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mannequinreligi0n · 4 months ago

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NSFW ALPHABET: DANTE

writing these is so funnnn. i lowkey want to make nsfw headcanons for their devil triggers, too, but we’ll see.

as always, thank you for reading and hope you enjoy !

yours, obscura

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Dante is literally a lap dog. He’s the more needy one after sex - hands glued to your limbs, head buried in your skin. He’s a sensitive guy deep down, and he needs the reassurance that you’re not just gonna up and leave him after getting what you wanted. He’ll go as far to lay on top of you just to ensure you don’t leave the bed too soon.

He’ll of course make sure you’re okay after. He’s already got a drawer in his nightstand filled with snacks and water on hand to feed you, replenishing any nutrients he might’ve sucked out of your body. Big on post-sex cuddles and pillow-talk.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Dante loves his arms, but more specifically: he loves your face when he flexes his muscles or lifts a piece of furniture without breaking a sweat. He walks around the house and office shirtless just to show them off.

If we know Vergil to be an ass man, it’s only right that his twin is a tits guy. I mean, we’ve seen Dante ogle at those adult magazines - the man loves a good rack. But with Dante, all tits are in fact created equal. Any shape, size, color - doesn’t matter. He’s grabbing them, squishing them, shoving his face in them. I think he also has a thing for thighs. Let him lay between them and he’s in heaven. He’s even offered you a crumpled five dollar bill to squeeze the life out of him with them.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

This man is FILTHYYYY. You know Deepthroat by Cupcakke? Yeah, he’s blowin’ bubbles with sperm. No matter the gender, Dante is a fiend - begging to be covered in your release.

When Dante comes, it’s more of a dribble/gush, than a straight shoot of ropes. ‘The fountain of youth’, he calls it. Dante doesn’t care where it goes as long as you’re happy, though he’s partial to covering your chest in cum, watching it drip down only to lick it off himself.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Panty thief. ((God, I hate the word ‘panty’)). BUT IT’S TRUE. Your favorite pair will always go missing and sure enough, Dante has it either in a drawer at the office or stuffed into the inner pocket of his coat. It’s mostly for the reason you think, but he also keeps it for sentimental reasons. He’s a sentimental guy, after all. You two always squeeze in a good fuck before he leaves for a job, and he’s sure to swipe up the pair you wore that night as a reminder of you and what he’s fighting for, keeping it zipped up in the pocket by his heart.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Dante ACTS like a Casanova, a real playboy, but in reality, he’s scared as hell of intimacy. He’s had a handful of one night stands and drunken hookups but they served more as distractions than actual points of experience.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Cowgirl, sideways 69, leapfrog (variation of doggy)

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Laughter is necessary in the bedroom for Dante. His job is awful, his life is literally hell - he needs the light moments with you to unwind and remind himself that there’s more to life than killing and being miserable.

This man thinks he’s a comedian. He’s telling you a damn knock-knock joke, expecting you to say ‘who’s there?’ while your mouth is wrapped around him. This being said, Dante is excellent at reading a room. If the situation calls for more serious or passionate love-making, he can switch off his playful side for a while.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

C’mon, we’ve all seen the man - he’s hairy. Soft silver hair starts at the stubble on his chin and goes allllll the way down to his damn ankles. Would probably be inclined to trim his nethers, if he was home more often or if you had a preference for it. Otherwise, it’s homegrown and all-American, babeeyyyy.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Big ol’ teddy bear - kisses all over, sweet words murmured in your ear. Dante isn’t the most materialistic or showy lover, but he’ll make you feel like you’re the most prized diamond in the world. Takes his time with you, makes sure you’re comfortable and he’s doing everything right before he even thinks about getting off. Big on communication, wants you to talk him through it as he does to you. He’s not the most romantic man, but he’ll definitely do his best to keep you happy and loved.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Dante will jack off if the wind hits him wrong. It’s an outlet for him. When he’s sad, angry, happy, whatever. He’s not all that good at expressing his emotions, so having a moment of release sort of helps him let go of whatever is on his mind.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Breeding, humiliation, edging, impact play, pet play. Anything where Dante can let loose and let his guard down. All of these are reciprocal - he’s a true switch. Loves to have you bent over his knee, hand marking up your ass as punishment one moment, to flipping the tables and having you walk him around the house with a leash.

PRAISE KINK. Dante is a glutton for your words. He’ll sit and pout til you tell him he’s a good boy, or how pretty he is. There have been multiple occasions where he’s come just from praise alone, cock twitching in the air as you whisper compliments to him.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Really anywhere he can have you, doesn’t matter to him. He’s always busy, so he’s taking any chance he can get. The default is usually the leather couch in his office, since he’s there more than he is home.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Dante loves a good sext. Send him a picture of you in an old band shirt of his or a message about how much you miss him, and he’s almost causing a five-car pile up on the freeway just to turn the car around as fast as physically possible.

Is also stereotypical in that if he comes home to you splayed out on the bed in a piece of lingerie, he’ll literally (and I mean, literally) tear his clothes off as he scrambles to you.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Sex for the sake of sex is borderline a no for him. If you two have been together for a while, it’s different, but if not, he’s not putting out. Not only does he have trust issues, Dante has a lot of insecurities and trauma. He’s not fucking someone just to watch them leave him - it hurts too much.

Dante’s a pretty easy-going man otherwise. If you’re happy, he’s happy.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

I know I said Vergil is a munch, but man, so is Dante. But in a different way. Dante is a tease, and loves to get you riled up in the most mundane situations. He’ll be stationed between your legs while you watch a movie in the living room, lazily licking stripes just to keep you on edge, or squatted behind you as you try to cook dinner. He’s a nuisance, really, but there’s no use trying to shake him off. He’ll get whiny and huff around til you let him keep going.

Dante is more of a giver. He almost never asks for oral and usually dismisses it, unless you ask specifically. But if anything, it’s more for you than him, knowing how much you love to gulp down his seed.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Dante has a tendency to get a little too enthusiastic, unless he’s purposefully trying to play the long-game and tease you. He’ll try oh so hard to go slow for you, make it last, but he just gets too excited. He can’t fathom that someone is actually letting him fuck them, and damn, you look perfect underneath him. If he slows down at all, it’s only because he’s trying to have a sliver of self-control as to not come prematurely.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Quickies are the norm for you two, not that Dante minds. Again, he’s often shuffling a lot so it’s rare that he can set aside a whole lot of time for you two. Any opportunity with you is fair game.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

I feel like it’s obvious that Dante is an adrenaline junkie. He loves the thrill of new things. He’ll go as far as his partner will take him, as long as it’s within reason and no one gets seriously hurt (or arrested).

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Back to back to back to back. The devil blood in him works overtime when he’s in the mood. Even if you’re wiped after two rounds, he’s pulling you back down by your ankles, asking you in that bedroom voice you love so much to give him one more, to show him how good and sweet you can be.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Dante is a big fan of toys. He’s holding a vibrator to you while he does paperwork, or he’s shackled to the bedframe with a gag and cage around his tip. Probably wouldn’t be all that experienced with them initially, but once you two are comfortable, he’s happy to acquire a good collection.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

The most annoying, frustrating man you will ever let into your bedroom. Dante loves to tease more than he might even love fucking you. He’ll spend hours saying suggestive things, grabbing your ass, toying with your clothes, only to walk away and act indifferent until you beg him to give in. It’s borderline evil.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Dante never shuts the fuck up. Ever. Doesn’t matter what you’re doing, who’s on top, where you are - he’s either talking or moaning. He’s an extremely vocal lover. The neighbors have already put in two noise complaints from how loudly Dante groans and swears when you two are together.

Constantly in your ear, mumbling nonsense and praise. Whiny, loud, and obnoxious - and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

There’s no section here for top/bottom, unfortunately, so I’ll put this here: loves to get fucked as much as he loves to do it himself. Whether you got the parts, or you gotta use a strap for it, the man is more than happy to have his head pressed into the pillows as you ram into him. He’s a sloppy, whiny, needy bottom, and I’ll die by that.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

As with Vergil, Dante is not a small man. Only an inch shorter than his twin, he carries a lot of height. I think it’s canon (?) that Dante is not as big as Vergil in the meat department. I’m banking on a hard 7, soft 5. Grower, for sure. What he lacks in length is made up for in girth.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

It’s damn near incessant, even as he ages. Dante hasn’t honed in his devil side as much as Vergil, which means he has less control of his hormones. If he’s not too stressed, he’s constantly waiting for the next moment to get his hands on you.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Dante will literally pass out the second his head hits the pillow. He’ll stay awake for a bit to make sure you’re all good, but the second he lays down, it’s lights out. And he’s out for the entire night, snuggled into your side and snoring away til late morning.

