou game#tlou series#ellie tlou#tlou2#pedro pascal#ellie williams series#ellie williams fluff#ellie williams fic#ellie x fem reader#ellie williams angst#ellie the last of us#ellie x reader#ellie#jesse the last of us#dina the last of us#the last of us part 2
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Kinktober 「10:23」 — k.yeosang
» ateez menu | yeosang menu | kinktober masterlist «
➮ reaper!Yeosang × fem!Reader wc: 2.3k summary: When an aneurysm in her brain ruptures, killing Y/N, she is faced with a reaper who has come to collect her soul but she might have just discovered a way to cheat death. genres/themes/au: mild angst, smut; supernatural, horror, thriller; non idol au, monster idol au warnings: adult dialogue, female reader, supernatural and horror themes, major character death mentions of: death, afterlife, slight religious panic; sexual content (18+ mdni), see smut warnings under the cut! taglist has been moved to reblogs join my taglists! kinktober taglist is CLOSED! Strikethrough means I cannot tag you. MINORS WILL BE BLACKLISTED & BLOCKED. AGELESS BLOGS WILL ALSO BE BLOCKED.
a/n: i don’t have much to say about this lol Yeosang is hot, him as a reaper is a concept. Id’ fuck him if it meant I could escape my fate lmao. Thank you for reading! If you liked it, please consider reblogging or supporting my writing through my ko-fi, linked on my pinned post! As always, this is a work of fiction and all characters are not reflective of their respective irl counterparts. for entertainment purposes only.
smut warnings: teratophilia (aka monsterfucking), corruption kink (f receiving), cock worship (m receiving), dom!Yeosang, sub!Reader, unprotected sex (don’t. do. this), oral (m receiving), handjob (m receiving), use of pet names (babe, sweetheart, etc.), and that should be all but as always, let me know if I missed some! kinks: Corruption kink + cock worship dialogue prompt: ❛❛ Have you never been touched like this before? ❜❜
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No one is ever ready for death. No matter how prepared one thinks they are, it still catches everyone off guard. But while you can prepare for the death of a loved one or a pet, no one really tells you how to prepare with your own demise.
You were now faced with this as you stared at your corpse, collapsed and crumpled on the floor of your living room. You didn’t even know what happened. One minute you were sitting there watching television and then you got up and then it all went black and you came to like this, standing there, staring at your body.
“What the fuck, man?”
You walked over, kneeling beside your body and reached out to touch it.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” a voice said from behind you, causing you to jump and turn quickly to see a man standing behind you. He wore a plain black suit, a gray waistcoat over a white button up shirt and a black tie. He had light colored blondish hair with bangs swept back to show his forehead. His eyes were a piercing gray color and he wore a stoic expression.
“Wh-who are you?” you asked, your voice soft as you stared at him. You watched as he tilted his head, giving you a quizzical stare. “I’m Yeosang,” he said simply. “Okay, Yeosang,” you said as you slowly stood up straight. “What are you doing in my apartment?” Yeosang narrowed his steely eyes before responding. “You’re dead,” he stated.
Rolling your eyes you scoffed. “Well, no shit, Sherlock,” you snapped. “What does my being dead have to do with you being here?” Yeosang stuck his hands in his pockets as he stared back at you. “Because it’s my job,” he answered. ‘Job?’ you wondered to yourself. ‘What job?’
“What do you mean by job?” you asked, voicing the question that plagued your thoughts. Yeosang stared at you silently for a moment before he finally spoke. “My job is to escort the dead to the afterlife,” he explained. “You’ve passed and now it’s time to ferry your soul to the afterlife.”
“I’m a reaper.”
Your eyes widened as he spoke. He took a few steps forward, putting him only a couple paces away, he removed his hands from his pockets, holding one of them out, palm facing up. You watched as a dark ball of mist appeared, starting to swirl slowly. It gained momentum, swirling faster and faster, the center becoming more and more dense. A small bolt of electricity crackled and just like that a scythe appeared. He caught it with one hand, grabbing the lower part of the handle with the other and held it firmly.
“Whoa,” you said, eyeing the sharp, pointed end of the curved blade. “That’s a pretty big sickle you got there. What’re you gonna do with it?” you said softly as he approached you. “It’s a scythe,” he corrected you. “And I’m going to kill you.”
You stared at him, holding his gaze for a moment. “Buddy,” you started, glancing down at the scythe. “I hate to break it to you, but I’m already dead.” Yeosang glanced down at the body on the floor and back to your soul. “I know that,” he said, sounding equal parts confused. “Then what do you mean kill me?” Yeosang stood back up, moving the scythe to rest the bottom of the staff on the floor.
“When you die,” he said, gesturing at your body lying on the floor. “You get assigned a reaper,” he continued. “And that reaper comes to take your soul to pass on. Most of the time, souls have unfinished business, this is how you get ghosts.”
You stared blankly at him as explained. “You have no unfinished business,” he added. “You are completely ready to pass on.” Your brows furrowed. “No the fuck I’m not,” you retorted. “I didn’t even want to die. I simply got up from the couch. How the hell did that kill me?” you asked incredulously as you gestured at your body.
Yeosang walked over, passing you to slowly kneel down, inspecting your corpse. “Aneurysm,” he said softly. He looked up at you. “A blood vessel in your brain ruptured. It’s usually preventable,” he continued as he got up. “But if it ruptures, only immediate medical treatment can save you,” he added, walking towards you, placing a hand on your shoulder. “You’ve been dead for too long.”
You looked down at his hand on your shoulder, surprised you could even feel anything. “You’re touching me,” you whispered. He glanced at his hand and then pulled it away. “My apologies,” he said. “It was meant to be reassuring.” He started to walk back to the spot he’d been standing before but you grabbed his hand, catching him off guard. “How am I touching you?” you asked, looking up from his hand to his eyes.
“Because we’re the same,” he answered, sounding surprised. “We’re both specters.” You glanced back at your body. “Is there no chance of pleading for my life with you?” you asked, turning back to look at him. “Well,” he started, pulling his hand from your grasp and running his fingers through his hair.
“Yes,” he replied. “Technically you could be returned to life,” he added. “Even with the ruptured aneurysm?” you asked. Yeosang shrugged. “By restoring life to you, it would reverse the rupture but the aneurysm would still be there.” You glanced at your body then around your apartment. “So if I return to life, will I forget all this?” you asked, turning to look at him once more.
He shrugged. “Maybe?” he said, sounding uncertain. “I’ve never restored someone to life before,” he replied. “I just know it’s possible. But I can’t just go around reversing death and granting people more time. You have to make a bargain,” he added. “A bargain?” you asked, perking up.
“Yes,” he answered. “What kind of bargain?” Yeosang hesitated. “I uh… don’t know. I’ve never done it before. Do you have any reason why you absolutely cannot pass on?” He stared at you blankly as he waited for your answer. Did you have anything holding you back? You had no children, no pets, no one relied on you to care for them. All you knew was that you weren’t ready. Wasn’t that reason enough?
You looked back at him. “I…” you trailed off, voice breaking before clearing your throat and trying again. “I’ve barely even lived,” you started softly. “I’ve never even left the country. I’m��� not ready to go.” Yeosang’s stoic expression softened at the sound of your wavering voice. He wasn’t supposed to do this. He wasn’t supposed to give second chances but there was something in your voice and he couldn’t help but feel a little bad for you.
“Alright,” he said, snapping his fingers. You jumped slightly in shock when the scythe in his hands disappeared in a black mist that quickly dissipated. “If you can convince me, I will give you a second chance at life.” The moment the words left his lips, a look of pure joy came over your face. “Oh, really?” you exclaimed. Yeosang nodded before holding up a hand. “But you have to convince me.”
“Not a problem,” you said, moving to stand in front of him.
Yeosang watched as you lowered yourself to your knees. He’d seen this act before. He was no stranger to people begging on their knees but what he hadn’t expected was for your hand to move up his thigh, palm resting over his crotch. His breath caught in his throat. “Wh-what are you doing?” he choked out as you started to palm over his cock.
“You said to convince you,” you answered with a shrug as you continued. Yeosang’s cheeks burned as he could feel himself starting to grow hard under your touch. “I didn’t mean…” he trailed off as your hand gently cupped his growing erection, squeezing slightly. His eyes fluttered shut, a soft gasp leaving his lips. “Have you never been touched like this before?” you asked suddenly.
He looked down to meet your gaze. There was a hint of amusement in the semi smirk you had on your face. Yeosang shook his head. “N-no,” he stammered. You looked up at him, your smile widening as you continued to stroke him over his pants. “Let me change that then,” you said softly, moving your hands up, fingers working to undo the clasp and zipper of his pants.
Yeosang let out a groan as your hand slipped into his pants, grasping his semi hard cock, pulling it free and starting to stroke him slowly. “I.. f-fuck,” he moaned, head falling back as you took the head of his cock into your mouth, tongue swirling around before pulling back with a slight popping sound. “Has anyone ever told you that you have a really pretty cock?” you asked, hand gliding over the shaft faster.
“N-no,” Yeosang gasped, unable to form a proper sentence. “Well, you do,” you whispered, giving the tip a slow lick. “Probably the best looking cock I’ve ever seen.” Yeosang’s cheeks burned, a tinge of pink to them as you took his cock back into your mouth. He groaned as the tip of his cock reached the back of your mouth, nearly crossing into your throat.
“Holy hell,” he gasped as you pulled back, his hips bucking forward to chase the feeling of your warm mouth. You chuckled as you pulled back, hand moving up to the head of his cock. “I still can’t believe you’ve never done this before,” you said softly, watching as he looked down at you through heavy lidded eyes. “I don’t have the —” he let out a hiss as you gave the tip of his cock a lick, grinning at his reaction.
“I don’t often get the chance to engage in — oh god!” he groaned loudly, head falling back as your mouth enveloped his cock once more. His hand moved to the back of your head, fingers slipping between locks of your hair. “D-don’t stop,” he gasped as your head bobbed faster, the wet sound of his cockhead hitting the back of your throat.
You knew he was close when you felt his cock twitch in your mouth and you quickly stopped, pulling his cock from your mouth. “As much as I’d like for you to cum in my mouth,” you started, stroking him slowly. “I think it’s only fair that you get a taste of what you’re missing,” you said softly. “What are you – yah!” Yeosang started before being tugged down to his knees. You pushed him back onto the wooden floor, quickly ridding yourself of your pants before climbing over his lap.
“On your back, sweetheart,” you said softly, pushing against his chest. He leaned back as you moved, settling over his cock. You reached down, grabbing him and lining the tip with your slit before slowly sinking down on him, letting out a moan as his cock stretched you, your cunt greedily sucking him in. Yeosang let out a guttural moan, eyes rolling to the back of his head as you settled, his cock fully inside you. “I knew it,” you said with a soft chuckle.
“Knew what?” the reaper asked, raising his head. “That your cock would feel even better inside me than it did in my hand,” you replied, leaning over to place your hands on the floor on either side of his head as you lifted your hips. His hands gripped your waist tightly as you lowered yourself back down, his cock sliding back into you, making both of you moan loudly.
“I’m going to enjoy this,” you said with a crooked grin. Yeosang looked up at you through half opened eyes, his hair starting to stick to his forehead. “I don’t care if you finish what you started,” he said, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed. “I just need you to move,” he added, trying to move your hips along, a hint of impatience in his voice.
“Do that and you can consider our deal fulfilled.”
You chuckled lightly as you leaned over to press a quick kiss to his lips. “Oh come on,” you said with a smirk. “We’re only just getting started, babe.” You lifted your hips again, sinking back down and setting a steady pace, keeping your eyes on his face as his brows knitted together, his face contorting in pleasure as your walls clenched around his cock, hugging it tightly.
Each drag of his cock had you groaning as you felt the tension begin to build in your lower belly. “F-fuck,” you cursed, your thighs starting to burn. “I need a second,” you said breathlessly. Yeosang let out an impatient noise, almost a whine as he tried to buck up into you.
“My thighs burn. Just let me have a second,” you chuckled but let out a yelp as he sat up, knocking you onto your back as he grabbed your hips and started thrusting into you harshly. Each snap of your hips had you crying out as he slammed into you repeatedly. “Fuck, shit, calm down!” you gasped as you felt your orgasm approaching rapidly. “M’gonna —”
You didn’t have time to warn him as you came, your cunt convulsing around his cock and spurring his own climax. You could feel his hot cum gush out of him, coating your walls as he pumped you full. After one final thrust, he let out a moan he’d been holding back, collapsing on top of you as you both tried to regain control of your breathing.
“So… our deal is fulfilled?” you finally panted as you stared up at the ceiling of your apartment. “Yes,” Yeosang said as he lifted his head. “On one condition,” he added, his gaze meeting yours. “You let me come visit you from time to time cause that was amazing.” A smile crossed your face as you reached up, running your fingers through his hair. “Can I fuck you when I’m back in my body?” you asked curiously. He shrugged, staring down at your lips. “No idea,” he answered.
“Only one way to find out.”
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The Savage and the Sanctuary - Ch. 1: Wrong Foot
Joel takes on a new contract as a bodyguard. A continuation of The Savage and the Sanctuary, a no outbreak TLOU story, from the prologue found on Tumblr here.
Pairing: Joel Miller x Female Reader
CW: Non-consensual groping (not by Joel.) Mention of grief and child loss. No use of Y/N. Whole fic will be explicit so minors DNI, 18+ only.
