the-devils-angel

[the-devils-angel]

No matter what a post on tumblr tries to tell you, your moral and ethical stances will never be determined by what you reblog and what you scroll past. Don’t let manipulation tactics force you into doing anything you don’t want to do.

[the-devils-angel]

I love this so much🥹 Priest Matt is always fantastic😌

“this is our ungodly hour” - the fray

priest!matt murdock x reader

summary: with no place to go, matthew shows up at your apartment after being excommunicated due to your rendezvous

wc: 1.0k

just some angst.

The candles you burn don’t make a calming atmosphere, like the magazine sitting on your coffee table said it would. Its scented flames simply remind the man, the ex-priest, sitting on your couch of home, the church. The incense burned inside the holy walls, just as his lust for you burned within him. 

He tells you it’s not your fault; that he was bound to succumb to sin the second he heard your sweet voice, and that you introducing yourself merely sealed his fate, not wrote it. 

You’ve never been all that religious, but in this moment you’re praying to have a God you don’t believe in to smite you down instead of having to keep staring at his sad face, adorned with puppy dog eyes. The small cardboard box sits beside him, a reminder of the vow of poverty he took years ago. A few pieces of clothing, a braille bible, and the red lenses he abandoned since he knocked on your door.

Your relationship was more than a fling, there was love there. You were sure of it. Either that or you convinced yourself of it to make his ex-communication seem ‘worth it’. Even if it seemed like a fling - the secret meetings, the absence of labels; you felt more like two teenagers in the midst of their first love. The love you made was full of experience and skill, yet whenever he gave you that boyish grin, his hair mussed and messy, he appeared younger than ever.

Right now, his hair is in disarray from the countless times he’s ran his hand through it, and it brings you back to the nights of your rendezvous. Although, right now, in the dim candlelight, he seems aged. Or really, more his actual age. Shadows dance on his stubble, his eyes shouldering bags heavier than stones. 

“It’s not your fault.” He repeats to you, like a prayer. He seems sure of it. You still blame yourself for not resisting temptation, or whatever they say in the church.

“Your life is ruined. You grew up in that church, it’s all you’ve ever known.” You say quietly, scared that if you start speaking too loud you’ll cry. Thanking God that Matthew has good hearing, you turn back to making tea. A therapist from years ago had told you to ‘make tea about it’ when you're anxious. Staring at the kettle just made you spiral further.

He swallows, wetting his gorgeous, puffy lips before responding. “I know you. I know every inch of your beautiful body. You are my church now, you are the goddess I pray to.” That, you suppose, is the one truth currently. He knows the curve of your nose just like the curves of your hips, the softness of your lashes and hair, the faint stretch marks on your inner thighs better than any verse.

You realize you’ve been wallowing in your thoughts much too long when he clears his throat, saying, “I can hear your heart racing.”

All you can manage is a question, a loaded one at that. “How are you so calm? Aren’t you worried?”

He begins to answer almost immediately. “God is our refuge and-“ he bites his tongue, like he was about to spill a secret. It’s no secret he still believes in that being up in the sky, you can see it on his face. “I’ve been through worse and recovered.” He corrects himself, his hands grasped firmly together as they sit in his lap.

“You don’t have a resume, a proper college degree-“ you protest, reminded of bills you’re behind on currently. And now you have to take care of another man. Which is more food to buy. And more toilet flushes. And more time in the shower.

“Can’t be as bad as waking up blind.” He snips, showing some anger. He doesn’t seem mad at you, nor could he ever be. More anger in the way an injured dog bites back when you try to help the poor thing. He is hurting, and scared, and you’re one of the few people in this world who can see that.

Even though you hear the kettle screaming, you still sit down next to him on the couch. The cushion sinks slightly under your weight as you hug him, tight and hard and yet your touch is so soft. You can’t see his face, it’s buried in the crook of your neck, but you begin to hear choked sobs coming from him. You want to tell him it’ll be alright, but honestly? You’re not quite sure it will be.

That diner you work at barely pays enough to scrape by, this apartment is dingy and small, your neighbors are constantly fighting, which you know will annoy Matthew to high heaven. Who is going to hire a blind ex-priest? He’s a smart man, a kind man, a good man, but that’s not what anyone else sees. All anyone else would see are his blind eyes and the fact he was excommunicated. And half of that is your fault.