#dante #devil may cry #dmc #dmc headcanons #dante dmc #dmc dante #dante sparda x reader #dante x reader #devil may cry smut #devil may cry fanfiction #dmc smut #writing #fanfic #oneshot #smut

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bellaxgiornata · 10 months ago

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If We're Being Honest [2/2]

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem!Reader Word Count: 6k [Part1]

Summary: It's been a couple of months since you drunkenly kissed Matt and you've been avoiding him ever since, but Matt realizes that your absence from his life afterwards pained him more than he ever could've imagined.

Warnings/Tags: Angst with a happy ending, confession of feelings (with a twist), delayed comfort, anxious/depressed inebriated Reader, fluff at the end

a/n: The second and final part of this little fic is finally here! Hopefully the comfort is satisfying enough after the angsty first part. You also get Matt's POV in the first half of this one. Feedback is always appreciated!

Matt Murdock One Shot Tag List: @pazii @shouldbestudying41 @kmc1989 @ebathory997 @mattkinsella @yeonalie @shiorimakibawrites @xxdrixx @wkndwlff @leikelle @pinkratts @lazyxsquirrel @1988-fiend @marvelcinematiquniverse @carstairswife @stilldreaming666 @kiwwia-wiwwia @willwork4dilfs @will-delete-this-later-probably @mattmurdocks6thscaleapartment @theetherealbloom @yarrystyleeza @dramaholic18 @ladywholikesreading @sleepysleepymom @tartbeanpuzzles @harleycao @sunflower-tia @lotrefcp @gamingfeline @juskonutoh @kezibear @ninacotte

Matt slid his desk chair back with a sigh, relieved the frustrating work day had finally come to an end. Standing up, his hands felt around his desk for the mess of papers he’d had scattered along it. He gathered them up, neatly stacking them together before he stuffed them back into the folder they'd initially been inside. Bending over, his back muscles protesting the movement from his previous night out as Daredevil, he picked up his briefcase that was leaning against his desk on the floor. Placing the briefcase on top of his desk, he packed the folder inside before closing it up and tossing the strap of the bag over his head, taking a moment to position it comfortably along his shoulder.

Making his way around his desk afterwards, one of his hands absently grabbed his folded up cane from off of it as he headed towards the door of his office. He could already hear Karen and Foggy in the firm's main room, the pair of them clearly talking about wedding related things. As he stepped out of his office and into the room, he could feel the air shift minutely as both of them looked over in his direction.

“More wedding details, Fog?” Matt asked, walking over to where the pair were leaning against the front office desk.

“Did you know that absolutely everything is a detail?” Foggy complained. “Like napkins. Did you know napkins mattered? Because I didn't. They're literally meant to wipe your dirty face and hands on, why does it matter what they look like? Or what material it’s made out of? It's a napkin!”

“Don't let Marci hear you say that,” Karen teased.

Matt could hear the way her fingers were tapping away at the screen of her phone. Probably sending a text message from the sounds of it.

“I just want a break from all the wedding planning,” Foggy grumbled. “I feel like half our place is currently storage for some binder or seating chart or wedding magazine or stack of business cards and pamphlets.”

“Well you'll get a bit of a break from it this weekend,” Karen assured him, setting her phone onto the desk beside her. “When we go wedding dress shopping with Marci on Saturday. She'll be talking all our ears off about the details for the whole day instead of yours.”

Foggy let out a dreamy sigh at the thought. “And I'll be relaxing at home by myself thinking about literally anything else while all you lovely bridesmaids, who I'm sure are vastly more interested in color schemes and table decor, discuss all of that,” he replied.

At the mention of bridesmaids, Matt's mind immediately jumped to you. He hadn't seen you since the night he'd offered to walk you back to his place and let you sleep over after you'd had a little too much to drink at Josie’s. The same night you'd randomly kissed him and told him you'd had feelings for him–something that had come as a complete shock to Matt.

You had actively avoided him ever since then. Ignoring his phone calls and texts. Never returning a single voice-mail he'd left asking to talk to you about what had happened that night. You'd stopped meeting up with everyone at Josie’s, only spending time with Karen and Marci over the past couple of months. Foggy even only ever saw you whenever you'd stopped by to see Marci at their apartment when helping with the wedding planning.

Matt expected you to be embarrassed after the incident, especially because he could feel the way your body had reacted before you'd sprinted out of his apartment and back into the rain outside. He'd felt bad, wondering if he'd really done something wrong that night to accidentally lead you on. He hadn’t meant to, he’d just wanted to make sure you were alright. You’d seemed off all night to him, but you had no idea about his heightened senses, so it wasn’t as if he could ask you why your body was all over the place that night. It had been confusing, and the amount of beers you’d drank certainly hadn’t helped him get a read on you, either.

He thought he’d been doing the right thing that night. The fling with that woman wasn’t worth risking you walking home in the rain drunk–which he’d overheard you talking to yourself about doing. He hadn’t wanted to risk something happening to you, because Matt damn well knew what could happen to drunk women walking home alone at night in Hell’s Kitchen. He’d certainly rescued a few himself. But somehow you must’ve misread the entire situation and thought he’d been after more than that. Which was absurd because you’d always just been a great friend to him since he’d met you. A really close friend who he’d been sorely missing lately.

Snapping out of his thoughts, Matt said your name aloud, catching the attention of both Karen and Foggy. “Is she…going to be there this weekend, too?” he asked, trying to sound casual.

“Yeah, she’s one of the bridesmaids,” Karen answered. “So of course she’ll be there on Saturday.”

“I’m guessing she’s still not talking to you then, huh buddy?” Foggy asked him.

Matt sighed, shaking his head. He’d hated the silence from you and he had no idea how to fix things.

“No,” he replied. “She’s still very much ignoring me.”

“I don’t exactly blame her,” Karen cut in. “The whole situation sounded incredibly embarrassing and awkward when you told us why she was avoiding you. Especially considering how quiet she naturally is. For her to just kiss you and then to be rejected by you right after?”

“Ouch,” Foggy muttered. “Yeah, she’s probably never speaking to you again, man. Sorry.”

Matt ran a hand across his mouth, his shoulders sagging in defeat. The thought of never spending time with you ever again physically hurt. He’d never again hear another one of your ridiculous jokes or have another surprise drop-in lunch visit at the office from you. You always somehow remembered his favorite sandwich from his favorite sandwich shop, too. He’d always thought it was sweet that you’d made a mental note of his particular order, considering you had no idea how delicate his palate was with his heightened senses. Though he supposed now knowing that you’d had feelings for him all along had that attention to detail making more sense.

Standing in the office, an uncomfortable feeling twisted his stomach into knots, his heart squirming in his chest as the realization that you might really be gone from his life fully hit him. He didn’t like it one bit.

“You okay, Matt?” Foggy asked him. “You sort of look like you’re going to be sick.”

Slowly, Matt shook his head. “I just wish I could fix things,” he confessed. “I wish she’d just talk to me again. I don't like this weirdness between us.”

He heard the way the air shifted in the room again. As if both Karen and Foggy had looked at each other. Matt’s eyes narrowed curiously behind his glasses, his head tilting to the side. Both of their heart rates had slightly elevated at almost the exact same moment when they’d done that.

Why?

“So uh, you really miss her, huh?” Foggy asked.

“Of course,” Matt answered easily. “She’s one of my best friends.”

“Yeah?” Karen questioned.

Matt’s head canted curiously to the side at the odd tone in her voice. What were they getting at?

“Yeah,” Matt reiterated. “She’s been an important person in my life ever since the pair of you introduced us a while back. We always got along so well, and she always had such witty things to say. I miss talking to her. Josie’s just doesn’t feel the same without her anymore.” He ran a hand through his hair in growing aggravation. “I hate that I can’t just call her and hear her voice whenever I want anymore. And that she never randomly stops into the office just to say ‘hi.’. It–it hurts that she’s just gone now.”