Length: 7.1k
Fic Masterlist | Masterlist | AO3 | Prologue | Next Chapter
Two years later - September 2024
“You really want me for this one?” he asked as he rode up the elevator at the nicest hotel in Austin. Even after two years protecting wealthy assholes, Joel wasn’t used to shit like this. The fast elevators and the plush carpets and the trappings of wealth that provided everything his charges needed. Everything, it seemed, except safety.
For that, they needed him.
Protecting people, as it happened, was something Joel was good at. It almost surprised him how good he was at it. It forced him to be aware of what was happening around him for a change instead of just moving through the world like a ghost. It took that awareness for him to even realize just how dead he’d been in the years since the death of his daughter.
Usually, things went fine. Most often, he was shepherding tech or oil executives with inflated egos from business meeting to business meeting while they were in town and looking the other way when they cheated on their wives or put half his salary up their noses. Nothing ever happened with those assholes.
Occasionally, though, his job got interesting. Rabid fans tried to mob some pop star Joel had never heard of at a club on 6th Street once and he had to carry her out, forcing his way through the crowd before she got crushed. Then there was the supermodel who was posing for photos with fans when one little college-aged fucker thought it would be smart to grab her ass to cop a feel. Joel took a little too much pleasure in punching him so hard that he fell to the floor, knocked clean out. The football player had been the biggest trouble, though. Some hotshot asshole who’d just won the Super Bowl coming back to his college town to party. He picked a fight with the wrong drug dealer and damn near got shot for it, Joel whisking him away and getting winged in the shoulder by the bullet for his trouble.
He didn’t want to admit, even to himself, that he liked when the work got dicey. Being shot at was the closest to alive Joel has felt in years. Getting to lay out some asshole without the cops trying to arrest him for it had been the highlight of his month. It made him very good at his job and he liked that, both things that surprised him.
“You’re my best guy,” Tommy said. “You’ve seen more action on this job than almost any of the other guards and they want someone with a good history. Plus you don’t give a shit about… higher profile clientele. I can’t put fuckin’ James on a job with someone he knows, he’ll fan boy over ‘em. Remember when that one band came through?”
“Jesus,” Joel groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. It had been an easy job but it was one that he’d had to do most of the work on, James practically giddy the entire time. “Yeah, you’re right. So, what, this some pop star or somethin’?”
“Not sure,” Tommy said. “They’ve been playin’ it real close to the chest, won’t ID ‘em until we sign an NDA.”
“So you got no idea what we’re workin’ with,” Joel said, grinding his teeth.
“Just that it’s someone people know,” Tommy said. “Long term contract, real good money. They mentioned a stalker, they’re bringing all the information along on that to review, wanted you to see it before we signed on.”
Joel nodded slowly.
“Well,” he said. “Least it’ll be interesting.”
They made it to the top floor of the hotel, only four doors and Joel fought the urge to laugh. God, this breed of rich asshole was a whole new level.
Tommy led the way to a door labeled Presidential Suite and knocked, a young woman with close cropped dark hair and a headphone in her ear answered the door.
“One second,” she said, tapping her headphone before she smiled at the two men. “Thank you for coming, Mr. Miller. My boss prefers to have people come to where she is when she travels, I’m sure you can understand…”
“Of course,” Tommy said. “Happy to go wherever you need.”
“Can I get you anything?” She asked, leading the way into a hotel suite that had to be damn near the size of Joel’s entire house. “Coffee? Water? Tea? Also have a variety of Coke I think you call it here if you’d like that.”
“Water’s fine,” Tommy said.
“Still, sparkling?” She asked. “Also have cucumber, lemon, mint…”
“Uh,” Tommy blinked for a moment and Joel fought the urge to laugh. “Still’s fine. None of that other stuff.”
She nodded before she looked to Joel, her brows raised.
“Coffee,” he said. “Black.”
“Of course,” she smiled, leading them to a sitting room and gesturing to a couch. “Quinn will be with you shortly.”
She disappeared and returned with their drinks, handing them to each of them with a smile before she tapped the headphone again.
“Thank you,” she said, her voice almost syrupy sweet as she went to another room. “I appreciate you waiting since you’re apparently so willing to try to fuck us over…”
Tommy’s eyes went wide and he looked at Joel, the conversation becoming almost silent as she closed the door behind her.
“Definitely ain’t from around here,” Joel said.
“Guess not,” Tommy said.
It wasn’t long - Joel only drank half the coffee which was far better than he was expecting it to be - when another door opened, a woman closer to his own age coming out, dressed in an expertly fitted gray suit, her dark hair in long, tiny braids that hung to her waist. Sarah had always liked hair like that, always begged Joel to let her get them. He wished he had whiskey for his coffee.
The woman was on the phone, too, but she was on speaker.
“I don’t care,” she said. “You know the deal and I’m not going to just sit here and pretend that you don’t because you decided today was the day to play fucking games. Call me when you want to handle shit like a fucking grown up.”
She hung up and sat heavily on the couch opposite them, the girl who answered the door almost scurrying into the room and hovering near the large coffee table. The woman in the suit - Quinn, Joel assumed - giving her a single nod and she rushed off, quickly returning with a bottle of water and several folios.
“Tommy,” Quinn smiled. “While it’s good to see you again, I’m sure you’ll understand when I say I’m looking forward to getting this settled so we can stop meeting like this.”
Tommy smiled back.
“Can’t say I disagree,” he said. “Wanted you to have the chance to meet Joel, he’ll be the lead on this contract assuming we go ahead. He’s one of my best guys, got the history you asked for…”
“I’m sure being your brother doesn’t hurt,” she smiled a little. Joel raised his eyebrows and looked to Tommy but she answered his unspoken question. “We pulled backgrounds for everyone on your payroll. We can’t be too careful.”
She tossed one of the leather folios on the table.
“This is what we’re up against,” she said. “Redacted, of course, so you can’t ascertain who my client is but you’ll have access to the full versions should you accept the contract and sign the necessary NDAs. We’ve naturally brought them to the police and they believe the threat is credible. They have a lot of information - some of these were sent to my client’s private residence, for example - and it’s clear they’ve seen my client in person numerous times. We have reason to believe they will follow my client wherever she goes and there is genuine concern for escalation…”
Tommy picked up the file and looked it over, nodding slowly, before passing a page off to Joel. It was the photo copy of a printed letter.
You were beautiful today in that green dress.
One day, you’ll come home to me. One day, I’ll make you see.
Joel passed the page back to Tommy.
“I can see why you’re concerned,” Tommy said, handing the folio back. “Don’t seem like anything we can’t handle. I think we’re alright to move forward with the contract as discussed…”
There was a knock at the door and the girl ran to go answer it, Quinn ignoring it completely.
“Excellent,” she said, grabbing another folio and passing it over. “This is the contract and the NDA, already reviewed by your legal team. We just require a wet signature.”
Tommy nodded, looking over the pages, anyway, and Joel was starting to wonder why he’d had to be trotted out like some kind of prize show pony just to sign some damn paperwork when there was a commotion at the door.
“This really isn’t necessary,” the girl was saying, her voice oddly pleading, the total opposite of how she’d been on the phone.
“Oh I’m sure Quinn won’t mind,” another voice - a new one but there was a tug of familiarity to it that set Joel’s teeth on edge - said. “I am her favorite client, after all.”
Quinn’s head snapped in the direction of the sound and, in a sweep of gauzy clothes and floral perfume, you were there.
Joel recognized you immediately, everything about you seeming to have been built to be remembered. The whole world remembered you, it had been years since he’d been able to escape you. The biggest movie star on the planet, helming major franchises and winning fucking Oscars, on the cover of gossip rags at the fucking grocery store and on billboards advertising perfume and on Saturday Night Live. In person, from the second you appeared, you were a force. Your face, your voice, the way you held yourself, no wonder he always noticed you when you were all around him. No wonder his daughter had been obsessed with you.
Your face was a poster on her wall, a picture where you had the slightest, confident smile on your lips but your eyes always seemed sad. You turned those eyes to him, ranging over him like you were taking stock and Joel’s heart stuttered before your gaze turned to Tommy and back to Quinn.
“So glad you got the meeting started without me,” you said, all saccharine sweetness, stepping over Joel’s legs and sitting down on the edge of the couch between him and Tommy. You crossed one elegant leg over the other - your pants ever so slightly sheer so Joel could just make out your thigh below the loose fabric - and leaned forward, taking Joel’s white china coffee cup off the table and helping yourself to a sip with a jingle of your bangles that were piled high on your wrists. You gave him a wink as you did, setting the cup back on its saucer before leaning onto your leg, your arms folded in front of you. “I’m sure the fact that I didn’t know it was happening has nothing to do with wanting to cut me out of the decision making for something that’s going to be apparently integral to my life over the next year.”
“I just don’t want to bog you down with petty things like this,” Quinn waved you off. “You have enough on your plate, that’s what you pay me for…”
“Oh I’m sure that’s all it is…”
Quinn leaned forward, too, meeting your steely gaze from across the table. The knowing smile that had been on her lips just a second earlier was gone. In its place was a no nonsense expression that Joel imagined carried her far when dealing with Hollywood assholes. She, it seemed, was done coddling you.
“The studios know,” she cut you off. “Someone at the police station leaked it. And they won’t insure you without higher levels of security, especially if you want to spend this much time outside LA. You want to keep working? You need security. At least until we get to the bottom of whoever is sending you letters.”
“Have you tried telling them how well the tickets will sell when I die?” You asked, brows raised. “I’m sure they’ll be champing at the bit then, especially now that they can just replace me with CGI for whatever isn’t in the can…”
“That’s not funny,” Quinn said sharply.
“Oh, come on. It was a little funny.”
She glared at you.
“Do you really want someone like that getting close to her?” She asked, her voice almost unsettlingly earnest and gentle. You almost deflated then, giving in. “It’s not safe, babe. I’m trying to keep you safe. It just so happens that it’s also in the studio’s best interest so you don’t have to foot the entire bill.”
“You must not have told them about the boost in ticket sales, then,” you said wryly. She rolled her eyes. “But fine. If you really think there’s a risk to her? I’ll do it.”
Joel wondered who this “her” was. Knowing movie stars, probably some tiny fucking dog you carried in your goddamn purse.
You looked to Joel for a moment, your gaze oddly cutting, like you were seeing through every part of him before turning your attention to Tommy.
“When does your contract begin then?”
Tommy glanced at Joel, almost asking if he was actually OK with this. Clearly, this wasn’t what Tommy had expected either. Joel gave a minute shrug.
“Tomorrow,” Tommy said, looking back to you. “Joel here will be your point man but you’ll also be working with a few other guys from my company. He’ll get you oriented tomorrow and we can work out a way to ensure your protection that’s minimally disruptive to your daily life.”
You scoffed.
“Something tells me having a wall of muscle follow me everywhere is going to disruptive,” you said. “But the studio says jump, we say how high, right?”
“Hey, I don’t make the rules,” Quinn said.
“We all know who does,” you muttered darkly, getting to your feet. “Well, since all this was going to happen whether I wanted it to or not, I think I’m done wasting my time here.”
You turned to Joel and he found himself in the unnatural position of looking up to someone, his jaw tight as you levied those exacting eyes on him again.
“See you in the morning,” you said, reaching down and helping yourself to another sip of his coffee with a wink before stepping over his legs and heading out the door in a whirl of soft perfume and flowing fabric. He looked back to the coffee cup. Your lipstick was on the rim.
Joel tried not to think about how you looked at him as Tommy finished up with the formalities, the conversation between his brother and Quinn a drone he couldn’t really make out over the noise in his head as his leg bounced impatiently.
When Tommy had looked at him just now, the silent request for permission, he should have bowed out. He should have said he didn’t want to put his life on the line for some spoiled fucking brat and gone home. But he hadn’t and he couldn’t back out of this now. It didn’t matter how much you made him think of his daughter. It didn’t matter how your eyes seemed to cut him to the quick. He owed Tommy. When he’d started in this business, he’d told his brother that he could do this work and sometimes that meant doing shit he wasn’t comfortable with. He would just have to live with that.
Eventually, Joel gave up on sitting still.
“Be downstairs,” he said gruffly to Tommy when the conversation with Quinn lulled for a moment. He didn’t wait for a response before going for the elevator, relieved that it as empty on the way down to the lobby as it had been on the way up.
But the ground floor of the hotel was not the quiet place it had been when Joel had arrived. Instead, there was a press of people just outside the doors, phones up and loud enough that he could hear them through the glass. He frowned for a moment before he realized what it was, the metal of your bangles catching the light as your arm rose above the crowd, a phone clutched in your hand as you took a selfie.
“Jesus,” Joel muttered, stalking over toward the door.
At least, he thought, he wasn’t on duty until tomorrow. If you really wanted to handle shit that bad on your own? Fine by him.
The doorman held the door for him and Joel gave him a stiff nod as he tried to force his way from the building, but the press of people was becoming suffocating, every inch of sidewalk crammed tight.
“Can I get a selfie?”
“My girlfriend loves you, can you say hi to her on video?”
“Can I have an autograph?”
“Look, I’m happy to give you all whatever you want,” you said, voice friendly but still curt. “But I need a little room to breathe, OK? I’m not in a rush, we’ve got time, it’s…”
Someone from the outside edge of the crowd shoved forward, sending the press of people toward you, Joel tall enough that he could see how they tripped and jostled, sending you stumbling into the person at your back. You had to fight for the space to stand up again, the man you’d fallen into’s hand running up your side to your chest, cupping the underside of your breast as you tried to find a way to separate from him. If it wasn’t for the look on his face, Joel might have given him the benefit of the doubt. But his lecherous smile gave him away, and the thinly veiled look of disgust on your face told him you knew exactly what this man was trying.