You shush him quietly, running your palm up and down his back. “I’m here, I’m here..” you whisper in the quietness of the dingy apartment, your voice louder than his sobbing. You may have ruined his life, yes, but seemingly you are all he has in this world at the moment. He feels like a child in your embrace, shaking and crying and oh so fragile. 

Maybe you start crying, too, the pressure finally causing the diamond to crack. Perhaps you don’t, simply letting him feel, letting him be. You don’t bother blowing out the candles; if anything, burning your apartment down would be better than having to face the truth: that you led a man, a priest, into temptation and now you are both suffering because of it. 

But in the strange calm of that apartment, as Matthew begins to quiet, none of those worries seem so big anymore. Only specks of dust on your coffee table. It could be that exhaustion has stopped any fretting keeping you awake, or maybe, just maybe, it’s due to you being in the arms of the one person you may just love. As you doze off on that lumpy couch, his chest making a lovely pillow, you begin to agree with him. You’ve both been through worse and recovered. So together, you can get through this. You must.

[the-devils-angel]

Do you understand how grateful I am for Moon Knight?

Oscar Isaac showing off his acting range, looking his damn finest

He’s not in a weird period piece, he’s not in a character role, he’s not playing theater boy (I swear his theater nerd self infiltrates so many roles and that is a GOOD thing, but sometimes i just want his feature film side to shine and not be so Bud Cooper about it all)

And he doesn’t freaking DIE in MK. Well…not at the end of it all.

He’s so talented, obviously drawn to deep and complex roles and characters. he’s amazing but his filmography can be so DAMN depressing

Plus he pulls a johnny depp half the time and only uses like 26% of his actual hotness because he’s so busy acting and being in character with his goofy lil sideburns and mustaches and I LOVE him for it and respect but come on dammit, just LIVE AND BE HOT, I BEG

[the-devils-angel]

constantly switching between being horny as fuck and not feeling anything at all

[the-devils-angel]

The way I would do anything for these two😫

me and bro

[the-devils-angel]

[the-devils-angel]

[the-devils-angel]

Sub Matt Murdock and Steven Grant vibes

can’t help but think about

Men who look like they haven’t felt the touch of a woman. (they haven’t) They develop a crush on you. Men who look at you with doe eyes, ready to please. Men who will do anything if you asked. Men who shiver when you whisper in their ear. It can be anything, but the feeling of you getting close— fuck they’re goners. Men who imagine you in ungodly ways, all of this new to them. Men who are on the verge of crying because they are so sexually frustrated.

Men who still can’t believe how someone like them (shy, submissive, a stuttering mess) managed to pull someone as confident and bold as you.

Men who whimper when you finally touch them. Guttural grunts and moans, whines and whimpers— all a part of the melody they let out just for you. Men who look up at you with expectant eyes, wanting–no needing you to praise them. We’ve already established that they love your voice, so throw in a ‘good boy’ or ‘you did so good baby’ and their brain stops functioning.

──────────────────

I don't want it if it ain't your touch - West Side // Ariana Grande

I’m in class rn and all i can think about is this.

Ethan Landry, Sub!Miguel O’Hara, Simon Aumar, Harry Potter, Yuta Okkotsu, Tyler Galpin, Bucky Barnes +your favs!

[the-devils-angel]

Had to come back to this one🤭

miguel accidentally overstimulating himself not realizing that his breeding kink kicked in 🤲🧎‍♀️

overstimulation with miguel o’hara ❤︎

— a/n: oh my

warnings ﾟ𐦍༘⋆: some vulgar language, mentions of having kids during sex

“Mi—Miguel,” you gasp out, wrapping your arms around his neck as he fucks you into the mattress, “‘s—‘s too much? Ah—are you oh—okay?”

You shudder in unison as he pumps another load of his cum into your drenched pussy.

“I’m fi—fine,” he stutters as his dick twitches. It hurts—he’s sensitive—but it’s not enough. He hasn’t given you enough.

A broken mewl escapes you as your head hits the headboard, Miguel tightens his grip around your waist to keep you from slipping off his cock as his hips stutter through his thrusts.