The air shifted again as Karen and Foggy clearly exchanged a look with each other. Frustration began to fill Matt at whatever it was they weren’t saying.

“What?” Matt snapped. “You both keep looking at each other, I can feel it. What’s that about?”

Foggy cleared his throat, his attention returning to Matt. “It’s just…are you sure you just miss your friend?” he asked carefully.

Matt pulled a face at the ridiculous question. “What? Of course I do,” he shot back.

“No,” Karen said, shaking her head. “He means, are you sure you miss her because she’s just a friend to you?”

“Yes, that’s what I’ve been trying to–”

Matt abruptly stopped short, his mouth hanging open for a second as Karen’s words suddenly registered in his mind. Lips pressing together seconds later, Matt’s hands landed on his hips as he shifted his weight on his feet.

“What’re you trying to say?” Matt asked the pair. “That you think I like her? As more than a friend?”

“Well, buddy,” Foggy began carefully, “you’ve been acting pretty moody lately. Ever since she stopped talking to you. And you haven’t been as interested in the ladies, either. We’ve both noticed you turning them down. I don’t think you’ve brought a single person back to your place since that night.”

Matt scoffed, shaking his head. “So? I just haven’t been interested in that exactly,” he replied stiffly. “That doesn’t have anything to do with her.”

“You perk up at her name every time she’s mentioned,” Karen added. “And for the past couple of months you always find some way to randomly ask how she’s doing or what she’s been up to.”

“And when we told you she’d gotten onto that dating app,” Foggy chimed in, “you were in a horrible mood the whole day afterwards. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so grumpy for no reason to quite that extent before. I mean,” he continued with a chuckle, “that was like a Matt Murdock record level of moody. And there was no reason for it that day except for, well, that .”

Matt licked his lips, his fingers digging into his hips through his dress clothes. He’d just been worried about the jerks you might meet on that site, that was all. And he’d been jealous that you were still talking to Foggy, Karen, and Marci but not him. That had been all it was.

Right?

Karen leaned up against the side of the desk, her arms crossing over her chest as she focused on Matt. He bristled under the attention, feeling like he was suddenly on the stand and she was about to interrogate him.

“Let me ask you something,” she began, “and I want you to be honest and really think. How’d you feel when she kissed you that night?”

Matt frowned in her direction. “I told you, it’d been a shock,” he answered. “I hadn’t anticipated her to do that. Then I was worried I’d given her the wrong impression and I felt horrible that I’d upset her.”

Karen was roughly shaking her head at him. “No, how did it make you feel Matt?” she asked again.

“I mean I–” he stopped short again, his mouth closing almost immediately.

In all honesty, with everything that had happened that night, he hadn’t really thought about that. He’d been afraid of you thinking he was trying to take advantage of you when you were drunk, something he’d never do. And then he’d been upset and worried about you running out of his place crying and trying to make it home that night. He couldn’t even follow after you because it wouldn’t make sense that a blind man could navigate his way down the stairwell after you like he knew he’d be able to. And he was certain if he’d called your name down in the lobby–because he shouldn't have been able to know you by the sound of your heartbeat and scent of your perfume–you’d only run out of the building and ignore him. Chasing after you hadn't been an option.

But he had wanted to. Something he hadn’t even thought about after the fact because he’d been so upset at you ignoring his calls and messages. All he'd been focused on was how much it hurt that he'd lost such a great friend. He hadn't really stopped to think about how he had wanted to follow you or how that surprise kiss had made him feel.

Had he enjoyed it? It had been timid and hesitant, only a brief kiss, but it hadn't been horrible. He'd just…never thought about you like that before. Because you weren't the kind of woman who blatantly threw yourself at him, the type he'd bring back to his apartment for a fuck and then be content to never see again.

You definitely deserved more than that.

You were the type someone brought home to meet their parents, the type a guy planned dates for, wanted to spend holidays with. You were the long term, committed relationship type of woman. The type Matt avoided because the thought of something serious scared him, especially with how he spent most of his evenings.

But he missed you. He missed the scent of your perfume you always wore, the smell sometimes even lingering on his clothes when he'd return home from Josie’s. He missed the way you'd try to fill awkward silences whenever you were with him, always saying whatever random thing was on your mind. He missed the way your heart usually jumped whenever you first spotted him–because he'd always known you were attracted to him but he'd never thought more of it than that. He missed the sound of your voice after a difficult day at work, on days like today.

“Well?” Karen prompted, breaking through his thoughts.

“I uh,” he began, pausing to clear his throat, “I guess I never really thought about her like that before. I've always avoided anything possibly serious, and I've always tried to keep her at a distance because she didn't know about Daredevil. So I never really gave it much thought. Especially since she'd always just been there before. But now that she's not…” Matt trailed off, aware of the strange and unfamiliar feeling growing in his chest. “I guess I miss her more than I think I even realized,” he finished softly.

“So wait, let me get this straight,” Foggy began, excitedly waving his hands in front of himself. “You're just now realizing that maybe you really do like her? Like for real? As more than just a good friend?”

A small smile slid across Matt's lips as he thought of the sound of your laughter and how he wished he could hear it tonight after the shit day he’d had. His hands dropped from his hips, that stupid smile growing a little at the thought of you. “I suppose I am,” he admitted.

Foggy pushed off the desk and crossed the few steps over towards Matt. Both of his hands flew forward, grabbing Matt's shoulders in a tight grip and lightly shaking him. Back by the desk, Karen tried to hide her laugh behind a hand.

“Then dammit, Murdock,” Foggy ordered, “Go tell her that!”

The smile grew wider on Matt's face, an idea forming in his mind already. If you weren't going to answer your phone, he'd find a way to make sure you couldn’t ignore him.

Straightening up your kitchen now that you'd finished with dinner, you paused what you were doing when you heard your phone alert you to a notification. Turning around, you picked it up from where it had been sitting on the counter, curious to what the notification was about.

Unlocking your phone, you noticed you'd received another message on the dating app you'd downloaded weeks ago. Leaning your back against the nearby counter, a smile drew itself across your lips. It was the first message you'd gotten this week and the sight immediately lifted your mood. The prospect of someone possibly being interested in you had your stomach excitedly jumping up into your chest.

You opened the message, beginning to excitedly read it over. Though the more you read, the faster your smile shifted into a frown. It was yet another sleazy sounding guy clearly trying to talk himself up in a way that sounded both fabricated and disrespectful. You cringed at the things he’d said about your photos–things he clearly thought were meant to be compliments but were vastly inappropriate and made you feel uncomfortable instead of flattered. Reaching the end of the brief message, you were shaking your head and closing out of the app before setting your phone back onto the counter with a roll of your eyes. It wasn't even worth your time responding back to the guy after a few of the things you'd read because he absolutely wasn't a match and you had no interest in ever meeting him.

With a sigh you made your way towards your fridge, your mind now focused on that unopened bottle of wine in there. It looked like you'd be having another night in with yourself tonight. But just as you'd opened the door to your fridge, your hand about to reach in and grab the bottle of red wine, there was a knock at your apartment door.

You paused, half-bent in front of your fridge as your eyebrows drew together in confusion at the interruption. Assuming it might’ve been Karen or Marci stopping by to go over something for wedding dress shopping which was planned for Saturday, you gradually stood back up and closed the fridge door. You figured that bottle of wine could wait a few more minutes.

Making your way out of your kitchen, you cut through your living room and over towards your door. Unlocking it, you pulled the door wide open without even glancing through the peephole first. Expecting to see either blonde woman standing there, you were stunned to instead find Matt standing in your hallway with a small smile on his lips.

Your heart lurched its way into your throat at the sight of him, your lips parting in surprise. Hand tightening around the handle of your door in a death grip, you fought your initial urge to just slam it in his face. What the hell was he doing here? Matt was the absolute last person you wanted to see standing at your door after your last interaction with him. It had been a few weeks since that nightmare of a night where you'd drunkenly kissed him and you still became insanely embarrassed at the memory of it. You certainly had no interest in talking to him about it further. You'd already apologized for just kissing him like you'd done, now all you wanted to do was never speak to him again. You figured he had to have gotten the hint already with how you’d been ignoring him.