Something that hadn’t existed much since Joel lost everything took over. It was rage, blind and violent and coursing through him sharp and heady. That rage didn’t give him a chance to really think, but then, it never had. Not when he was a kid and his dad was on some bender, not when he was some hotheaded teenager looking to pick a fight with a bully at school, not when he was at a bar and saw someone who could have killed his daughter. It was no different now as he practically dove into the crowd, forcing the group apart and not caring if people got pushed into the street or shoved to the ground.
“Move!” Joel yelled, not that it seemed to do much beyond warn people that he was coming for them. He reached you in a matter of seconds, towering over the man who’d decided to take advantage of your vulnerable position to grope you. The man - more of a kid, likely some student at UT who didn’t know his ass from hole in the ground - gaped up at him, his eyes wide and his hand still on your breast.
Joel took your arm and pulled you, roughly, away from his grip, tucking you behind him before refocusing on the kid in front of him.
“You think that shit’s funny?” Joel asked, his hand curling into a fist. “Touchin’ a woman without permission?”
“I was just…” he looked afraid and something inside Joel flared with pride at that. Look at what he could do, he thought, it looked like he was capable of something after all.
“Know what you were just,” Joel cut him off, mockingly, before grabbing him by his shirt and slamming him back into a marble pillar. The kids head smacked against it with sickening crack. “Do that shit again and I’ll bust your jaw.”
Joel released him and the kid slumped to the ground before he turned to find you, looking down at the kid with your mouth slightly open.
“C’mon,” Joel said, throwing his arm around your shoulder and pulling you into him, ducking your head down low to ruin the picture for anyone who might be trying to take one. “Let’s go.”
He looked around, the crowd thinner now but all watching him.
“Move!” He roared again. This time, they listened, parting like the Red Sea as he ushered you quickly away, back into the hotel. He looked to the door man, trying not to glare at him too hard. “Those assholes don’t come inside, we clear?”
“Yes sir,” the man said quickly.
Joel looked to you next.
“Where’s your car?”
“Valet,” you said, your forehead in your hand. “I didn’t get a chance to even grab it yet, someone must have tipped off some fucking gossip blog that I was here…”
“Got the ticket?” Joel asked. You sighed and fished it out of your pocket and handed it over before Joel took it to the front desk and told them to have your car brought out back. He also got directions to the loading dock before going back to find you, in the same spot on the plush lobby couch, fingers laced together, elbows braced on your knees.
“C’mon,” Joel said, making you jump before looking up at him. “They’re bringing your car around back, we’ll get you out of here without those fuckers knowin’.”
You looked back down at the ground before giving a stiff nod.
“Thanks.” You got up and took a deep breath, raising your chin, an almost serene look on your face before looking to him. “Lead the way.”
He did as you asked, watching like a hawk for anyone who might be stupid enough to try to talk to you. But no one seemed to pay you any mind, even as the two of you cut through the dining room - closed between lunch and dinner service - and into the kitchen, where dozens of cooks were working to get set for the evening. They just ducked around the pair of you, sometimes giving Joel a dirty look for getting in their way, and then you were at the loading dock.
“Here,” Joel said, jumping down from the edge of it to the alley still damp from rain from the night before. He held his hands out to you. “I’ll help you down.”
“Thanks, but I’d rather do it myself,” you said. You were more cautious about it than Joel but you jumped down and landed lightly beside him, brushing your hands free of the dirt from the dock before crossing your arms tightly over your chest. Your jaw was tight, the only sign on your calm, uncommonly beautiful face that something might be wrong. Joel crossed his arms, too.
“You OK?” He asked after a moment.
You looked at him for a second, your brows raised ever so slightly.
“Fine,” you said after a moment before staring straight ahead again.
“You sure?” He asked. He wasn’t sure why he was pressing. He shouldn’t care. He didn’t care.
“Yes,” you said and then you laughed once, sharply. “I mean, no, I’m not but what the fuck am I going to do about it? It’s part of the job, isn’t it?”
Joel ground his teeth.
“Shouldn’t be.”
“Regardless,” you shrugged, glancing at him again. “Thank you for your help. You didn’t have to do that and… Well, I appreciate it.”
“Sure,” he said as your car came around the corner. You dropped your arms before turning to face him.
“Looks like it’s you and me starting tomorrow,” you said. “I’m sure your boss will give you all the details but I don’t think I caught your name.”
“Joel,” he said after a moment. “Miller.”
You smiled, a small, almost hesitant one, the slightest upturn of your lips.
“Joel Miller,” you repeated back to him. “It’s nice to meet you, I’m…”
“Don’t need to tell me your name,” he said. “Pretty sure everyone on Earth knows your name.”
You laughed again in that same, humorless way as your car stopped beside you.
“Yeah,” you said. “I suppose they do. See you tomorrow, Joel.”
“See you tomorrow, ma’am.”
He watched you pull cash out of your pocket and smile more broadly at valet who was damn near gawking at you. You discreetly handed him the money as you shook his hand and Joel stayed there in the alley until he couldn’t see your car any more.
“Holy shit,” the valet said and Joel looked down at him. He had to be about 18 years old, still wet behind the ears. Probably had fucking posters of you up in his room that he jerked off to before he went to bed. He held up the cash. “She gave me 100 bucks!”
Joel looked down at him, making sure to draw himself to his full height.
“You gonna tell anyone we got her out this way?” He asked. The kid swallowed hard and shook his head. “Good.”
Joel tried not to grind his teeth as he went back inside to find his brother. He wished it wasn’t too late to back out of this. You, he thought, were going to be far more than he’d bargained for. He just hoped he was ready for it.
***
“I’m not wearing this.”
You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose.
“Seriously dude?” You asked, incredulous. “Can’t you wait like… two days before picking a fight?”
“Have you seen this fucking thing?” Ellie’s eyebrows disappeared into her bangs as she held up the hem of the blue plaid skirt that, you had to admit, looked sickeningly unnatural on your 14-year-old niece. “You could put a whole circus up this thing! And how am I supposed to kick someone’s ass in a fucking skirt?”
“First of all, language,” you said. She rolled her eyes. You ignored her. “Second of all, you shouldn’t be kicking anybody’s ass. Why are you starting your day thinking about ass kicking? You haven’t even met these kids yet, I highly doubt you’ll need to kick someone’s ass your first day.”
“I’d like to be able to kick someone’s ass if I need to,” she said, incredulous. “Come on. You know this is insane.”
You sighed as the doorbell rang and you checked your watch. 7 a.m. on the nose. Well, at least the man was prompt.
“Fine,” you sighed. “Run upstairs, put on something else…”
Ellie took off as Esmo, your household assistant, appeared next to you, Joel by her side.
“Morning,” he said, voice gruff. You looked him over quickly, a side arm at his belt on a pair of jeans that fit him entirely too well. You doubted they were tailored, either, they just fit him like that, the bastard. Just your luck that you’d get stuck with a bodyguard who was unnaturally good looking but also an asshole. “Thought we could get started with…”
“Sorry, that won’t work, things are a bit off the rails this morning,” you said to him quickly, not giving him a chance to respond before turning to Esmo.
“Do you still have the name of the uniform store?” You asked her. “If you do, can you see if they’re open? I think we’re going to need to stop for pants…”
“Yes ma’am,” she said, quickly pulling out her phone. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t think to get pants, the requirements were very clear…”
“It’s not your fault,” you said quickly. Esmo had only been working for you for a few weeks and it felt like the two of you were still getting used to each other. She insisted on calling you ma’am. You insisted on doing too much for yourself. It was a delicate balance. “She’s just…”
“OK,” Ellie came thundering down the stairs in the same sweater with a button down shirt and tie but jeans instead of the skirt. “Ready!”
“Store opened at seven,” Esmo said, pocketing her phone. “I can take her and…”
“I want to do it,” you cut her off, catching a glimpse of Joel’s shocked expression out of the corner of your eye as you looked back to your niece. “Alright trouble maker, ready to go?”
“Fuck yeah.”
“Girl,” you said. “Language, please!”
She made a face but made her way to the front door, anyway, her thumbs looped through the straps of her book bag and you turned to Joel, still surprised at just how large he was, even after being against him the day before.
“Assuming you’re along for the ride on this,” you said, jerking your head for the door. “But we gotta book it, with an extra stop we’re already not going to be early for her first day.”
He still had a look of almost shock on his face but he followed behind you as you grabbed your keys and wristlet from the bowl by the door, Ellie bouncing impatiently from foot to foot.
“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were excited,” you teased as you made you way to the Porsche SUV you’d gotten specifically to haul Ellie around. “Almost like you want to go to school instead of hanging out with me all day.”
“Spending time with old people does get… well, old,” she smirked, heading for the passenger seat but you stopped her.
“Absolutely not, you’re in back,” you said, jerking a thumb toward Joel - who still hadn’t spoken. “This man has a good foot on you, we’re not making him sit back there.”
“Ugh, fine,” she huffed but obeyed, throwing her book bag against the opposite door before clambering in as Joel went for the driver’s seat, holding out his hand for the keys. You gave him a look but he just raised his brow, his arm still extended expectantly.
“Please,” you scoffed. “I’ll let you follow me around like some guard dog but I’m keeping some last vestige of my autonomy. I’m driving.”
He narrowed his eyes.
“No.”
“And why not?” You asked. “Because you have control issues?”
“Do you know evasive driving tactics?” He asked. “How to watch for pursuers and safely out run them?”
“No, but I did my own stunt driving for the Fast Track franchise,” you said wryly. “Think I’ll be fine. Now move, you’re making us late.”
He ground his teeth.
“We’re talkin’ about this,” he muttered before stalking off to the passenger side of the car.
“Yeah I bet we are,” you said under your breath as you got in the car and programmed the GPS for the uniform store.
“So,” Ellie said in a teasing tone as she leaned between the front seats as you started off. “Who are you?”
“Put on your seatbelt,” he said.
She rolled her eyes but sat back and obeyed.
“This is Joel,” you answered for him. “He’s going to be around quite a bit.”
“Is he like another assistant or some shit?” She asked.
“Language,” you said and you caught a glimpse of her rolling her eyes in your rearview mirror. “And no, not an assistant.”
“Ohhhh,” she smirked. “So he’s like a boyfriend then, got it…”
Joel rolled his eyes.
“I’m a bodyguard,” he said. “I’ll be protecting your…”
“Bodyguard?” Ellie interrupted and leaned forward again, frowning. “Why do you need a bodyguard? You didn’t have one of those in LA, what the fuck?”
“I have a bodyguard because you can’t go five minutes without saying fuck,” you said wryly. “My life is under constant threat because of…”
“Please,” Ellie rolled her eyes. “You have a worse mouth than I do. But seriously, why do you need a bodyguard? Is something going on?”
You saw Joel moving to talk but you spoke before he had a chance to.
“This is just a different place than LA,” you said quickly. “People here aren’t used to people like me just showing up in grocery stores and stuff. It can get out of hand quick so the studio wanted me to have Joel around. It’s just a precaution.”
She seemed skeptical but was satisfied enough by the bullshit explanation you’d just given her that she sat back, pulling a Savage Starlight comic book from her book bag and you smiled a little. A lot might have changed in the last few months but at least Ellie was still Ellie.
You made it to the uniform store and told the woman inside - who was seemingly trying not to gape at you but was failing miserably - what you were looking for. She grabbed a few pairs of uniform pants in different sizes before leading Ellie to the fitting rooms and you hung back, waiting for her to change with Joel by your side. He stood facing you, eyes constantly sweeping the store as though this strip mall just outside Austin were a war zone.
“No one told me you had a kid,” he said eventually.
You smiled, sadly.
“Yeah, well,” you said. “I have a kid. That’s a pretty new development, though.”
That made him pause, his eyebrows drawing together as he looked to you.
“I adopted her,” you said. “A few months ago. Her mom was a single parent and like a sister to me. When she got cancer, the first thing she asked me was to take Ellie if… I told her that she was nuts, that she’d be around forever and she wouldn’t need me to do anything for Ellie besides take her to Europe for a cool aunt vacation when she turned 18 but… well, now I have a kid.”
“I…” His voice trailed off. “Shit. I’m sorry.”
You shrugged.
“It is what it is, I guess,” you said. “She’s why I’m here. Things in LA… I’ve always been in her life. I was the second person to ever hold her. But I’ve always kept the paparazzi far away from her, I’ve made sure she has privacy and that she was as sheltered from that part of my life as she could be. I want to settle into this with some version of normal, one that isn’t possible when I’m in LA. And you, Joel, are throwing quite a wrench into that.”
“Oh this is so much better,” Ellie threw the door to the changing room open with a flourish, in a pair of blue pants that perfectly matched the blue of the sweater. “Not as good as jeans but better than that stupid freaking skirt.”
“Alright,” you said. “We’ll take five of those and then we have to get you to school because there’s no point in loading you up on uniforms just to have you miss your first day, let’s go.”
You weren’t as early as you wanted to be - you’d been hoping to have a chance to meet Ellie’s teachers before the day started but that plan was shot - but at least kids were still arriving. You grabbed a baseball cap from your glove box, Joel stiffening as you reached between his legs to open it and you resisted the urge to smirk at that. As though you’d be trying to come onto him at all let alone with your niece in the car.
Hat on so you were somewhat disguised, you walked with Ellie and Joel to the front of the stone building, one that had clearly taken inspiration from the ivy league schools the kids who went here were all but destined to attend. A gray haired woman in a charcoal pantsuit rushed out to greet you, an almost stern look on her face.