His visions blurs as you clench around his dick—he was surprised he was still able to move.

He chokes when your pussy flutters—the way you clamp down on his dick makes his body go slack and his eyes roll back.

You’re both covered in sweat, and cum, and saliva. You feel hot, the silk bedsheets Miguel bought does nothing to cool you down, and your head is spinning. Your heart pounds in your chest as your body tenses—you were about to cum again, and your pussy wanted to cry.

“Miguel,” you whimper, “‘m close, Miguel, ‘m close,” you whine. His dick deliciously rubs against your walls as he sticks his thumb into your mouth—your head hits the headboard.

“I know mami—me too.” Your head hits the headboard again, “Gotta fill you up again, don’t you want that? Gonna make you feel good, I promise mami, I promise.”

“Mig—“ he pushes his thumb down on your tongue.

“‘m gonna make you feel so good, mami,” he starts to babble, “Gonna feel so good.”

Somehow every movement he made was even more intense, you could feel every vein, every twitch, every—everything. He became more precise, every thrust ended with him hitting your g—spot, you were never sure if that was going to be the moment you came.

“Miguel—,” you babble, sucking his thumb. “‘m gonna cum, right there Miguel, I’m gonna—“

His thrusts became erratic, the feeling of your warm pussy engrains itself in his memory.

He’d definitely be going back to this memory.

“Wait for me mami, I’m almost there too,” he grabs one of your hands, bringing it close to his mouth, and he presses his lips against your wrist. “Gonna make you a mother, yeah?”

You bite his thumb.

He presses a hand against your stomach as the bed creaks, “Make me a father?”

His hips stutter as you moan around his thumb.

You avoid eye contact as he leans over you, the pure devotion in his eyes makes you feel tingles in your stomach—and make you feel even more of that in your pussy.

“Look at me when you come mami, pl—please. Need you too.”

You didn’t expect it to happen that quickly when you looked at him.

Miguel looks down at you with lust blown eyes, his hair drops down from his face, and his mouth hangs open—the hand holding your wrist shaking. He slowly thrusts into you as he came inside you—your own cum mixed with his leaking around his dick.

His chest goes up and down as he heavily breathes—fuck was he beautiful as always.

He dips his head pressing a quick sloppy kiss onto your lips, “You’re leaking.”

You laugh, “It’s your fault.”

You expect him to laugh, to take it as a joke and then pick you up to go take a relaxing bath and cuddle for the rest of night—but he doesn’t.

“Oh,” he purrs, “Well, I should fix my mistake, shouldn’t I?”

He drops your wrist and focuses on your left boob, he pinches your nipple—you moan softly.

You wince in unison when he starts to move his hips again, his free hand trailing down to your waist from your stomach, “Ha—have to make sure none of my cum goes to waste, right mami? Can’t risk you not getting pregnant.”

Tears weld in his eyes, your pussy hurts as you pulse around him. He lets out a weak breath, “You want me to cum in you again, right?”

Your head hits the headboard once more as he thrusts get stronger.

It hurts, you’re too sensitive, and you’re positive he is too—yet he’s right. You do want that, you want him.

With a broken, hoarse voice, you say “Yes.”

[the-devils-angel]

MY HUSBANDS😫

Househusband moon boys making and packing your lunch for work.

Steven puts notes. Marc makes sure you have something nutritious and good. And Jake literally just brings it to you.

[the-devils-angel]

[the-devils-angel]

Squid Game text posts because I love this show ( pt 1 )

[the-devils-angel]

“how did you get into writing” girl nobody gets into writing. writing shows up one day at your door and gets into you

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"How do you write such realistic dialogue-" I TALK TO MYSELF. I TALK TO MYSELF AND I PRETEND I AM THE ONE SAYING THE LINE. LIKE SANITY IS SLOWLY SLIPPING FROM BETWEEN MY FINGERS WITH EVERY MEASLY WORD THEY TYPE OUT. THAT IS HOW.

[the-devils-angel]

reblog to give a strawberry to the person you reblogged this from

[the-devils-angel]

Completely obsessed with Kang Daeho from Squid Game. Could get it any time, any place, any how 🥵

[the-devils-angel]

Patiently waiting for more Dae-ho fanfics.