So why was he suddenly at your apartment?

He said your name, that smile still on his mouth as he held up his right hand. Your face twisted into a look of confusion at the sight of a bouquet of beautiful flowers you hadn’t initially noticed he’d been holding.

“Can I take you to dinner this Sunday night?” he asked.

Teeth gritting down hard together, your eyes narrowed back at him as anger quickly ignited within your gut. You immediately remembered drunkenly confessing to him that you couldn’t remember the last time a guy had brought you flowers or asked you on a date. Now here he was doing both after he’d just very obviously and clearly rejected you. Did he think this was some way to break the ice between you both after what had happened? Some sort of way to turn everything into a joke?

“Do you think that's funny?” you asked sharply. “Making fun of me like this? As if I don’t feel like an absolute dumbass already, now you come here rubbing it in my face? You don’t like me like that, I got the message loud and clear already, Matthew. I don’t remotely find this funny.”

Matt's expression quickly morphed into one of shock and surprise at your reaction. He shook his head quickly, a crease forming between his dark brows.

“No, that’s–that’s not what I’m doing at all!” he exclaimed earnestly. “I guess I shouldn’t have led with that. Can I just come in and talk to you? Explain everything? Please?”

You were about to tell him no, wanting to hide your hurt, disappointment, and embarrassment behind a wall of anger instead of crying over Matt yet again, especially in front of him once more, but the solemn and desperate look on his face gave you pause. Matt and you had your jokes, but even this would’ve been a bit ridiculous for him to have planned out as a way to smooth things over between the pair of you after what had happened. He’d never seemed callous like that in the past. But the only other thing that would make sense was him actually coming here to ask you on a real date. Which also seemed equally absurd since almost seven weeks ago he’d already told you that you were just a friend.

“I swear if you let me explain, this will seem far less confusing,” he assured you. “Just–just give me five minutes?”

With an irritated sigh, you stepped away from the door. “Fine,” you relented. “Five minutes, Matt.”

An almost nervous smile spread across his lips as he made his way through the doorway and into your apartment. You closed the door behind him, your body a confusing mix of emotions that you were struggling to make sense of right now. You were upset about seeing him again after that embarrassing moment, your anger quickly giving way to discomfort. It didn't help that the tiniest spark of hope had reappeared in your chest at the prospect of him truly being here to ask you out on a date, but you immediately reminded yourself of what happened the last time you’d stupidly thought there was a chance Matt had feelings for you. You didn’t want to wind up misreading things with him a second time.

Turning back towards him, you were met with the bouquet of flowers in his extended hand. It was a stunning mixture of dahlias and greenery that couldn't have been cheap now that you were really looking at it.

“Dahlias are your favorite, if I’m not mistaken,” he said softly. “I remembered you mentioning that before at Josie’s when Marci had been talking about flowers for the wedding.”

Eyes darting up from the bouquet in his hands, they landed on his face. He still looked nervous and you weren’t entirely sure what to make of that. Matthew Murdock never outwardly got nervous. You also weren’t sure what to make of him remembering your favorite flower months after you’d brought it up around him just once.

Not knowing how to really respond, the confusing mix of emotions in your body only growing, you hesitantly reached a hand out and accepted the flowers. “Thank you,” you murmured.

In an attempt to keep your hands busy, and because you weren’t remotely interested in being the one to lead the conversation, you made your way back into your kitchen. You were aware of Matt following after you as you searched for the lone vase in one of your kitchen cabinets. Eventually you found it and began to fill it with water, impatient for Matt to say something as you kept your back to him.

“About that night,” Matt began cautiously, “when I’d invited you to stay over and you kissed me?”

Turning off the kitchen faucet, your eyelids slowly lowered. Your body tensed, bracing yourself for whatever was coming next. Keeping your back to him, you knew you couldn’t bear to look at him right now with whatever he was about to say. The jumbled, drunken memory of that evening came flooding back to you and you were immediately hit with a wave of embarrassment, tears stinging at your eyes behind closed lids. You remained silent though, waiting for him to continue.

“I hadn’t anticipated that, if I’m being honest,” he finally continued, still speaking in a measured tone. “My intention had been to make sure you made it somewhere safe that evening because I knew you’d drank a bit more than usual. I couldn’t stand the thought of you walking home alone drunk at night in the rain. So I’m sorry if I was giving off signals to you that were other than that at the time because they weren’t intentional.” He paused, clearing his throat lightly. “And it–it wasn’t exactly until this afternoon that I realized maybe some of them were subconscious because I hadn’t quite realized what I actually felt until today.”

Your hands tightened around both the vase and the bouquet of flowers as you held your breath. That flicker of hope had grown just marginally in your chest without your permission, and now it was teetering on the edge of growing larger or diminishing itself entirely. You felt like you couldn’t take another breath as you waited for him to clarify what he meant.

“It’s been weeks since we’ve talked,” Matt said, pain in his voice. “Weeks since you’ve come to Josie’s or stopped by the office. Or answered one of my phone calls. And everyday has just felt off because of it. Because I miss you. And I thought for the longest time it was just because I was missing one of my best friends, but then Karen and Foggy apparently caught onto something that I hadn’t even noticed in myself.”

With shaking hands, you opened your eyes and slipped the bouquet of flowers into the filled vase. Nervously you turned around, reaching your hand out to set them onto the counter next to you before your gaze finally landed back on Matt. He was standing at the other end of your small kitchen now, and it was almost as if he knew your eyes were on him as a gentle smile began pulling up the corners of his lips.

“If we’re being honest,” Matt confessed, “I’ve always tried to avoid relationships. I haven’t had the best of luck with them, and well, there are things someone actually dating me would need to be made aware of–something I generally don’t open up about. But I think I’d be ready to discuss that with you after dinner Sunday night if you’d let me take you out.”

He paused, shifting his weight back and forth on his feet as he gripped his cane tighter between both of his hands. Briefly you wondered what things he meant, but he was speaking again before you’d had long to contemplate that comment.

“The truth is, I didn’t truly realize what you meant to me until you were no longer a constant in my life,” Matt admitted. “And I can’t stand not having you around. Not just because you’re my friend, but because I have feelings for you, too. Feelings that are more than friendly that I’d like to explore further if you’d still be willing to as well.”

Heart skipping a beat entirely in your chest, you exhaled a quivering breath at the admission. Matt liked you. You . He’d really come here to bring you flowers and to ask you on a date, not to mock you or make light of your currently sad and lacking situation of a love life. You heard him let out a nervous laugh as your mind continued to race at everything he was saying.

“I uh, really wish you’d say absolutely anything right now,” he continued, “because your silence is scaring the hell out of me. I can’t tell if you’re still mad or just trying to process everything.”

Swallowing hard, you tried to find the words to express how you were feeling. You could barely understand your own mind right now after he’d dropped all that on you. You'd gone so long never believing he'd be interested in you like that, and then after what had happened weeks ago when he'd blatantly rejected you, you really figured you'd never be anything more to him. But now here he was telling you the opposite and you could hardly believe it.

“I’m still sort of processing,” you replied, voice just above a whisper. “I wasn’t exactly expecting to hear you ever say any of that. Certainly hadn’t been expecting to hear any of this tonight.”

A sheepish smile tugged at his lips just before he hung his head, nodding lightly. “Yeah, it sort of surprised me earlier, too,” he told you. “I’m shocked I wasn’t quite as aware of my own feelings as Karen and Foggy seemed to be, but uh…that probably has a little something to do with some other things going on in my life.”

Chewing your lip nervously, you continued to take in the sight of him standing across from you in your kitchen. He was still dressed in his dress clothes from work, clearly having finished late and having come straight here to see you afterwards. The nerves in your stomach gradually intensified as you took in the smile on his handsome face that you could somewhat make out despite the way he’d ducked his head. Seconds later his covered gaze rose up, falling back on you. You only gnawed on your bottom lip faster, something electric feeling like it was sparking between you both in the small space all the sudden. A feeling that hadn’t been there seconds ago.