“Welcome to Austin Preparatory Academy,” she extended her hand. “I’m Amanda Stark, headmistress here.”
“Good to meet you,” you said, taking her hand, feeling Joel standing oddly close to your back. “This is Ellie, she’s looking forward to starting here today and…”
“We’re looking forward to having her,” she smiled a little at Ellie before redirecting her attention to you. “But I’m afraid there’s been some… ah… miscommunication about the uniform. Girls are required to wear skirts. I’m sure we have…”
“No miscommunication,” you smiled a little, steeling your spine. From the moment you’d caved to Ellie, you knew this was coming. But you’d been prepared to fight far bigger battles over this kid, this wasn’t going to be any different. “Ellie just prefers to wear pants. It wasn’t a problem at her last school, I’m sure it won’t be a problem here.”
Ellie stuck her chin out, smirking a little and defiant as ever and you resisted the urge to elbow her. She could at least act like she wasn’t going to get her way.
“But it is,” the headmistress said. “The uniform code here has been this way for decades and…”
“And I’m sure you’re not suggesting that just because something has been done one way that it should continue to be done that way at the expense of students’ comfort and learning experience,” you finished for her, smiling tightly.
“We have expectations for our students,” she said, her jaw clenched. “Just like they will have one day to be successful in life, and…”
“And you’re wearing pants,” you nodded to her suit. “And so am I. Of course, if you’re suggesting that neither of us is successful then…”
“No, no of course not, that’s not…”
“Wonderful!” You said brightly. “I’m glad that’s settled. I’m sure Ellie won’t cause any disruption wearing the uniform pants and now I won’t need to spend my day contacting every major news network here in Austin and asking them to come here and chat with me about your archaic gender rules and expectations. Sound good?”
You watched her grind her teeth for a moment.
“Of course,” she said after a moment of silence hanging in the air. “But we are close to the start of the school day and…”
“Yes, I don’t want to be a distraction,” you smiled before turning to Ellie, tucking a hair that had already broken free of her ponytail behind her ear. “Alright kid, behave yourself, OK?”
“Yes Sissy,” she rolled her eyes. Your heart still tightened a little when she called you that. She sounded so much like her mother, Anna. You loved that Ellie called you the same thing her mother had but still, it stung.
“I’ll be back to pick you up,” you said, putting your hands on her shoulders. “Have a good first day, OK?”
“Oh I will,” she said and you watched her head into the building with the headmistress at her side until you couldn’t see her anymore.
“OK, she’s dropped,” Joel said, his voice tight. “Let’s move, this place isn’t secured.”
“Well that sure seems like a gap in security, doesn’t it?” You said, brows raised.
“One I would have fixed if anyone had bothered to tell me you had a damn kid,” he practically growled.
“Probably a bad idea for your boss to not have insisted on bringing me into the conversation then, wasn’t it?”
He looked at you, his face hard.
“Keys.” He held out his hand.
You laughed once.
“Keys?” You said. “Really? Just ‘keys,’” you grunted it like he did, “that’s it?”
“Your kid is inside,” he said, hand still out. “Don’t have her to use an excuse now so, keys.”
You looked at him for a moment, the firm set of his jaw, the flecks of gray just starting in at his temples. He was a good looking man, tall and broad with a rugged look to him. He’d make a good cowboy in a western, you thought, or maybe a hardened detective. But protecting someone like you seemed out of place for him. Beneath him a little, almost like he was a sell out.
“No,” you said simply, ducking around him and heading for the car.
He followed closely behind you, even his footfalls gruff and angry. You sped up a little but he stepped in front of you, anyway, his oddly large body blocking your door. He opened his mouth - probably to try to order you around again - but you cut him off before he had the chance.
“I’m not letting you drive,” you said. “It doesn’t matter what you do or what you say. If you want to drive, you’re going to have to pick me up and move me so, if you want to get out of here quickly and without causing a scene, you’ll get in the passenger seat and we can go.”
For half a moment, you thought he might actually throw you over his shoulder. Instead, he just grunted and stalked around to the other side of the car, ripping the door open roughly. You pressed your lips together, trying not to laugh. All this pretense over some stupid letters from some over zealous fan.
You got in the car and dropped the keys in Joel’s lap. He frowned, picking them up.
“You want to have the keys so bad? Fine.” You pushed the button and the car roared to life. “I’ve got them right where I want them.”
“You gotta come to terms with how this shit is going to work,” he said sharply. “You can’t just do whatever the hell it is you feel like. I get that you’re some spoiled fuckin’ actress who only ever does exactly what she wants whenever she wants but I got news for you, I don’t give a shit how many movies you’ve been in or awards you’ve won. I care about keeping your ass alive and to do that, you gotta listen to me. I ain’t one of those fuckin’ ass kissers you spend all your time with so we can do this the hard way or the easy way but either way, it’s gonna be my fuckin’ way. Understood?”
You watched him for a moment, your tongue between your teeth to keep from snapping at him. It was something you were used to, something you’d been doing since you were a girl, always shutting up while the people who were more powerful than you - people you’d made fucking rich - made every decision for you.
That was one thing on set and in your career and even for posed fucking paparazzi shots but not in your real life.
“I need coffee,” you said, putting the car in drive. “Coffee?”
“I’m sure you got people who can do that for you,” he said, his jaw clenched.
“Yes, but where’s the fun in that?” You smirked before nodding down to his wrist. “Oh, also? Your watch is broken.”
You pressed the gas harder than you should have, the car jumping sharply forward, wondering just how far you could push your new shadow before he backed out.
Next Chapter
A/N: OK I'm already in love with writing how these two push each other's buttons. Annoying Joel Miller is my passion, I can't wait to drive this man absolutely insane over the arc of this fic.
Thank you so much for being patient as I wrapped up Yearling and went on vacation! I'm hoping to update this once a week going forward so you won't need to wait quite so long between chapters from here on out. I hope you enjoyed getting to know these two a little better!
Taglist: @christinamadsen @eff4freddie @brittmb115 @copperhalfcent @r3dheadedwitch @pedropascalsbbg @lovelyjess69 @yopossum @moel-jiller @picketniffler
#fanfic#joel miller x female reader#joel miller x reader#joel miller x you#joel miller x oc#the savage and the sanctuary#bodyguard!joel#bodyguard au#slow burn#enemies to friends to lovers
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cock warming jacob has been on my mind HEAVILY.
mdni. 18+
he’s been out of the country shooting another film and for the past month you’ve been at home to complete the end of your semester. you both definitely wanted to jump each other bones but…
“holy f-fuck baby you’ve gotta relax for me.” he groans. you’re tight, so tight that jacob can’t even push in past the tip of his aching cock. so lifting up off your body jacob leans back to his heels taking his thumb and slowly circling your clit.
“can’t believe you’re this wet and won’t open up for me love.” he says pushing his hips slightly to give you more.
“i’m not doing it on purpose, your just big and it’s been s-so long J.”
“I know it big baby, so just lay back and let me stretch you. i’ll fuck you after.”
you lay back, letting yourself settle into the hotel sheets, but as soon as you relax here comes that straining knot in your stomach.
“Jaco-“
“don’t worry i know, let it happen love, let me in.”
and if he thought you were gripping him before, he was dead wrong. your whole body screws up as you come, that knot in your stomach spreading all over your body. you’re trying to grab his wrist to stop the touches he keeps putting in your clit. it’s no use though because as jacob works you through your orgasm he’s managed to slip half his dick inside. he’s slowly grinding his hips to meet yours to push himself in deeper, making sure he fits in every. last. inch.
and once he does, he holds you close to him; chest to chest to roll the both of you over, putting you on top of him.
“Can’t ride J, i’m still shaking.” you say nuzzling into his neck
“ssshhh, just relax, just gonna stretch you out a bit love.” he whispers kissing the top of your head as you both settle into the bed.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
uuummm…so funny story, I could not finish a single piece of writing. Also let me tell it id left for 30 mins not 30 days so my sincerest apologies. BUT IM BACK and have an inbox full of requests to fill.
also thank you for all the love during my absence, i’m so happy people love the writing that much 🥹
xoxo
Bunni
#bad boys ride or die#jacob scipio#armando aretas#armando aretas imagine#armando aretas x reader#jacob scipio fic#jacob scipio imagine#jacob scipio x reader#jacob scipio smut#bf!jacob scipio#armando aretas smut#bad boys#secretboyfriend! jacob scipio#jacob scipio angst#armando x reader#jacob scipio concept
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Charmer (2)
Pairing: Lee Know x Reader x Surprise!
Genre: FWB, EX FWB, Semi Enemies to Lovers
Warning: Smut, late night smut and hurt. [18+ ONLY. MINORS DO NOT READ]
Word Count: 1.7k
Taglist: @oddracha @iovecb97 @katsukis1wife @stay-tiny-things @rubytakemyhandx23 @hyunjinhoexxx @iikxstcenn @beebee18 @kissesmellow21 @skzooluvr @felixthemochicat @imperfectlyperfectprincess1
@gloriajovicc
One |
“Y/N!” Jihyo and Jeongin call out, chasing after you as you speed walk away from the bar, muttering to yourself so much that passerbys stare at you like you're crazy.
“Please stop, Y/N!” Jeongin calls out. You can hear him struggling to breathe as he and Jihyo chase you, and you feel bad. It wasn't them that you were angry at. It was Minho. You stop dead in your tracks, hanging your head down as you silently let your tears fall. You can feel a couple sets of hands on your back and they come around the front, pulling you into their two person hug.
“I'm so sorry Y/N.. I never wanted you to get hurt, I just needed you to know.” Jihyo whispers, holding you closer.
“None of us wanted this to happen.” Jeongin sighs. “I personally always thought that you and Minho were going to end up together.”
So did you, honestly but you didn't want to admit that. If you said it out loud, you were sure that it was going to make you cry and you did not want to waste anymore tears on him. He didn't deserve your tears or your love. And even though you knew that, you wanted him to reach out to you. You wanted him to call you a beg for you back, that he realized what a mistake it was to date her, that you were it all along.
So you waited.
Everyday for the next few weeks you checked your phone consistently, waiting for a call, maybe a text, an email.. something, really anything. But nothing came. For weeks it was radio silence on his end and you weren't about to go ahead and make the first move. He was the one who messed up, not you. So you continued to wait. You'd go out with your mutual friends, hoping to see him there, but he wasn't. Hell, even if he was there with whatever her name was, that would do because at this point you missed his face. You missed his voice, his touch, you missed the way you felt around him and you were desperately craving those feelings.
You had thought about moving on, trying to find someone new but you weren't sure if you were going to be able to do that. You wanted only one person and only that one person knew how to make you quiver in complete ecstasy, you knew it was likely no one else would compare.
That night, four weeks since you had said ‘fuck you’ to Minho, you went to bed, deciding that whether or not you'd ever be able to find someone to make you feel like him, you were going to try. It was time now for you to get out of the hole you were in because of him.
Ring.
Ring.
Ring.
You're startled awake by the sound of your phone. You look at the clock, 2:30am. Who was calling you so late? Without checking the caller ID, you answer the phone.
“Hello?” You tiredly groan.
“I miss you.” The voice whispers from the other end.
“Minho?” You ask.
“I'm sorry, baby girl. I'm sorry about all the shit I said and what I did that night.” He says. “I need you.” He groans.
“What about your girlfriend?” your voice shakes as you ask, nervous about the answer.
“It wasn't the same as you.” He sighs. “She can't make me feel like you can baby.”
Your heart and head start to race. You know you should hang up and block his number, but you couldn't bring yourself to do so.
“Did you end it?” You whisper.
He hums in response. That's a yes right? That means he ended things?
The line is silent for a moment before you speak again. “Come over.” You say.
“I'm already here.” He says. “Open up.” You crawl out of your bed, unlocking the door, seeing Minho standing there, leaning against the door frame.
“Hi.” You whisper.
“Hi.” He smiles, pushing his way in. He immediately leans in to kiss you, his mouth moving against yours as he slides his tongue down your throat. You can smell the familiar cologne as you breathe him in, it makes you feel like everything is gonna be okay. He moves the two of you back, towards the bedroom he knows so well. He strips your pj shirt from your body, throwing it wherever as you also take his shirt off, discarding it. He pulls away from you, pushing you down on the bed, a smirk appears on those lips you love so much as he crawls on after you, yanking your pj shorts off, throwing them behind him. He lays down, his face between your thighs, diving straight into sucking and flicking your clit. You cry out loudly, moaning his name. “Fuck, Minho.” You can hear him chuckle into your cunt before he licks a long strip up you, making you even more wet.
Minho shoves two fingers inside you, thrusting them in and out as he teases your clit making you twitch beneath him. He holds you down with his free hand as he devours you, making you run your hands through your hair before you grab a clump of his hair, pulling his face in closer while you grind on him.
“Fuck.. just like that.. just like that..” you cry out, releasing his hair. You were about to cum, you just needed one more thrust and one more suck to push you over the edge.. but then he sat up. Licking his lips, smiling at you.
“W-w-why? Why Why would you do that!?” You whine.
“That's what happens when you say ‘fuck you, Lee know.’ He smiles, mimicking you from last night.
“Oh my god, that's so not fair.” You whine.
“Don't worry, kitten. You'll get to cum. It's just gonna be on my cock.” He grins, taking his pants off, moving to the edge of the bed to sit against the headboard. His cock stands tall as he waits for you to sit on him and ride him.
Fuck you missed him and his cock.
You crawl over to him, ready to straddle him and sink yourself down onto his cock. But he looks at you seriously. “Beg.”
“What?” You ask.
“Beg for it.” He says again, cocking his head to the side. “You just have to say, ‘please Minho, please let me ride your cock.’ He smiles. “See, it's easy.”
You look him in the eyes, your brain knowing you should tell him to get out but the rest of you wanted him. “Please Minho. Please let me ride your cock.” You whisper.
He smiles at you, pulling you closer to straddle him. “Good girl.” He whispers, thrusting up inside of you, catching you off guard.
“Fuck!” You cry out. You lower yourself, pushing down to have him as far inside you as he could go before you start rocking back and forth, dragging your clit against him as your cum seeps out of you, coating his dick.
“Mhmm, you're so wet for me.” He pants, holding on your hips as he helps guide you between riding and bouncing on top of him. Minho watches the way your breasts bounce while you ride his cock, how you throw your head back, running your hands all over your body as your orgasm builds faster and faster.
Minho sits up a little more, grabbing your breast, wrapping his lips around your nipple, sucking and nibbling on it, making you moan louder.
“Please.. fuck.. don't stop.” You cry out, you feel like you're about to explode on top of him. “Fuck.” You scream, riding him harder as his fingertips dig into your hips, breathlessly urging for you to cum so he can.
“I'm cum..I'm cumming.. fuck.” You scream out as it bursts through your body, making you slow down your movements as you come down from your high.
“I'm right there.” Minho grunts, holding you up slightly as he harshly rams his cock into you, desperate to cum now. “Fuck.” He yells, as he orgasms, shooting his cum inside of you.
You both sit there for a minute, his cock still buried inside you as you both try to catch your breath.
Once you finally roll off of him, you head straight to the bathroom. “I'm gonna take a quick shower.” You say, turning your head to look at him. He smiles at you as he lays in your bed. This was more like it.
You couldn't have been in the shower longer than 5 minutes before you were out and in your bedroom, and Minho was not in there. You dried yourself off, putting on your pj's again as you wander around your apartment and he's nowhere to be found. Fuck, he could have at least waited until you were sleeping.
You crawled into your bed, sadness washing over you as you closed your eyes, falling asleep quickly and dreaming of that man. The next evening, you were invited to a party by your best friend, Jihyo, who was celebrating the fact that she was failing most of her classes, while also celebrating that her boyfriend Daniel was doing extremely well in his.
“Woohoo.” You smile, hugging her. “You're failing!” You laugh.
“And you're passing! Yay.” You laugh again, hugging Daniel.
“How are you?” Jihyo asks, protruding his bottom lip slightly.
“Don't start.” You laugh. “Drinks, please.” You say, dragging her to the kitchen.
A while later, while the liquor is flowing nicely through your body, you and Jihyo head out to the living room to dance, where you happen to see someone you wanted to see but also didn't.
“Minho.” You sigh, staring at the sexy man, but your tune quickly changes as you see Jennie walking towards him, and he wraps his arm around her, pulling her closely.
“Hey, everyone!” He yells. His eyes lock in on yours. “This is my gorgeous girlfriend, Jennie.” He grins, breaking eye contact a few seconds later. You feel like your throat is going to close up as tears well in your eyes.
“I'm gonna go.” You say to Jihyo. You put your cup down, heading out of the house, feeling shattered. You went to bed that night feeling almost as bad as you did that first night. You tossed and turned until your phone dinged.
[From: XFWB 3:05am] u up?
[To: XFWB 3:05am]....
…
..
.
[To: XFWB 3:07am] doors unlocked.
#straykidsland#lee know smut#lee minho smut#minho smut#skz smut#stray kids smut#skz imagines#stray kids imagines#skz writing#stray kids writing#skz fanfic#stray kids fanfic#kpop fanfic#kpop writing#kpop scenarios#kpop imagines#kpop smut
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Workplace Romance
~ID! Leon Kennedy x fem! Reader~
Word count: 7213
Content warnings: DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT, non-con, dub-con, serial killers, murder, leon's a major asshole and mean to reader, lots of arguing, confrontation, drugging, kidnapping, use of shock collar, degrading, pet names, serious bodily harm, forced self-harm, crawling, descriptions of blood/pain/body mutation, forced blowjob, cum swallowing, piss, reader pisses self, removal of an appendage/body part, capital punishment, death row, lethal injection, masturbation, very little comfort, no happy ending
the content warnings are a mess, but i think i included everything.
!!!!!!!!MINORS DNI! GHOSTKENNEDY IS STRICTLY 18+!!!!!!!
Agent Leon Kennedy. A name you weren’t familiar with until a few weeks ago. Now, he’s the leading cause of all your headaches.
He’s a renowned FBI agent. Not only is he an excellent detective, but an expert in serial killer psychology.
He’s successfully led in the investigations and captures of eight serial killers and helped in the convictions of upwards of a hundred murderers.
He’s spent years studying the minds of serial killers. He can find the smallest bit of information and utilize it to get inside a killer's head. He’s the FBI’s serial killer specialist and if there’s ever a suspected serial killing, the case files land right on his desk.
And that’s what’s brought the two of you together.
You had just made detective at the Raccoon City Police Department, but the training was subpar. Any case that goes through this department is almost guaranteed to go unsolved. It’s not the station's fault, but the lack of funding and resources that has led to its downfall.
You’re up to your neck in cold case files. And crime that needs any sort of investigation is immediately your obligation. You’re a one person department and absolutely set up to fail.
When the FBI finally shows interest in the series of murders taking place throughout the city, you’re honestly relieved. Anything to ease your heavy workload. But it all changes when you meet him.
Agent Leon fucking Kennedy.
He’s a cocky bastard who undermines your department, which is solely you, constantly. He is unimpressed with the investigative work done on the case and won’t hesitate to insult your abilities as a detective.
And the man is basically untouchable.
He’s the FBI’s golden boy who can do no wrong. Everyone in the station worships the ground he walks on because he’s here to save the town, like a superhero. He’s the best of the best and everyone is expected to tolerate him. No exceptions.
It doesn’t help that he’s absolutely gorgeous. Always looking so well put together, a calculated appearance that never falters. Men and women alike gawk at the man. Whether they want to be with him or be him, you’d be stupid to not acknowledge it.
A brown fringe cascading around his face. Pretty blue eyes matched with a prominent nose and jaw line, a dimple centered in his chin. Even the stubble lining his jaw is flawless. His eyebrows are knitted together in a permanent scowl. He looks like he despises the world and it makes him that much more enticing.
And it pisses you off entirely. If he was just some mediocre, average looking man, it’d make hating him so much easier. But of course the jackass is incredible. It makes you wanna pour acid in your eyes just to give you your peace of mind back. Seeing is believing, right?
Without a single break in the case and no solid leads, you’re happy to take a step back from the case. It doesn’t mean you don’t care, but the crime rate in town has been steadily rising and you know you can help better elsewhere.
You walk into the station on what you thought was a typical Tuesday morning. But you’ve barely made it through the front door when you’re met with chaos.
People are running around, coming in and out of the station. The noise level is atrocious and has you wishing you’d caught the fucking plague because it would be less exhausting than this.
You barely make it five paces into the station when one of the coworkers you actually bother with appears at your side.
“It never stops, does it?” Jill says breathlessly.
You shake your head before replying, “What’s going on now?”
“Wait, you don’t know? Shouldn’t you be the first to know, actually?” She stops dead in her tracks, which in result causes you also to abruptly stop.
“Considering I don’t know what you’re talking about, I have no idea.” You cross your arms over your chest and turn to face her.
She sighs and places her hands on her hips. “They found another body early this morning. Everything matches up with the previous ones, so it’s basically confirmed to be one of his.”
“Another body? This will be his tenth fucking kill.”
“Thank God we got the FBI on it then?” Jill quirks an eyebrow at you, causing you to roll your eyes in response.
Jill is one of the few people seemingly in the world to not care for Leon’s bullshit. She can’t stand the man and isn’t afraid to voice it. She’s your number one defender and isn’t shy about arguing with the dreaded FBI agent.
“Maybe he’ll finally be good for something other than making my life a living Hell.”
Jill reaches out and squeezes your shoulder as she shakes her head. “But at what cost? Let’s hope the sweet, tender boy can magically solve the case and fuck back off to wherever he flew in from.”
Another coworker comes up and pulls Jill away from you. As she marches away behind the man, she turns and waves at you. You hate that you instantly wave back, but it’s Jill. You’ll look like a dork over and over for her sake.
You lower your hand and sigh, but before you can even begin walking again, a presence takes shape beside you.
“What are you doing?” An unmistakable snarky voice calls out to you. Your muscles instantly tense up in his presence, like your body is physically rejecting him and his aura.
You scoff as you begin walking again. “None of your business, Leon.”
You’re annoyed when Leon meets your big strides, keeping up with you pace for pace. You both remain silent as you quickly arrive at your office door.
You go to close the door behind you, but Leon pushes past, welcoming himself into your office. You’re frozen in place for a second in your confusion, but you quickly snap out of it and sink into your desk chair.
“What’s up?” You fold your arms over your chest and lean back in your chair. Being around Leon is exhausting and you can already feel this conversation draining you.
Leon doesn’t take a seat, instead choosing to stand tall above your desk, looking down at you.
“None of your business.” Leon mocks you in a shrill voice.
“What’s up?” His eyes meet yours, locking in an intense stare.
“You need to address me properly. Agent Kennedy, not Leon.”
You furrow your eyebrows at the sudden authority in his voice. When he doesn’t speak up again, it prompts you to instead.
“Okay. But I would appreciate it if you addressed me properly too, Agent Kennedy.”
“No.”
“No?”
“No.”
You quirk your head to the side, shocked by the pure audacity of this man. The audacity to demand respect when he can’t even give it. It’s infuriating.
“Well, Leon, I don’t appreciate being disrespected in my own-“
“Earn it.”
You shake your head in exasperation at his interruption. Yes. Infuriating is the best word to describe this man.
“What?” You release a heavy sigh, already exhausted from the few words exchanged.
“Respect is earned. Earn respect and you will receive it.”
“You haven’t earned-“
“I’m the FBI’s best asset when it comes to convicting serial killers, not to mention all of the side work I’ve done in homicide prevention and precaution. I’ve earned goddamn respect and I expect it, no exceptions.”
He slams his hands down on your desk, causing you to jump, your chair screeching across the floor as you put more space between you two.
Your voice is shaking as you throw your hands up in the air, “Fuck! Okay! Sorry, Agent Kennedy.”
He gives you a final death glare before backing up and causally stuffing his hands into the pockets of his slacks. It remains silent as you two stare across the room at each other.
“Anyways, I needed to talk to you.” He finally sits in the chair and your shoulders visibly relax. You hate yourself for being so visibly nervous in his presence currently, but it was out of your control.
“What about?”
He clears his throat. “I don’t like it anymore than you do, but my bosses have instructed me to take you under my wing. Teach you what I know. And it’s my obligation to follow those orders and I think it’s in your best interest to do so as well. It would be very beneficial to you.”
Your eyes fall closed as you barely manage to hold back a groan. Your head falls back, scalp connecting with the back of your chair.
“You just made detective, correct?”
You sigh and look back up at him, “Yeah. Not even a month ago.”
“Then let me help you. There’s no one here to train you on how to be a good detective, a good investigator. I know a thing or two. You just have to let me help you. Also, it’ll be better on my conscience if I leave here confident in this station's sole detective.”
“Gee, thanks.”
“I’m being serious. I have a lot to teach and you have a lot to learn. You’d be stupid to not take full advantage of this opportunity.”
You remain silent, lost in your own thoughts. You were confident with your abilities as a detective. Confident with your capability to solve cases, but he has the experience that you don’t. But he’s also Leon Kennedy and that alone is almost enough to make you say fuck no.
“How many people have died at the hands of this killer? That we know of so far.”
“9 I believe.”
“10 after the discovery this morning. And there could be more we don’t know about. You don’t wanna solve this case? Wanna bring this sick fuck to justice?”
“Well, of course-“
“Then work with me. How many more innocent people need to die?”
You release a heavy sigh. “Alright, alright. We have a deal or whatever.”
~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~
Weeks have passed and Leon’s arrogance has only gotten worse.
The belittling, the undermining, just everything he does has you raging. You’ve given up on helping with the investigation because anything you do is scrutinized. You found a solid piece of evidence that could have easily been looked into, but he rejected it and told you to disregard it.
No matter how hard he tries to make you feel like it, you’re not an idiot. You’re a great detective and nothing about this situation is right. His behavior, his attitude, his methods of operation are all suspicious as hell, so how could you not look into him?
You’re not exactly sure what you were looking for. Maybe a sign that he was taking credit for work he didn’t actually do? Or maybe a sign of him planting evidence?
Why couldn’t you have just minded your goddamn business?
You’re the only two left in the station, working late on the case. To say things are tense is a fucking understatement if you’ve ever heard one.
“Can I ask you a question, (Reader)?”
Your head shoots up from your computer screen. The way he says your name has chills running down your spine, has you struggling to swallow.
“Um, yeah. What’s your question?”
His elbows are on the table, his chin resting on the backs of his clasped hands. “Did you find what you were looking for?” His tone is accusatory and it confuses you.
“I’m not sure I know what you mean?”
“Don’t play stupid.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Why were you looking into me?” He brings his hands down to the table and leans in closer to your side of the table. “Did you find what you were looking for?”