“So I suppose now I’m curious to know if you’d let me take you to dinner Sunday night, since I know you’ve got plans for Saturday?” Matt asked hopefully. “Would that…be something you’d like?”

“Yes,” you whispered, nodding immediately.

Matt took a few steps forward, the smile that had been lighting up his face growing warmer. His hands reached up, removing the glasses from his face before he slipped them into the inside pocket of his suit coat as he continued to make his way towards you. You leaned further back into the counter behind you, your hands landing on either side of the countertop as you tried to steady yourself. You weren’t entirely sure what he was doing, but there was a glint in his eye that had your breath coming in sharper than usual.

“And in that case,” Matt continued, his voice dropping a few octaves to something sultry and soft, the sound increasing your pulse as he continued to close the gap between you both, “would it be alright if we had a redo of our first kiss? This time with both of us sober and actually anticipating it?”

Breath still coming in shallow, it was difficult for your brain to send the signal to your mouth to actually formulate a sentence. You’d managed a quiet noise in response as he came to a stop just in front of you, his body mere inches from yours as he set his cane to the side. You could practically feel something sparking between the pair of you as he just stood there, his eyes focused along your chin. His head tilted to the side as if in silent question when you hadn’t given him a verbal confirmation.

“I–yes,” you finally answered.

He leaned in, moving so painfully slow as he came to rest his forehead against yours. His hand was suddenly on your neck, delicately gliding his fingertips upwards until the palm of his hand cupped your cheek, cradling it in his warm hand. His thumb rested just beneath your jaw, somehow knowingly tilting your mouth up further towards his at just the right angle. You felt lightheaded beneath his touch and the close proximity, your body involuntarily sinking forward into his when the tip of his nose just barely brushed against yours.

Matt shifted just the slightest bit before you felt his lips finally land on yours. Your eyelids immediately fluttered shut, a faint sigh sneaking out of your throat at how soft his lips were–softer than you recalled them. With the way he carefully began to move them against yours, you felt your knees going weak. Hands releasing the grip you had on the countertop, they darted forward and grabbed fistfuls of his dress shirt, just beneath his suit coat.

As you held onto him like a lifeline, his mouth pressed more firmly against yours. Fingers curling into his dress shirt, you pulled him roughly into your body. He stumbled forward into you, a rumbling growl coming from his chest in response. The delicious weight of him against the front of you only pressed you farther into the counter behind you as his other hand landed on your hip, gripping it tight.

It wasn't until a few minutes later that Matt gently broke away, his own breath heavy as he rested his forehead back to yours. Your tongue darted out, licking your damp lips as you tried to catch your breath. You could still taste him on you, the realization causing you to actively have to stop yourself from leaning forward and kissing him again.

“Well there's–there's certainly something there,” Matt said with a breathy laugh. “But uh, maybe we should leave things there until after Sunday night?”

You nodded, though it was hard to fully agree when his hips were still pressing you back into your kitchen counter and his mouth was mere inches from yours. Especially knowing how damn good of a kisser he was now, you wondered what else he did well.

“Right,” you breathed out.

He shifted against you, burying his face against the crook of your neck as he wrapped his arms around you. You couldn't fight the smile on your face at how he clearly didn't want to pull away from you, instead getting closer to you. You'd never seen him this affectionate with anyone else before.

“I missed you,” he murmured against your neck.

Tentatively your hands released their grip on his shirt, your own arms snaking their way around his waist and drawing him closer. You came to rest your forehead against his shoulder, eyes closing as you relaxed into him.

“I missed you, too,” you admitted. “And I'm sorry for getting drunk and kissing you like an idiot and then ignoring you for weeks.”

“Well, I admit it wasn't great being ignored by you,” he said, his lips tickling you as he spoke. “But at the same time, if you hadn't done either of those, I might never have realized how I felt about the woman who'd always been right in front of me the whole time.”

Your smile grew, your arms holding him a bit tighter. “I suppose that makes me feel a little less embarrassed, then.”

Matt nuzzled his face further into your neck, the bit of stubble on his cheeks pleasantly tickling you. You couldn't fight the giggle that slipped out of you in response. Seconds later you swore you felt his mouth pulling into a smile against your skin.

“So Sunday night,” Matt began slowly, “if I show up with flowers for you again, you're not going to yell at me, are you?”

You couldn’t resist the laugh that fell out of you. Burying your face further against his shoulder in slight embarrassment, you replied, “No, I'm definitely not going to yell at you for bringing me flowers again.”

“Good,” he said, amusement in his tone. “Because that was admittedly a terrifying experience.”

The pair of you fell into a fit of laughter in your kitchen, arms still wrapped around each other as you did. As the pleasant sound filled your apartment, the pair of you holding onto each other tightly like neither wanted to be the first to let the other go, you couldn't help but think about what a turn everything had taken all because you'd drunkenly misread a situation and kissed your friend.

#matt murdock x reader #matt murdock angst #matt murdock fluff #matt murdock x you #daredevil

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redsheeppublishing · 7 months ago

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still, we fiend for submissions to the zine 𓁹‿𓁹

The actual desks our editors are waiting at to review your wonderful submissions 𓁹‿𓁹 the weirder the better

#still we wait for you #we long to read cool stories #and look at cool art #and put it into our magazine #we fiend for the zine #zine promo #artists on tumblr #comics #writeblr #writers on tumblr #submissions #red sheep #zine #poetry

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wroteclassicaly · 2 years ago

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No one really prepared you for it. They’d told you, sure, but you were always scared, always afraid you’d do something wrong to hurt him, that it would be painful for you, that he wouldn’t be attracted to you after it was over, that things would smell that shouldn’t. Should you do this, should you do that? A plethora of reasons came with why you had remained a virgin until you were in your 20’s.

And then you had sex with Eddie Munson…

He admires your stamina, your newly accumulated energy. How you went from this shy girl with tears in her eyes the first time he pressed into your cunt and nearly blew his load then and there, to the girl that insisted on having her mouth, hand, or pussy around his cock a majority of the time. You weren’t scared any longer, but hungry, fucking starved for it after you had a taste. Sex is amazing, and Eddie Munson is your dedicated god to worship.

That smart ass mouth, those talented fingers. If you weren’t touching yourself thinking about them, you were begging him, teasing him for them. It didn’t matter where you were, either. Eddie had through his magazines and interest within their centerfold contents made him the freak, but you were into anything. Even camping with your friends didn’t stop you.

As soon as the tent was up, the rain shrouded everyone’s activities for the better part of the evening, you were shoving Eddie into the wind-whipped material and closing it with a hasty ease, not even bothering with its unclosed flaps. You had shoved his shirt up, pulled on his chain, helped him assist in getting his pants below his ass, and your panties were pulled to the side as you rode him with focussed vigor.

“Love this, Eds. You always feel so good.”

You babble when you’re gone. Eddie is arching, trying not to be your little puppet, but with your warm and wet pussy bouncing on him, your cream pouring out around your opening and soaking his bush — he whines. “Jesus Christ, baby. You’re such a little sex fiend now.”

“Oh?” You roll your hips into a more agonizingly slow set of movements. It’s enough for Eddie to hear the summer storm, the culprit of this ruined camp day (fuck, this is a better end result), and the smell of the fragrant scent of those white flowers on the tall trees and their overhanging branches, seeping into the tent’s expanse.

You lean down and he eagerly accepts a kiss from your swollen mouth, cupping your cheek to take another. Your nose nudges his own as you finish your sentence. “Since I’m such a fiend, guess who isn’t getting to cum?”

You really fucking love sex now. Especially with Eddie Munson.

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dev1lm4n · 1 year ago

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sinful reunion

masterlist | ko-fi (help me survive college :/)

pairing: engaged!joel miller x f!reader

summary: frustrated with how things were, you left joel and jackson for a whole year. today, you decide to give him a little visit and figure out that he's indeed engaged! joel trapped you in his bathroom to make you feel better

word count: 5k

warnings: explicit (18+), extreme dubcon, mean joel miller, fingering, infidelity, again.. joel miller is a mean, mean man.

note: do COMMENT and REBLOG if you enjoyed this :) i'm so exhausted from college i'm literally gonna pass out after i post this

Spring flew swiftly by, and summer came; and if the quaint city had been beautiful at first, it was now in the full glow and luxuriance of its richness. The great trees, which you remembered looking shrunken and bare when you left, had now burst into strong life and health. Branches doubled in length and girth, mantle of bright green draped over deep browns. Masses of white flowers brought memories of the late winter. A bubbling cloud of hot steam evaporated off your exposed forearm. The rolled sleeves settling right above your elbow was damp with sweat, same thing goes for below your arms and between your thighs. You sighed. The folded porno magazine you’ve been using as a shield above your forehead didn’t help much after all.

If it’s not for that old, obscene, grouch of a man, you wouldn’t have returned in the height of summer.

Things hadn’t changed much.

People are still as hopeful as ever. Their eyes shone with a renewed brightness, as if a full stomach and a roof over their head was simply enough to keep them satiated. They still bake apple pies, shovel their walkways, go to work (even if it's not to the infamous Wall Street), return home and share a familiar tequila with a friend or fiend. People are still people. And the pretend normalcy drove you insane. It’s confining and overall suffocating.

Being safe ailed you. You couldn’t be that lady in old commercials. Plaid apron over her chest, sandwiches on the table, husband and kid smiling at her happily. You couldn’t kiss your husband goodbye or craft lunch boxes for your kid. You couldn’t live if it wasn’t on the edge of death.

You tried. For Joel, you swore you’d try.

It’s been a full year since you fled. Maxine, your dear horse being the only witness to your escape. That and the night guard you threatened with a shotgun, an unloaded one you’d argue, but it’d still have you in big trouble if it was reported. With a few old friends or two, you managed to slip back in discreetly. You disguised yourself as a patrol unit. Practical jeans, some stitches torn apart from prolonged use, and a khaki button up. Boots that’s dipped in dust and dirt tight around your calves, a bold contrast to the neat wooden boards underneath. Your eyes landed on the welcome mat in front of his door. A shrilling memory invaded your head‒ how you picked it out for him, all smiles and giggles at the corny line printed atop.

You stepped on the mat, mocking it by grinding your dirty heel atop.

Then you knocked. Precisely three times.

Maybe you shouldn’t have come. It was shameless of you to return. Cruel, even.. disgusting for you to abandon someone who’s clearly dependent on you.

He lived for you. Every morning he made sure to wake you up with a gentle kiss on your lips, or your clit if he’s being kind. Every night he’d always tell you how much you meant to him, never an I love you, but always in the lines of dangerous situations and how he’d save you from it. You made a promise to stay. A promise to accept a ring around your pretty fingers when the time comes; doesn’t have to be shiny, you said, anything will do. But then you left. While he was out, keeping the city safe from any potential threats, you buckled up and tugged on your horse’s reins. Maybe you shouldn’t have come. Maybe you should just-

You jolted, even stumbled backwards when the large door swung open in one grand movement.

In panic, your eyes oscillated. His eyes were the same shade of brown you remembered him by, though this time it was much rounder, as if he’s truly surprised. Then it came to meet his hooked nose, the one you’d poke everytime you’re laid side by side post-coitus,. And his cracked lips, oh how you remembered kissing them better.

Joel Miller hadn’t changed one bit. It freaked you out, how he looked the same as he did when he practically proposed to you or when you promised to still love him even when he’s no longer young and strong. Your breath quickened. Your heart froze, cold sweat dribbled down your temple even when the air’s hot and balmy. You clutched onto the rolled magazine. The salacious pages of nude girls in cowboy hats creased at the strength of your bare hands. Is he going to say something? Anything? You’d rather have him furious than silent.

“Who is it, honey?”

The air thinned.

“The turkey’s cooked, but it’s kinda burnt.” The voice giggled. “Oh, who is this?”

You counted to ten to ground yourself.

One.. Two..

“Just.. just an old friend,” he muttered.

There was a girl. A pretty one at that, standing on her tippy toes as she attempted to look past Joel’s broad frame to observe you. Her tanned skin glowed like a newly polished silverware under the summer sun. A cascade of glossy, ebony hair framed her round face, falling in gentle waves which closely resembled swaying palm trees in coastal beaches. You noticed that it was adorned with delicate, ornate hairpins as well. One of flowers and the other of a classic shape. Was it from him? He used to do that for you, picking up small items to gift like a bird in need of mating. The thin gold strap around your neck was from him, a gift from when the two of you were still operating high-risk jobs around Boston. A proof that you’re mine, he spoke that time.

Joel made the conscious decision to move to the side. Now you could see her more. How she’s cladded in a loose shirt with short sleeves rolled to her shoulders, how her shorts fit perfectly around her smooth thighs, how her supple breasts spilled out of the neckline. In any way you’d think of it, she was the better option. A masterpiece in the Louvre museum, a best-selling New York Times book. She’d be a model if the world wasn’t infested with flesh-eating nuisance. Your head lowered (you’re staring too much!), opting to scrutinize the details of your boots’ mud yellow strings.

This was a bad decision. You shouldn’t have come. If only you weren’t curious of whether he’d get on his knees and beg for you to stay. If only you weren’t curious of whether he’d embrace you back in his large arms. If he’d fuck you ‘til your little brain stop working.

“Well then, what are you waiting for?” The feminine voice spoke up. “Invite your friend in, Joel.”

“No- haha, no it’s alright,” you panicked.

“No,” she reached for your hand. The free one, not the one with the porn magazine. “Com’on. I cooked a big dinner tonight! The more, the merrier.”

“I really shouldn’t,” you tried to convince her.

Her soft, greasy hands ‒ probably from stuffing the turkey she’s claimed to make ‒ led you through the entrance despite your many reasons. You found it a little funny that you still memorized the layout of Joel’s house like the back of your hand, like an old corny song you couldn’t quite get out of your head. The dining room was to the left, you remembered. It was just as you left it. An old, dull rectangular table sat in the middle. It used to be only filled with bread and fruits you pick up from the market. Sometimes you’re diligent enough to create a sweet jam, but there was never a fresh meal on the table. There’s no time for that. He would often times heat up a can of Chef Boyardee when you’re sick, or when he’s ruined your little hole so much that you’re pretty much bedridden, but that’s about it/

“Your name is?” you questioned, eyes still roaming around the room.

“Summer and yours?”

You mentioned your name half-mindedly as you sat down on one of the creaky chairs. You opted for the one on the left, your favorite one as it always gave you a five-star view of the lovely trees beyond. The room was much cleaner, curtains drawn and ceilings dusted. You’d even bet money that ‘Summer’ had also dusted all the compartments of the chandelier, wiped each and every window panel, and vacuumed the rotten patterned carpet underneath. The rounds of your pupils settled back on the sight unfolding ahead of you; how the Joel Miller, the same person who needed an entire year or two to be comfortable in expressing his feelings to you, led his new lover by the waist. He then proceeded to pull her chair back to aid her, a gentle smile on his face at all times.

He changed.

He looked exactly the same, but there was just.. something off about him. Was he a doppelganger by chance? Joel Miller is never warm. He’s naturally a tough lover. Reluctant, even mean at times, but right now he’s acting like the picture-perfect husband. A righteous man, which you knew he ain’t.

“So where’d y’all know each other from?”

Her lovely, cheery voice pulled you out of your dazed state. You raised your head slightly to flash a small smile her way. The chair creaked once more at Joel’s weight as he settled on your right, heavy frame and all extremely obvious from the corner of your eyes. A man, his lover, and his sort-of-ex having dinner in the late afternoon of a warm summer day‒ how ironic! You couldn’t even look at him, because sparing him a glance meant that you had to look at those manipulative eyes of his. Those browns that could impose a certain feeling deep in your chest, whether hatred, fear, or something close to love.

“Work,” he spoke up, “used to deliver packets.”

Half the truth. Packets? Sure, but not ordinary ones.

“Mhm. We arrived at Jackson together.”

As lovers, you’d like to add.

“Long time friends then?” Summer beamed a sweet smile your way.

Guilt pooled in your stomach almost instantly.

“Yup.”

“Oh well, me and Joel met last Winter. He’s fond of the horses and I work at the stables so things worked out,” she mentioned dreamily, “the winter festival’s our first date.”

An eerie tension stood between you and him. It was thick, as thick as blood and as nasty as pus on a wound left unattended.