Your heart is in your throat as you struggle to find the words to explain yourself. “What kind of detective would I be if I didn’t?”
He snickers. “Answering a question with a question. Classic. But I’m not interested in beating around the fucking bush, so how about you just tell me what you were looking for.”
You take a deep breath before straightening your spine and feigning a confidence you definitely don’t feel. “Okay. You’re suspicious as fuck. And I don’t trust you. Is that what you wanted to hear?”
“And what did you find?” He snaps at you. You don’t understand why he’s taking such offense to a detective doing detective work? He didn’t anticipate this?
“Nothing. I didn’t find anything.”
“And do you still have your suspicions about me?”
“Yes.” You answer his questioning immediately. You’re not sure what compels you to do so, but your mouth moves faster than your mind. “I still don’t understand why you act the way you do.”
He looks away from you, pulling a file out of his briefcase and flipping through the papers inside of it. “What were you hoping to find?”
“I-” you’re once again stumbling over your words. No one has ever made you so nervous, no one has ever triggered your flight or fight as much as he does. Alarms are constantly going off in your head about him and you hate it. “I just wanted some answers.”
“Then fucking ask.” He slams the folder shut and tosses it down the table. “Ask me your questions. Don’t be a baby about it, going behind my back to find them. You’re a big girl. If you want answers, come and get them.”
“Why are you such a dick?”
“Because I can be. Next question.”
“You’re infuriating.”
“That’s not a question.”
“Obviously.”
“We’re getting nowhere. Nevermind.”
“Wait!” You yell at him, reaching out and grabbing his wrist as he goes to stand up. “I’m sorry. You just piss me off.”
He pulls his wrist from your grasp with a disgusted look, but he doesn’t get up from his chair. He stares at you silently, which means he wants you to speak up. He’s so fucking entitled, you have to refrain from going off on him for the billionith time.
“Why do you brush me off constantly? I bring you solid, concrete leads and you treat them like they’re nothing. You’re leaving so many loose ends. We’re not any closer to solving this case. Why?”
He hums at you like your question is invalid. You don’t know what you expected. Of course he was just going to be a prick like he always is.
“That’s your perspective on it. A false perspective, but one nonetheless.”
“What does that mean?” The offense is obvious in your voice. More belittling, more brushing off your valid concerns. Of course. Of fucking course.
“Because I’ve followed every last lead and every little piece of evidence. It’s not my fault you can’t keep up.”
“Bullshit!” You’re both surprised at your outburst. You can’t hold it back anymore. You can’t stand the lying and fucking diversions anymore. “I’ve been watching you, Leon. I haven’t seen you investigate shit. You pick and choose where you pay attention. This is the FBI’s very best? It’s fucking pathetic.”
He keeps his expression blank and neutral. “Anything else?”
“Yes, actually. I’m trying to figure out what the fuck it is you do that’s so fucking incredible that you’ve solved so many cases. Are you taking credit for other people’s work? Are you planting evidence? That’s the only thing that makes sense. You’re an opportunist. It’s like you’re just silently waiting to find the perfect person to blame. Is that it? You frame people to make yourself look better? What is it?”
Your voice is desperate and it’s genuinely embarrassing. But you are desperate. And you don’t wanna sit by anymore, not with the terrible suspicions constantly plaguing your exhausted mind.
“You think I’m covering up for serial killers? You realize how crazy that sounds, right?”
“Oh, shut the fuck up. It’s not that fucking farfetched.”
“Why would I do that?”
You let out a noise of frustration, “I don’t know! To make yourself look better? Everyone worships you for the work you’ve done. Maybe it’s for the praise and glory, to stroke your ego.”
He smirks at you and it only enrages you more.
“You told me to ask you questions!” you yell at him, “Now give me fucking answers!”
“I don’t give a shit what people think. You think I would cover up for serial killers to make myself look better? That’s stupid.”
“Then maybe you have another reason!”
“Like?”
“I don’t fucking know! For all I know, you’re the serial killer and you just frame people to cover your own ass. Your job would be the perfect guise wouldn’t it?” It’s just word vomit pouring from your mouth at this point, but something about what you’ve said has Leon jumping to his feet.
Before you even have time to react, he’s leapt across the table. His hand wraps around your neck, pushing you back in your chair until you go crashing to the floor. You cry out in pain as your skull connects with the ground.
Your vision is fuzzy from the impact, but you slowly blink your eyes until they focus back in on Leon’s body hovering over yours. With the grip he has on your throat, you can’t speak. All you can do is look up at him and the unhinged expression on his face.
Leon shifts and there’s a sudden sharp, burning pain in your neck. Your arms shoot up and your fingers connect with the syringe in your neck. Your eyes widen in fear.
“Good detective work, baby. You’ve figured it out. Congratulations! You found your guy!” His smile is huge and combined with his crazy eyes, has you shaking beneath him.
The muscles in your body quickly start to tingle as you lose control of them, slowly going limp beneath him.
“Goodnight.” Your eyes roll into the back of your head as you pass out.
~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~
You’re awake, your eyes are open but your brain still isn’t able to process anything. You stare blankly as you try to actually wake up. The room is a blur and you can hear a voice calling out to you, but you can’t make out what it’s saying.
Sudden white hot pain has your consciousness finally catching up with you. You’re gasping for air as you finally take in your surroundings.
The room is dirty, trash littering the floor around you. The only object in the room is a chair on the other side of the room.
“Good morning. Thought that’d wake you up.”
You push yourself up into a sitting position as Leon appears in front of you. He gently pats your head causing you to cower away from him, but he just laughs at you and walks over to the chair. Every step he takes makes a loud crunching sound as his shoes connect with the debris covering the floor. The only cleared spot is the space surrounding you, just enough for your body to lay in.
You try to speak, but all you can manage to do is cough. Leon sits leisurely in his chair as you struggle through your coughing fit.
The second it passes, while you’re still gasping for air, you call out to him, “Wha-what are you doing? What do you want?”
“Crawl to me.”
You look at him like he’s insane, and in all honesty he is, but he only smirks at the look you’re giving him. He leans back in his chair so casually, legs spread open as his left hand dangles between them. It pisses you off that he looks so good like this. Maybe if he hadn’t just kidnapped you, you would be more willing to appreciate how good the view definitely is.
“I said, crawl to me.” His voice is filled with venom as he points to the ground between his legs. He cannot be fucking serious right now.
You look at the stretch of floor between you two. It’s littered with broken glass and who knows what else. It’s obviously been intentionally spread around. This house may be old and abandoned, but the sharp shards are too clean and perfect to have been sitting here long at all.
He wants you to crawl through shattered glass on your hands and knees to him. Kidnapping you wasn’t enough. Having complete control isn’t enough, he has to exercise it.
“Leon…” you struggle to find the right words, because what are you supposed to say? It’s obvious that you don’t want to crawl across this fucking floor. “Please don’t make me-”
You gasp as your body goes tense from a sudden, unfamiliar pain. It feels like several wasps just stung your neck, and as quick as it hits, it’s gone.
Your muscles finally loosen and your hands shoot up to your neck, feeling some sort of rough fabric with a rectangular plastic box at the front of your throat.
“What the fuck is this?” Your voice is strained, still panting as you try to recover from the pain.
He chuckles at you. “You will address me as sir and you will crawl to me.”
Your fingers are still fiddling with the device strapped to your throat, trying to find some way to take it off. But it’s complicated not being able to see what you’re doing. Just when you think you might be able to slip a finger under the tight, firm fabric, the pain comes back.
The stinging pain is more intense this time and longer. You’re about to collapse, unable to keep yourself in a sitting position, when the pain once again subsides.
You can’t stop the tears pouring down your cheeks, body still shaking and in shock from the intensity of the pain to your neck.
“Now. Stop fucking with your collar and crawl to me.”
Your head shoots up to him at his choice of words. “Collar?”
He licks his lips while a look of amusement lights up his face. “Yes, dumb little bunny. A shock collar. To help you behave.”
The hand that’s been lazily lying between his legs flips around to reveal the remote in his palm. Your eyes widen as your pain riddled brain slowly catches up to the present. A fucking shock collar. He put a shock collar on you like you’re some fucking dog.
“Crawl. To. Me. Now.” He spits out angrily, his tone sending chills down your spine.
When you don’t make any movement, he makes a big show of fiddling with the remote. Taunting you, warning you.
You let out a heavy sigh. “Okay, shit okay. I’ll crawl to you.”
“Crawl to who?”
You push yourself up on your knees and lightly bring your palms to the ground, gently sitting them over top of the shattered glass. “You, sir. I’m going to crawl to you, sir.”
He relaxes in his chair once again at your answer, seemingly pleased with it. “Go on then. What’re you waiting for?”
You take a few deep breaths, attempting to will yourself to move forward. You know you have to do this, but you can’t seem to bring yourself to make the first move.
“Unless you need some more motivation. We could make good use of that collar.”
Your eyes shoot up and look up at him pleadingly, “Please, no.”
“Then fucking move.”
Leon’s patience is completely gone and you don’t want to see what other lengths he’s willing to go to to punish you.
You reach out with your right hand and your right knee slowly follows. You hiss out as your skin connects with some of the shards.
“That’s it, being such a good girl right now.”
Your breathing stops for a moment as a blush creeps up your neck at the praise. You’re so mad at yourself for your body’s reaction to his words. This is already fucking humiliating, how much worse can it get?
You move your left hand forward, breathing through the pain as it connects with the floor and your left knee follows. You’re going slow, being careful not to cut yourself up worse by being hasty.
You move your right hand carefully, blood already spilling from the cuts and onto the glass covered floor. It’s making shards stick to your skin and making everything that much more slippery.
Your right knee connects with the floor, right as the stinging pain returns to your throat. The sudden shock has you digging your knees, hands, and toes in the floor, heightening the pain you were already in.
The pain in your neck is once again gone and you’re left shaking and sobbing as blood puddles around your hands and knees.
“You know how to crawl. Go faster before you piss me off.”
You don’t know why you’re surprised he wants you to crawl faster, causing worse damage to your body. Of course he does. Why would you ever expect to be granted mercy?
You take a deep breath and squeeze your eyes shut tightly. At least you won’t have to see the glass you’re crawling into.
You’re still crawling fairly slowly, but a lot faster compared to your previous pace. You’re whining and groaning in pain and you feel the glass embedded deeply in your skin connect with even more glass. Your lower legs and toes are dragging glass behind you.
You feel the burning pain throughout your hands and legs, but you focus on moving your body forward.
“Open your eyes.”
You ignore his demands. You’re doing what he’s asking of you and he has the audacity to ask for even more.
“Look at me when you crawl to me. I will not tell you again. Unless you’d like another… shock of encouragement.”
You raise your chin up from your chest and shakily look up at him, opening your eyes. He smiles at you for listening to him and you wanna rip his fucking face off.
Your heart sinks when you realize you’ve only crawled half way so far. The pain is absolutely nauseating and you’re choking down the bile that keeps rising in your throat.
You begin crawling once again, vision blurry from the tears that are continuously falling.
All you feel is the agonizing pain as you force yourself to Leon’s blurry figure. You’re on the verge of passing out from the pain when you finally place yourself between his legs.
He runs his fingers through your tangled hair, almost soothingly. And you want so badly to jerk your head away, to run from his movements, but you can’t help but give yourself over to the gentle touch. His comfort somehow pulls you back down to Earth from your pain induced robotic state.
“Show me your hands, bunny.”
You go to push yourself up but red hot pain rages through your hands and knees, causing you to scream out in pain. Your body goes to collapse from the sheer exertion, but Leon is quick to catch you, steadying you and forcing you on your knees with your wrists in his hands.
You’re shaking as the glass embedded into your knees is forced deeper into your skin beneath your newly distributed weight. You take deep breaths as you adjust to the new level of pain. Bile fills your mouth, but you’re able to force it back down, the burning sensation of it only adding to your misery.
Your eyes open again after shutting in response to the pain. Your vision clears and you find Leon studying your destroyed hands.
Blood is still oozing from your countless wounds, shards of glass sticking out of your palms and fingers. Your hands and forearms are covered in blood, you can barely see your skin tone through the mess. Your hands are unrecognizable.
He tsks as he continues to look over them. “These are useless to me now. Shame.”
Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion at his words, not sure what the implications of his words are. He releases your wrists and you let your hands fall limply into your lap. When his hands move to his belt and he starts unbuckling it, you gasp and try to move away from him but are instantly met with sharp shooting pains in your legs from your injuries.
You’re stuck in place and there’s nothing you can do about it. Anything you could possibly need to do will require Leon’s help. Just how he planned it.
Rope, duct tape, or any other typical restraints are so boring. Glass being embedded into your skin as you sit in your own blood? Now, that’s new and fascinating. You’re a cute little test subject for his vile thoughts and ideas.
He slides the zipper down his pants and you finally look down at what he’s doing.
What the fuck? He’s hard, not just hard, but really fucking hard and about to pull his dick out right in your face.
Your throat is raw from your previous wailing so your words come out scratchy. “What, what are you doing?”
“Oh, baby… Look how hard you’ve made my cock. It’s only fair that you let me cream that tight, hot throat in return.”
“What?”
“Oh don’t be such a fucking prude.” He rolls his eyes as he stands before you, sliding his pants and boxers down just enough for his cock to pop out, his tip poking your lips. You attempt to pull your head back, but his hand is quick to grab onto your hair and push your face into his cock. You’re frantically trying to turn your face away from him, but it only has him gripping your hair impossibly tighter.
“Now, now. You don’t need another shock of encouragement do you?”