He stood up after a moment or two to help slice open the thick turkey and only then did you dare to look at him. To ogle at his large forearms that’s tightly gift-wrapped in a thin breathable shirt, to dig deep into where his veins start and where it ends, to finally relish in the sight of his thick, bushy hair. It’s been awhile. A long time actually since you get to properly look at a man. You continued to watch as he sliced a chunk and placed it right on top of your empty plate, the knife he’s holding reflecting his tight-lipped smile your way. The winter festival’s supposed to be your thing. The two of you’s thing, where you’d gift each other a surprise and smoke a blunt or two and maybe fuck, but you left.

“That’s nice,” you replied, albeit a little dry.

“He’s a nice man,” Summer chimed in. “Kind, caring, a true Southern gentleman that is.”

You could argue on that.

“Is he now?”

“True thing that is. Swear on my life,” she continued. “Must be nice having him as a friend.”

“Well, don’t toot my horn too much, darlin’.”

There it was. That masculine drawl. That voice that’d have you begging on your knees if he asked you to. You’d commit the greatest crime‒ no, you’ve commit notable crimes just to have him stay right by your side. Just to have him acknowledge what you’re capable of, so he’d take you under his wings in the depth of Boston’s trenches, because protection from him meant a good life. Maybe that’s all you’ll ever be to him, a little bird to protect. And maybe that’s all he’ll ever be to you, a protector in times of need.

“It’s a little warm here in Jackson,” you chuckled. “A cold beer might help a lot.”

“Oh sorry, honey, we don’t drink alcohol ‘round here.” She sounded apologetic, but you swore her almond eyes were judging you for a second.

“You don’t?”

“Nope,” Summer leaned her head to the side. “Been going to church these days. Pastor said it’s better to pray than indulge in past addictions. Ain’t that right, Joel?”

“That’s right, honey,”

Joel Miller is a church-goer now? For the first time in forever, you had the courage to look him in the eye. He was looking right back at you when you looked, though he had one of those expressions you couldn’t quite decipher. His tired eyes were hooded, enough that the top and bottom curve of his dark pupils are nowhere to be seen, along with a much obvious glint of mischief. It was either morbid curiosity, rooted hatred, or desires of past addictions as Summer puts it. The strands on your brow bone twitched ever so slightly, as if in pure disbelief that a man like him would kneel for a God. It’s not that sinners couldn’t repent. It’s him that you knew could never change. You took a bite out of the supple meat, never leaving his eyes as you do so. Maybe.. just maybe he’d crack under pressure.

“You go to church too?” Summer questioned, mouth full of boiled asparagus.

“No, not really.” You chuckled awkwardly. “There’s not a lot of churches out in the wild.”

“Ah, that’s right,” she hummed. “Why don’t you go to church with us this Sunday? A lot of fun y'know.”

You plastered on a smile, before briefly scooping some of the stringy meat up your mouth.

“I’ll consider it.”

Joel was the first one to snip the ungodly attraction‒ his eyes torn away to meet Summer’s much brighter gaze. Your gut tightened, gag reflex emphasized even more at the sight. Joel Miller was yours, that’s all you could remember despite the extent you took to avoid him, and having him give his precious attention to someone other than you brought a sense of disdain. He shouldn’t be doing this. He shouldn't land his eyes on anyone other than you, weren’t you the best thing he ever had? It took awhile to school your expression to a level of believable nonchalance. You found the vintage canvas hung atop of the fireplace a great help in distracting yourself. It’s easy to get lost in every stroke, every clash of colors, instead of the green man squeezing himself between your heart chambers.

“Oh, when did you-” you paused mid sentence.

A ring.

“Ah.”

Your vision blurred, splotches of red and blue tearing at the edges.

“Engaged, huh?”

A solitary engagement ring encircled her long finger, miraculously preserved by time’s embrace. A relic at times like these. You watched as it glimmered under the orange hues, jaw propped up on your palm to stop it from gaping. A small, radiant stone set in tarnished silver‒ the object mocked you silently, a red flag in front of an agitated bull, it’s purposefully making you reel into the depth of your hatred. Where the you one year ago rested in peace, where the you you’ve been trying to erase off the planet’s surface hibernated, and everything’s starting to resurface all at once. The need. The desperation. The desire to be wanted by something.. someone you couldn’t acquire entirely. You laughed. A dry one at that. Might even sound condescending if it were a tad bit shorter.

He fucking proposed to her.

Of course he did.

Of course he had to change his ways after you.

You don’t deserve being treated right. She does.

“Oh, you noticed,” she giggled, the noise shrill in your ears. “Just last month actually. We were having dinner and I-”

“Sorry, I..”

You were suffocating, chest inflated twice the size.

“Feel a little sick. Gonna go to..” you held your hand over your lips, genuinely feeling like emptying your entire stomach. “To the bathroom.”

You stared at your own reflection, pitiful, glazed with a layer of disappointment and grief. The vision you had for this visit slowly crumbled. Every unfulfilled dream, every missed opportunity, and every question left unanswered converged into a heartache‒ dull yet throbbing, coursing through every inch of your skin and crawling much deeper. The laughter and conversations you had with him seemed so.. distant, as if they were mere echoes of what once existed a million lightyears ago. You held yourself, worn down fingers clinging on your forearms, nails digging down onto the warm skin underneath. What were you expecting? For him to mourn your exit for the rest of his life? Perhaps. Joel Miller was great at making you feel like shit, but today takes the cake.

Leaving was the only thing on your mind and so you gripped the rusty door handle. A quick exit, you knew you were good at that. Though instead of a brightly lighted hallway, your chest collided with a tough chest wrapped in a flannel shirt. A sandalwood, musky flannel shirt you might add and all those plans you had in mind dwindled down like a damp paper airplane. Plan A, B, and C were quickly crossed out on the chalkboard. Frozen, your lips trembled in fear. You stumbled backwards. Boots thudding against the old tiles, you’re afraid. Chest inflated with fear, you’re terrified!

“Move, Joel.”

Silence.

“Fucking move. Get out of my way.”

You threw quick, meaningless punches on the broad of his chest. It did nothing but made him get bolder with his actions. He took a step back, which you’re grateful for, but not when you realize that it was to lean back against the bathroom’s door. You’ve come a long way from how meek and helpless you were in the QZ, managing to survive the scary outside world for a whole year and keeping all your limbs attached, but you knew that you’d never manage to budge his weight. He was heavy. Used to be a massive ball of muscles, though now slightly worn down by his age. Joel threw you a look. A dirty, demeaning one that’s always been reserved for you. Only you.

“Fuckin' hell are you deaf?”

You bubbled up.

“Fuck you and your little play house. Going to church? Should repent the many souls you took yourself,” you seethed. “You’re just a big asshole on legs y’know that? Now fuck off. It’s a fucking mistake coming to see you.”

You stormed his way. Big mistake. He took you by the shoulder. Rough fingers dug deep into where your bone sits, his knee quick to slot itself between your legs. He was quick to switch the dynamic, to be the offensive one instead as he had you pinned on the wall. The frail wooden bathroom door creaked at the contact, its hinges banging against one another. You looked like one of those dead butterfly displays, spread out forcefully to show your entire potential. Was he going to murder you? Was he going to bang your head against the mirror and leave you there to bleed? He looked like it. With those blown out pupils, you're not even sure if he’s going to keep you alive or dead. If he's going to finally end your misery at last.

“You’re gonna kill me?” You tried to shove his chest back, but it’s no use. “Gonna choke me to death?”

“No!” The grip he had on your shoulder never once loosened, even at your viscous accusations. “You really think I’d kill you?”

“I don’t know.” Your eyebrows sunken in sorrow.

“You don’t know?””

“You’re not the man I once knew, Joel.”

“I’m-”

“I don’t know you anymore! You’re not the same.” Your feet tried to tackle his legs, a move he taught, but he stayed unbudged. “You’re kind, attentive.. you’re there, Joel. You’re present in time. You’re never present with me.”

“That’s not true.”

“Oh fuck off, Joel. You’re not gonna gaslight me.”

That had him briefly loosening the grip around your shoulders. You were quickly met with his cold finger tips, grazing the soft skin of your cheeks, only to settle on your cracked, bloody bottom lip. In a haze, you’re unprepared for the hand slithering its way onto your throat. It squeezed tight enough to impede your airway for a brief second or two, only to loosened when your eyes grew teary. You gasped for air immediately.

“You left!”

“You proposed to her!”

His expression toughened. The Joel Miller you knew was back. The cruel one with tendencies to abandon, to be hollow of true meaningful feelings, and he was inching closer. His soft scruff brushed against the tip of your ears. Warm puffs of air made you turn your head to the side, avoiding his serpent-like hold. He's quick to guide you by your jaw when you start straying off.

“Didn’t know if you’re alive or dead.”

“Oh I bet you’d be enthralled if I were dead,” you chuckled humorlessly. “You hated me, Joel.”

“I was worried,” he continued, ignoring your comments entirely.

He placed a gentle kiss on your temple, slow and steady as if you’d vanish into dust once more if he was too rough, and proceeded to smother sloppy kisses down your cheek and onto your neck. It glided like warm butter or sunscreen on a beach day. Joel never forgot the way in which you enjoyed getting those sweet spots below your jaw sucked, a mark to show his claim over you, to show his ownership even if you had to drape a shawl over it every time you had to shop for groceries or go on patrols. You weren’t as pretty and prim today though. You were untamed, always attempting to pull yourself away from him, to avoid his rough fingers and needle-like beard.

“Went on a search team every day for a whole month,” he hummed. “What if my sweetheart’s bleeding out in the midst of winter? Low visibility and endless snowstorms. What if you’re shot dead or worse, turned into one of those creatures?”

“But you’re a smart little minx, ain’t ya?” he huffed, his fingers gentle as it slowly popped the buttons to your shirt. His musky scent infiltrated your head. You’re drunk on him. “Threw a tantrum so big you disappeared on me.”

“No, Joel, we- we can’t,” you forced those words out, even when your soft breasts were spilled out of your chest. Those sensitive peaks were already stiff, you’d lie and say it’s simply because of the cold, but there’s no such thing. “Can’t- you’re en- engaged..”

He toyed with your nipples, squeezing and tugging on the right one before giving the same attention to the left. His eyes were dark, pupils dilated as he swirled around the sensitive skin with his coarse fingers. Your breath hitched and your chest spasmed. Every inch of morality left your headspace at the twinge of pleasure, your knees grew weak and he had to prop you up against his strong shoulders to aid you.

“You’re cheatin- oh fuck..”

“I am, huh?” he chuckled lowly. “You don’t want this then? Want me to leave?”

“No! No, please please,” you begged as his fingers carefully began to undo the stiff belt around your waist. He tugged on your zippers, tortuously, slowly unraveling the pretty skin he’s been missing so goddamn much. “I need you..”

“Needy minx,” he insulted teasingly. “Shameless, aren’t ya? Didn’t ya just say ya hate me?”

You whimpered. This shouldn’t be happening. This wasn’t in any of the plans you’ve concocted, it was just pure desire. He felt sinfully good. So warm and firm against your body, so strong and dependable. His shoulder proved to be the perfect place to bury your head into, muffling out the noises you’re prone to make when he shoved his entire palm down your panties. Joel Miller didn’t tolerate the misdemeanor. The hand he had around your neck tightened ever so slightly, before he abruptly pushed you back onto the wooden door. The hard material thudded against your back, resulting in a soft, breathless whine for more. He might be a mean, mean man for afflicting such things, but you’re even more insane for tolerating it.

“Ah, look at you,” he hummed, fingers tapping slow beats onto the hood of your clitoris. “No one fucked you good enough out there.”

You shook your head no. Annoyed, Joel slid his index and middle finger down onto your slit. He cumulated the slickness gathered around your pathetic little hole, before he slid it back up to tease. Up and down. Up and down. Then a full circle. The motion left you breathless, thighs bucking up against his hand, but he’d give you a light slap on the thigh if that happens.

“Oh.. you haven’t fucked anyone else out there?” he cocked his head arrogantly. “Dunno if I can believe a pretty girl like you. After all..”

He had the audacity to slip his finger in. A whole knuckle down your entrance, which is much more than you anticipated. Almost instantly, a sticky clear substance started dribbling out, gushing all around the foreign object infiltrating your cunt. It’s been so long, far too long that you kept yourself untouched. You could basically be categorized as a virgin again at this point. It wasn’t a deliberate decision, it’s just that no one turned you on this much. No one could shove their fingers inside you without getting their head blown off. No one but him.

“You’re not the girl I once knew.”

He turned your little insults right back at you. A single tear dribbled down your warm cheeks, hot and invasive, your fragile heart torn into two and stomped on the ground. Joel retaliated by pressing his lips right onto yours. Starting out soft and smooth, gentle and reverent, as if it was his way of apologizing and professing his undying love for you, but then it grew rougher and unrecognizable. A clash of teeth, a vicious fight for dominance. You had to put up a little fight, show him the kind of girl you’ve turned into, but when he eased a second finger down the tight rings of your cunt, it’s all over. You squirmed, desperately grinding down against his rough palm.

“Fuck me!”

“What was that?”

“Fuck me, Jo-”

A knock.

Your eyes blew wide open. The soft fluorescent lights flickered above, casting an eerie shadow that danced across Joel’s expression. You let out a soft whimper, eyes pressed into a crescent shape as you felt the need to cry out of fear and guilt, a sobering shot that made you realize how wrong this was. How disgusting this is. Immoral. Even when he was still three knuckles deep inside your pussy, even when you knew you couldn’t push him away. Your knuckles grew white as it clung onto the fabric of his flannel. He didn’t pay any mind to the interruption, instead, he continued to thrust his dripping fingers in, reaching around to find that squishy spot of yours. The one that’d send stars onto your vision.

“Are you okay in there? I didn’t know why you got sick..”

The muffled voice strengthened the guess you had in your head. It’s Summer, the girl with the engagement band around her fingers, the girl who’s supposed to have his two fingers deep inside her cunt. Your heart raced like a wild stallion, thunderous beats resonating in your ears. A small moan barged its way out your lips when he pressed on your clit once more with his thumb, he quickly guided your jaw back to face him with his free hand. Joel’s expression hardened, brows furrowed and lips pressed into a tight-line, then his mouth contorted into shapes. A wordless order to stay quiet and respond accordingly. You nodded, bottom lip slotted between your teeths.

“Was it the turkey I cooked? Oh god.. it’s my first time cookin’ in. I didn’t know that it’d be terrible. I’m so sorry, do you need some help in there? I can-”

“No.. oh! No.. no.. I’m fi- aaagh- fine.”

Your eyes darted around the small space, looking for any means to escape, but the solitary window was far too small to be of any use. Panic had seized you, but Joel’s fingers brought you back where he needed you to be. On the edge of an orgasm that you knew was going to melt your brain and make you go dumb.

“Really? You don’t sound too good.. I could maybe cook you up a remedy.. Oh, or we can go to the infirmary together? Just I don’t-”

“No.. ooh. Summer, I’m- shit- Summer, I’m fine.”

“Oh.. okay then. I’ll be waiting outside. Um, do you maybe know where Joel is? Kinda wanna see if he has some meds for you.”

Tears welled up in your eyes, blurring your vision as you tried to navigate your way to release. The thumb he had on your clitoris started rubbing faster, tighter circles, leaving you on the very edge of a dangerous cliff.

“Dunno- oh fuck.”

He’s in there with you for fucks sake. Her fiancé’s here fingerfucking you!

“Gonna cum,” you muttered out a little too loud.

“What was that?”

“Gonna.. mmph.. Gonna come out so- sooghn.”

Your knees buckled, for once he allowed it, and you buried your face onto the crook of his neck. His fingers continued to thrust in the perfect rhythm, fucking back in the arousal that’s slowly dripping down. You weren’t shy in grinding back down onto his palm, neither were you shy when you came all over his fingers, the remnants left in an embarrassing pool down your trousers. His thumb tickled your clitoris, making sure the sensitive nub deserved all the pleasure it could get as he watched you crumble. Everything was just how you remembered it. Sinful, warm, and helpless.

“Okay.. I’ll go look for Joel in the backyard shed!”

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