“N-no. Please.”
“Then start sucking. And don’t try anything smart because I am more than happy to shock your annoying little ass again.”
Before you can even prepare yourself, he’s pressing his fingers into your cheeks and forcing your mouth open, immediately shoving his cock into the back of your throat. You’re instantly gagging. And you’re already so close to throwing up that you’re certain you’re going to puke all over this man's dick.
“See, princess? You don’t want me to do it my way. So fucking behave and don’t stop until I’m creaming that fucking mouth.”
He pulls his dick out and you’re immediately running your tongue up and down his tip. You’re ready to do anything to keep him from choking you like that again.
“Make me cum in less than two minutes and maybe I’ll consider sparing you.”
You suck his tip into your wet mouth, the taste of his precum flooding your taste buds.
“There ya go. You’re so hot, all dirty and bloody for me. Fuck, I’m gonna cum so fast. Pretty bunny has such a good mouth when she’s not running it.” He chuckles at his own words as you quickly bob your mouth up and down on his dick.
“Just like that. You ready to taste me, baby? Need to cream this throat.” He speaks quickly as he starts to thrust, meeting every bob of your head. His grip in your hair tightens as his hips still and he holds his tip against the back of your throat.
You resist the urge to gag and cough as you feel his cum fill your throat. You think he’ll never be done when he finally pulls himself from your mouth and stuffs his cock back in his pants. He refastens his belt and turns to walk away, but stops and looks down at you.
“Here.” He grabs your shoulder, causing you to gasp, as he pushes you down to the floor, until you’re laying on your back. “I’ll spare you.”
And then he’s quickly leaving the house, confident that you’re not going anywhere anytime fast. You realize you’re in less pain being off your hands and knees and breathe a sigh of relief. Your weight is distributed better over the glass, so your back and legs only tingle and sting slightly.
~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~
You’re not sure how much time passes as you drift in and out of sleep, but when the front door finally opens, you can’t mask your excitement at Leon finally returning.
“Leon?” You call out in a happy, relieved voice.
“Hi, bunny. How are you doing?” His tone is lighter than you’ve ever heard it before and it fills you with hope.
“I’m gonna piss my pants, can you take me to the bathroom?” The back of your legs are getting badly cut up because you can’t keep your body still as your bladder throbs and aches.
“Sweetheart, you’re so silly.”
His tone is mocking. “What?” You're obviously confused and it has him shaking his head.
“That’s not my problem.”
“I can’t get up.” You whine out, praying he’ll give in and help you.
“I know,” he coos at you, “You’re gonna have to just piss yourself then. But don’t worry, I’ll stay here and watch.”
“What?”
“It hurts, doesn’t it?”
“Yes. It hurts so much.”
“And you know exactly what will relieve you of that pain don’t you?”
“But I can’t get myself up.”
“That’s too bad.”
You’re so fucking confused. You don’t understand what his game is here. It has to be about control, the humiliation it’ll bring you. You squeeze your eyes shut tightly and try your best to pretend this isn’t happening, but the pain is only getting worse and worse.
“Bunny… Just relax. You’ll feel better if you just relax.”
“Fuck no, Leon. No fucking way.”
“Yeah?”
“Yes!” You open your eyes and give him a dirty look. “I’m not going to lay on the floor in my own blood and piss! What’s wrong with you?”
He smiles as he shakes his head, “You don’t have a choice, baby.”
You don’t know what to say to him. What can you say? Beg for his help? Hope he actually cares? It’s all so useless. You find yourself squeezing your eyes shut and clenching every muscle in your body. This is so stupid, so fucking stupid.
“You really want my help?” Leon breaks the silence, pulling you from your thoughts.
You look up at him once again, “Please.”
“Okay, I’ll help you.” You breathe a sigh of relief. He’s going to help you, there’s some sort of hope. If he can find it in himself to help you now, maybe you’ll be okay. Maybe everything will fall into place.
He reaches into his pants pocket and pulls out a familiar remote. Your eyes widen in shock, realizing what he’s about to do. “Wait, Leon, don’t-”
But you aren’t even able to finish your statement before the shocks are shooting into your body and every muscle tenses up in resistance. A few seconds feel like minutes before the pain stops and your body goes limp on the ground. Every muscle in your body softens.
Before you can even process what’s happening, before your mind even comes back to yourself, you register a warmth growing on your thighs and ass. The warmth spreads further as you come back to yourself.
The second you realize what’s happening, you wish you’d remained oblivious. You try to stop it, but your body is so weakened that you have no more control.
You lay on the floor in your dried blood mixing with your hot piss. You’re no longer peeing, but the humiliation has tears welling up in your eyes.
The liquid starts to cool quickly in the chilly air and it has you shivering on the floor. It has you wishing you were dead.
Suddenly, Leon’s petting your head and hushing you. “You’re a good girl, you know that? Did such a good job for me.”
Your eyes dart up to his face. “What?”
“So pretty like this. All wet and helpless.” Your thighs clench together at the praise, furthering your humiliation. Leon notices immediately and smirks down at you. “Let’s get you to bed, shall we?”
You whine as he lifts you in his arms. You’re slack in his arms because of the extensive injuries to your body. You feel your piss soaked body pressed against him and knowing your piss is getting on him makes you wanna vomit.
But that’s not the only thing you feel. This time it’s a lot less surprising, but doesn’t make things make any more sense. His erection pressed against your ass and you don’t have the energy to point it out or try to push yourself away from it.
~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~
Thankfully, not a whole lot of glass is embedded in the skin of your back, so you can happily lay in the blankets piled on top of the mattress without causing yourself any more pain.
You lay with your arms against your sides, avoiding making contact with your hands. Every time you look at your hands, your stomach twists and turns at the deformed skin. They’re cut to shit and glass shards stick out haphazardly all throughout the skin.
“Are you comfortable?” Leon asks as he runs a cold, wet washcloth across your forehead.
“As comfortable as I can be.”
“Good, good.” Leon gets up and walks across the room. You let your eyes fall shut, your body crying out for blissful sleep.
You hear Leon’s footsteps approach your bedside, not bothering to open your eyes. You’re not even sure you could open your eyes if you wanted to.
“Baby, keep your eyes shut for me, alright?” You nod as he softly caresses your cheek, pushing your hair from your face.
“Can you stick your tongue out for me? I got a surprise for you.” You hum in response, too tired to question him. But you couldn’t help the hope growing in your stomach at the thought he might finally give you some water or food.
You lol your tongue out as far as you can and feel him grab it with his thumb and pointer finger. He grips it tightly. You’re not sure why he’s doing it, but once again, you’re too exhausted to question him or resist it.
“This will be quick.”
You make a “huh” sound as best as you can with your tongue in its current position, and that’s when you hear a disgusting snip sound followed by squelching.
You start screaming as excruciating pain sets in. Your screams are cut short as you start choking on your own blood, the liquid pouring from the wound and slipping down your throat.
Leon grabs you by the back of your neck and pulls you into a sitting position, allowing the blood to pour down your chin rather than your throat. Your body is shaking from the pain, you’re on the verge of passing out, feeling the darkness creeping up on you, awaiting to consume you completely.
“There you go, baby. I got rid of the thing that causes you the most trouble. You’re perfect now.”
Your tears pour down your face, mixing with the blood coming from your mouth. You look down at the bedspread in front of you and the sight of your severed tongue has your vision going foggy. You let out one final cry before passing out from the pain and blood loss.
~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~
It’s been fourteen years, but you still remember it like it was yesterday. You relive those events every fucking day of your miserable existence. It doesn’t help that you have optimal time to think about it in your small prison cell on death row.
Of course he handed you over to the police with some elaborate story on how he found you out and when he confronted you, you went crazy and mutilated yourself. And of course, you can’t properly defend yourself, considering he took your fucking tongue. You could write out your claims of innocence over and over, but how could you possibly convey it with words alone?
Leon framed you for all of the murders. Planted all the evidence at your apartment and in your car, “finding” all the overlooked leads in your office. It was a pretty open and shut case. Took the jury less than an hour to find you guilty and for you to get sentenced to death.
Tomorrow’s the day. You’ll finally get the lethal injection and be free from your own personal purgatory. You’re confined to a prison cell by yourself 24/7 considering if you show your face outside of it, other inmates are instantly on you. You’re America’s most brutal female serial killer, how could they not want to kill you?
It’d be too easy if the prison would just let the other inmates go through with it. Just put you out of your misery and throw your body into the prison’s graveyard. But no. No amount of suffering will ever be enough to pay for “your” crimes.
You hate yourself. You look at your unrecognizable, mutilated hands and all you can do is sigh as you slip one down between your spread thighs to relieve the ache you feel between them.
In your line of work, you were well aware that trauma could cross wires in your brain. You can’t control your trauma responses. But the fact that your pussy is always soaking wet when you think about his dick in your mouth and the praising words he spoke to you is torture in itself.
You try to think of anything else, anything else at all. Even when your fantasies don’t revolve around that man, you can’t get yourself off without thinking of what he did to you.
As you lay in bed, shirt stuffed between your teeth to silence your sounds, you feel your climax grow closer and closer and his face above you is all you can see. And no matter how many times you go over it with yourself, telling yourself it’s a trauma response, you know the truth. You know that deep down you loved what he did to you and the only thing that makes you so angry is the fact that he put you here.
Here in this cold, lonely cell to waste away for the rest of your days. Leaving you with a heart, soul, and cunt that aches for him. You know what he’s done and you hate it, but you can’t bring yourself to hate him.
And as your wetness runs down your fingers, coating your palm in the proof of exactly what he does to you, all you can think about is that fucking day. You’re going to die tomorrow and here you are touching yourself to the man that put you here.
Your orgasm tears through you, leaving you a shaking and shivering mess in your threadbear sheets on your paper thin cot. It’d be so much easier to hate him, but you have the curse of hating yourself instead.
Tomorrow you will die and pay for your crimes. And maybe the crimes you’ll be dying for aren’t yours, but you still deserve to pay for being so fucked in the head. So you’re happy, almost giddy to be dying tomorrow.
Maybe you’ve gone mad, or maybe you were always mad to begin with and it took him coming along to pull it out of you. Either way, not like it fucking matters. You’ll still be dead and he’ll still be a free man. But you caught the killer and for that, you’ll always be a good fucking detective.
~masterlist~
#DEAD DOVE#dead dove do not eat#dead dove fic#leon kennedy#leon kennedy smut#smut#resident evil#leon kennedy x reader#leon kennedy x y/n#leon kennedy x you#leon s kennedy#leon s kennedy x reader#leon s kennedy smut#leon s kennedy x you#leon s kennedy x y/n#leon kennedy angst#leon s kennedy angst#leon smut#leon angst#resident evil 4#resident evil 6#resident evil 2#resident evil smut#resident evil fanfiction#infinite darkness#infinite darkness leon#serial killer! leon#ghostface leon kennedy#serial killer leon kennedy#ghostface! leon
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Interview With The Vampire | Vampire!Matt Murdock x F!Reader
-> Main Masterlist
Pairing: Vampire!Matt Murdock x F!Reader (she/her)
Summary: You are the first journalist to interview Hell’s Kitchen’s resident vampire vigilante after he requested you personally to tell his story. He’s offering you a way out of your miserable job—to make your voice be heard. You’re desperate and curious, so you decide to take the risk. Most people only know him as Daredevil, but you are about to learn who’s really behind the mask. How hard can it possibly be? As it turns out, interviewing a vampire is a lot more complex than you expected it to be, and Matthew Michael Murdock has set his mind on ruining you for any other man to come.
Warnings: SMUT (18+ MINORS DNI), alternative universe, blood play, marking, scent kink, slight Dom!Matt, unprotected p in v, oral f!receiving, biting, vampirism, angst, religious imagery & symbolism, Catholic guilt, mentions of violence, allusions to suicidal thoughts, lots of plot, age gap
Word Count: 12.2k (this is a beast)
Other Characters: Vampire!Elektra (mentioned), Ben Urich (mentioned)
A/n: I finally got this one edited. This is a beast, y’all! I drew inspiration from Anne Rice’s Interview With The Vampire, but particularly the 2022 AMC series (I fell in love with it then and there), but it’s not based on it, so I just played around with the idea and this came out. It’s a lot, but it wasn’t enough for a full-blown series, so you’re getting a big ass One Shot instead. I used my usual Smut tag list, but since this is slightly Dead Dove Do Not Eat, heed the warnings and proceed with care! Don't read it if you don't want to. Anyway, I hope you like it!
Read Me On AO3!
The sun has long set over the Big Apple. Artificial neon, cars, and ceiling lights burning in the highrises along the riverfront cancel out the darkness that has befallen the country’s east. Noise melts into a flood that rolls over people’s senses, but most in New York City have grown numb to the city that never sleeps.
Sirens follow cacophonies of screams. Teenagers get into clubs with their fake IDs, adults get drunk in bars or go to work the night shift at their underpaid jobs, and the other half cry themselves to sleep, knowing they will have to get up in the morning and go through the same hell all over again.
Life has become a miserable existence, and it leaves human beings wondering, ‘How much longer do we have to endure this before we all finally drop dead?’
The system fails them. The law fails to protect them. All they can do is lie down and wait to die. And they will die sooner or later. That’s inevitable.
In Hell’s Kitchen, in a penthouse with a view of the Hudson through colored windows that gloss over during the day and show the city throughout the night, resides someone who most of the city only knows by an alias—Daredevil.
If anyone crosses him, he will suck them dry. It’s not a metaphor, I’m afraid; his reputation precedes him. Criminals fear the red eyes that come with fists and a sharp set of teeth that will surely run them into the ground. The rest of the city feels a little safer with him, but so far, no one has dared to question his nature.
Fear is known to work as a paralytic. And this man living in the penthouse by the Hudson is the personification of what one might consider fear-inducing. Without the fear of others, he would not be thriving.
An apex predator like him lives for the thrill of the kill. When the adrenaline spikes, it makes the prey start running and the blood taste so much sweeter. It is to a creature of his kind what a good glass of century-old red wine would be to a human being; he savors every last drop of it.
Two years out of your Master’s degree at Columbia University, you have become one of those hard-working adults who fall into bed later than they should, and you lie awake at night, wondering how much longer you have to exist before you can live.
You interned at the Bulletin; you ran the true crime and mystery column for over a year before the newspaper shut down. A billionaire from downtown Manhattan bought it to start his own magazine, and you were the only employee he didn’t fire. Instead of relying on your top-tier education and experience though, he has banned you to the lifestyle and beauty column. He’s a beast if you have ever seen one.
On a Monday in June then, after the sun has risen and is now falling again, you find an envelope on your desk. You glide your fingers over the fancy paper. The letters are written in handwriting that resembles the old letters from the 18th century you had the pleasure of using as research material for your Bachelor’s thesis.
Your heart skips a beat. Could it be…
It is no secret that vampires exist.
Over two decades ago, scientists published papers on the existence of blood-sucking creatures after years of valuable research, and now governments around the world have set out to burn the inhuman species out before they can cause any more damage. Vampirism though is older than humanity itself and unless law enforcement has evidence of homicide, vampires have the right to exist amongst humans.
They are excellent at hiding their true nature, that much is true. The lore that has been passed down since the beginning of time is only partly true. They know how to adapt and rise from the ashes like elegant phoenixes. The misconceptions surrounding their existence stem from fiction, horror, and fear, but they persist.
And a rule has been established in society ever since the truth was revealed: don’t talk about vampires!
Don’t talk about them unless it’s in a fictional context. Don’t put your research out there. Don’t fraternize with them. Don’t risk becoming prey. Don’t be fascinated by them, and God forbid, don’t you dare write articles about them for the public records. If you want to know about vampires, you have to dig, and you have to do so quietly or society will deem you crazy and a freak.
The worst thing to be is not a flying android or a super soldier with a shield; the worst thing you can be, in this day and age, is a vampire.
You were a curious child who turned into an even more curious adult. At times even a bitter one because she couldn’t get the answers she yearned for and had to do it herself. So, of course, the We Don’t Talk About Vampires rule came across as rather absurd, learning about it back when you were merely a teen.
You started researching, and you found out more than you thought you would—more than you thought you could. You wanted to cover the issue in the Bulletin back when you still worked there, but since humans were raised to fear the very mention of vampires in the real world, no longer romanticizing the concept but rather running from it, the truth shall remain hidden. Again, that seemed absurd, but you had to accept it to get ahead.
You kept researching to the point you convinced yourself you could be one of them if you tried. You felt like you understood them, but nothing could ever fully answer all of your questions to the point it felt truthful. Honest. Real.
Growing up, everyone told you dead things aren’t supposed to walk. They aren’t supposed to breathe and exist among the living. They are cruel, and vampires are killers that leave trails of bodies the government is hiding from us. Greediness exceeds common sense. The human mind tends to get sick and twisted, and those who don’t fit in hardly ever stand a chance.
Hell’s Kitchen is particularly quiet on the issue. Rumor has it that the vigilante chasing criminals at night and leaving the worst of them dry at the shore of the Hudson while, at the same time, surrendering those he deems worthy of rehabilitation to the authorities, is one of those vampires.
They call him Daredevil; the savior of innocents and the downfall of the vile. Only a handful of people know who he is. The truth is caught in a spider web of lies, unable to come out unless someone were to tell his story for the world to hear.
That Monday in June when you open the mysterious envelope on your desk, everything changes.
He addressed you personally. Your name resembles a masterpiece, the letters swirling at the edges.
You don’t know me, but I know you.
It’s strange to read your name out of the mouth of a stranger.
I must admit, Miss, I’m a big fan of your writing. And I’m not talking about the lifestyle and beauty column Mr. Doherty of the ‘Silver Lining’ has confined you to.
No, I am a big fan of the work you used to do for the New York Bulletin. I remember your name headlining many articles on crime here in Hell’s Kitchen—a column my late friend Ben Urich used to call his home.
It’s a shame that the paper was shut down. I tried to prevent it, but the disappearance of half of humanity and Wilson Fisk’s irreparable damage to the city’s foundation tied my hands.
The token female journalist reporting on unsolicited beauty advice and lifestyle choices no one is going to follow in the days of social media and fake marketing. It must be frustrating, right? Not having a story to tell. Not getting recognized for your impeccable talent. The Bulletin gave you a platform, but Mr. Doherty and his goons took that away from you.
What I’m asking myself is, are you satisfied? You were probably imagining a different future for yourself. A woman of your caliber must want to be more than a mere object used to make a bottomless magazine look better on the market.
Excuse my overstepping. I read one of your essays on the magical and the mythic—lore versus reality—the other day, and it inspired me. My life has been taking quite a few turns lately, so I required some new… let’s call it insight.
You don’t know me, but I am one of those creatures you are fascinated by. I’m the kind of creature people have been telling you not to write about because the weak minds of the public would not receive it well. The Catholics, the church, the fragile and fearful human beings that can’t imagine anything in fiction being real and want to remain the superior species—trust me, I know what it feels like to be backed into a corner. To be abandoned. To be underestimated. Not quite like you, I admit, but I have a few years of experience in and with this world to show for myself.
I imagine you’re tired of your position. I imagine you’re dissatisfied with human idiocy. You crave answers to your questions. Questions you have been asking yourself ever since college failed to answer them. My kind is being censored—partly for good reason—but that doesn’t sit right with you, does it? To live life in a monotone line with no clear way out of this boring rhythm you have had to fall into?
I can offer you a different path. A story. Answers to your questions. And the unfiltered truth of a 242-year-old man.
You are going to find a card with my address attached to this letter. I can assure you, sweetheart, we both want the same thing. I will wash your hands if you wash mine. Think about it, and come find me when you have made your decision. Preferably after the sun has set.
Yours sincerely,
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
#matt murdock#matt murdock x reader#matt murdock smut#matt murdock x fem!reader#matt murdock x you#vampire!matt murdock#matt murdock angst#daredevil#x reader#interview with the vampire#charlie cox#alternate universe#reader insert
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OKAY BEAR WITH ME Y’ALL. I HAVEN’T PLAYED THE GAME SO I’M JUST GOING OFF OF SOME TIRED OLD MAN TROPES.
FRANCIS MOSES x READER
also, i haven’t written down any of my rules, but i don’t have any limits! i’ll write whatever requests people send me! whatever your dark mind can think of will be my pleasure to create!
i don’t mind if you’re not 18+, since, if i ever do make smut i’ll just label it as 18+ and TRUST that 18+ ONLY will read. you all have probably seen, but i’ve just written about my thoughts of different fandoms so far so there’s no 18+ posts YET. (maybe i’ll make this account SFW and do another for NSFW? idk, i normally post on other platforms but randomly decided to give tumblr a try lol)
as a NM/trans man myself, i TRY to keep my readers gender neutral by not really describing the characters features. hard on TRY bc i know the last blurb fic i made of dead plate was Rody x Male Reader lol, oopsies! anywhooo, enjoy~!
WARNINGS! doppleganger mention, possible unconsciousness, possible death, possible unfunny dialogue (bc sometimes i’m the only one who finds me hilarious lmfao), you’re kinda a baddie ngl, you and Francis are besties, Francis is a cat lover?! Francis is a tired old man who hates technology. phone mentioned despite the first wireless phone being made 23 years after the story takes place (use your imagination) uhhh, anything else i forget? comment below!
Francis let out a long sigh of relief, taking his cap off with one hand, using the other to dab away at his sweaty forehead with a handkerchief. Upon seeing the exhausted man, you can’t help but smile softly, shaking your head as you get ready to scold him, once again. You cross your arms, looking at him through the window with a playful disappointed glare.
“mhm mhm, what do we have here? you really should be getting more sleep, mr. milkman, your eyes are starting to sport their own eye bags.”
with this comment, Francis shakes his head but is unable to stop the small, yet tired smile on his face. he bends down to place the crate of milk jugs onto the floor before handing over his ID card. you hum, narrowing your eyes when Francis doesn’t give into your whims. you eye his card, glancing at it a few times before slipping it back to him with a chuckle.
Francis’s eyebrow raises in confusion at your reaction but ends up shaking his head, rolling his eyes playfully and sighing softly. he places his cap back on his head and huffs, deeming your reaction as a go ahead inside.
“now… what if i was a doppelganger? you aren’t even going to call my room to check if someone is there? such a reliable doorman we have.”
despite Francis’s playful tone, your grin slips into a frown as you study Francis from behind the glass. this causes him to tense up, suddenly feeling nervous, like he did something wrong. you hum, tilting your head into your palm as you seemingly analyze Francis for a little while before deciding to speak.
“what’s up brother?”
Francis blinks a few times in surprise, his head tilting in confusion at your question. His eyes narrow as he thinks about the question you asked.
“what’s… up… brother…?”
Francis looks up at the ceiling, taking your question to heart. upon seeing nothing on the ceiling, Francis can only shake his head and sigh at your antics.
“are you done with your tomfoolery, (Y/n)? i’m quite exhausted and would like to go up to my room and rest.”
you can only shake your head, clasping your hands together like a disappointed father getting ready to discuss their kids grades at the dinner table. you begin to explain.
“when Francis first walks in here, he always forgets one of three things… his keys, his hat or the crate of milk. you came in here, although exhausted, you seemed put together, unlike Francis, who is clearly going through a midlife crisis. Francis will then ask me about my cat, well, because he’s a cat person, though he insists no one knows. oh, and, Francis’s home phone has been broken for the past few days and is actually at the store, right now. so, Francis being here so soon, isn’t possible. that, and well, Francis never understands my references, but indulges me anyway… anything else i forgot, doppelganger?”
you bat your eyelashes, smirking from behind the window like you just cracked down the traitor in your group. with each statement, Francis’s doppelgänger’s face becomes visibly more and more angry until the doppelganger begins to completely change: black eyes with white pupils, a wide and eerie black mouth, adorned with long and sharp claws on the end of the doppleganger’s elongated limbs.
“you… you’ll regret this… i will get in one day and get my feast, starting with you. i’ll gut you, keep you alive so you can watch your organs fall out of your body and your blood splatter against-! *CLANK! BAM! PLINK!*”
before the doppelganger could finish his fantasy, much to your amusement, the doppleganger’s body tenses upon being struck before crumpling to the floor after becoming unconscious. you look up from the doppleganger’s body to see the real Francis hovering above the, possibly dead, doppelganger. you shrug, knowing that you wouldn’t have to call DDD services to take care of the mess, now you just have to clean up the body.
“mmm… tuesday… tuesday…? did i get that right?”
you hold back a chuckle at Francis’s response to your last question. you can only nod, letting Francis have the win this time. pinching the bridge of your nose and sighing, a loud laugh bubbles up from your throat as the two of you realized what Francis had hit the doppelganger with.
“ngh… i just bought this phone… damnit… his hard head must have broke it, ah, if i bring it back could i get a… refund…?”
#tnmn#tnmn milkman#tnmn fanfic#tnmn francis mosses#tnmn x reader#tnmn x male reader#that’s not my neighbor x male reader#that’s not my neighbor x reader#francis mosses x male reader#francis mosses x reader#doppleganger#d.d.d
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What byler scenes do you think we’ll get in season 5 (a kiss, holding hands, a rain fight, dating, ect)
oh god i honestly have no idea what to expect
going off of the other couples, i'm hoping we'll get an accidental hand hold because of a jump scare. im PRAYING we get a dramatic fight, perhaps in the rain again. i don't think they'll be dating until the very end, perhaps in an epilogue since the duffers said nothing will be left up to interpretation regarding who the endgame couples are. i think there'll be at least one kiss. the ST writers dont make couples they actually care about kiss a lot. lumax have kissed on screen one time, jancy had 1 makeout and 2 kisses. jopper had one makeout. because it doesn't take a bunch of physical intimacy for the audience to like the couple. so i dont think we'll get a lot of byler kisses. maybe one in the main plot and one in the epilogue (if there is one). id be fine with that. since it was just basically confirmed s5 is set in 1989 meaning the party will be 17-18, i feel like that would make the writers more comfortable potentially having a byler heat-of-the-moment makeout or something like that, similarly to jancy. and as im typing this i remembered they made milkvan make out twice in s3 when they were 14 so i guess they don't care that much but i hope you get what i'm saying lmao. but yeah i won't be disappointed if there's no makeout.
i also need them to hug. like pls. like give us a "Omg i thought you were hurt/dead im gonna smother you in a hug now"
interlocking pinkies in a setting where they can't do PDA is always a great trope
running from something while holding hands is also 10/10
really i just want longing stares and intense eye contact that is shattered by an interruption
and i say all of this but honestly i have 0 idea of what we'll get. i have no idea what direction they're going with s5 byler and how itll be developed, but im hoping and praying it's treated as normally as the other couples are and isn't lesser just cause its queer
#stranger things#byler#will byers#mike wheeler#byler endgame#st5#st5 speculation#byler speculation#s5 byler
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