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cl6teen · 4 months

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affection, ln4 ❀ chapter ii. the need to know

masterlist || chapter i || chapter iii

summary: [4.5k words] drunken nights spent in lando’s townhouse are an ode to your friendship, and maybe just a little bit more.

pairing: lando norris x fem!reader

contains: lando and reader are in denial, self friendzoning, lots of reminiscing and fluff, lando taking care of reader, very lazy smut, one night stands, oblivious flirting, talks of sex, intoxication, unprotected sex, pull and pray.

note: not proofread, this can be read as a stand-alone or as part of my affection series, however this is not a required read for said series. (sorry for such a long wait! exams were rough and this was difficult to write for some reason)

❀ silverstone ❀

The overarching sounds of EDM and conversation ring through Lando’s ears in a destructive harmony that’s sure to hit him tomorrow morning in the form of a stupid migraine. Still, he pushes through the sea of bodies crowding around, trying to huddle in close enough to him to hopefully snag a photo of ‘Silverstone’s P2 driver’. It has a nice ring to it, since you said that with Max in this competition, P2 is the new P1, so he should be nothing more proud of his performance.

Prideful he was, enough to confidently down shots with today’s true winner, forgetting how the Dutchman always lets as loose as he can during these after parties. And while they didn’t seem to hit whilst manning the dj turn-tables for the last hour or so, the newfound alcohol in his system was certainly making itself known now.

His hands run through brown tufts of hair as he scans the club entrance for you, “Y/n?”

“Over here.”

You’ve sat yourself in an armchair close to the women’s washroom, where you nurse a half-full lukewarm bottle of water in your hands before taking yet another prolonged sip.

“You look like shit.” He chuckles, leaning down to fix the strands of your hair that stray from the rest.

“Tell me about it,” you roll your eyes playfully, a laugh escapes you both, “you’re not one to talk, either.”

Fair point, he shrugs. With tousled hair that manages to go in every direction except for what it was originally in, sunglasses threatening to fall off the bridge of his nose, and the faint red lipstick marks stained on his unbuttoned white collar, Lando looks far from put together. He’s impossible, how can he have the nerve to talk to how you look on a night out while he was so quick to leave you with Oscar (who you had no problems being with—he just didn’t seem to be the party type) after receiving a shameless once over from a leggy blonde passing your group by upon arrival.

“So, where’s tonight’s girl?” He stares when you passively fold your arms into each other and question, completely unaware of how the movement pushes your chest together. He clicks his tongue, stop looking, Lando.

“Hell if I know.” He sighs in fake disappointment, in hopes of cutting that conversation off as quickly as it was introduced, “you’re staying at mine tonight.”

Okay, you nod. You don’t question it—you never do. Instead you sit quietly and watch him swipe around on his phone, no doubt shooting Max (Fewtrell) a quick text to let him know you were both leaving before calling up an Uber Black. Was this normal? To go home with Lando after a long night out? To you, the answer was always yes—hell, if you need him, say the word and he’s on the way, isn’t that what friends were for?

But other people can’t fathom the idea, they look at the two of you with doubtful eyes after explaining that although you can’t seem to go anywhere without one another, Lando’s just a friend. You sigh in exasperation at the thought, Lando Norris isn’t dateable; at least, not to you. He texts you about the girls he’s on dates with and nitpicks about how their breath smells, or how they had food in their teeth, or the potent perfume they drench themselves in to the point of inducing headaches in people they pass by. He’s whiney, and picky, and—

Lando’s fingers snap in your face and bring you out of your stupor, “What’s got you thinking so hard?”

“Nothing.” Your little jump earns you a perplexed look from Lando, who can only stare you down, “nothing, just want to get some rest.”

“The car is here, but it’s a little walk across the street.” He notices the heels toppled over each other next to the chair—you truly are a mess. “Do you have your purse?” You nod, flimsily holding the bag up for him to see.

Lando is no Superman, he knows that well after an ambitious jump off a bunk bed and straight into an ER visit and a three month cast at the age of ten; but now he feels like he’s got the power to do it all, looping the straps of your heels on a finger and hoisting you into his arms bridal style. It’s far from a pretty sight, but it still manages to grab the attention of partygoers nearby, who point and whisper and gush at the scene in front of them. “People will see, Lando.” You look up at him through dark lashes in an unfamiliar way that gets his gears turning—more than anything, he just wants to get you to this car.

“Yeah, but that’s okay.” He smiles nervously, letting you burrow your head into the crook of his neck to hide from the nipping British breezes outside. It's probably anything but okay; pictures might make their way around, and make both his life and your own a pain in the ass, but he can’t rain it on you like that.

The subtle aroma of your perfume invades his senses, and all of a sudden he’s become so hyper aware of his touch on your skin, the rhythmic rise and fall of your chest—he shakes his head.

In Lando’s mind, you’re but one thing to him; a friend—one he intends to keep like that.

—

Silent car rides in the backseat have never been Lando’s thing, not when he’s drunk, not when he can’t use his phone because he has to watch you. He’s not complaining, really—but there’s a fleeting moment of relief when forty minutes later, the two of you find way to the steps of his townhome, and he's fumbling around in his pockets for the keys while you stay huddled close to him to keep warm despite already sporting his jacket.

He’s profane as he fiddles with the door handle. You’re lucky he’s sweet enough to give you his clothing, because even though he practically threw it at you after listening to your nonstop whines about the cold, and how he ‘wasn’t even fazed by it’, he is actually freezing now.

“Tonight was…”

Rough, Fun, you both say in tandem; Lando’s enthusiasm is unsurprising, he finds himself at home in these situations. Work hard, play harder, he would say—it makes sense, his job is high stakes, stressful, the media is a pain in the ass; you would look forward to the fun bit too.

However, you’re not Lando, you don’t vacation in Ibiza or party with Max Verstappen on weekends—you travel to Thailand and read on rafts, but your best friend making podium during a home race is more than enough reason to show face for the night, so you make your peace with it and thank whoever that you’re home now.

“I need to change out of this,” you refer to the dress you’ve spent the entire after party readjusting and pulling down only to tug back up. “Lend me a shirt?”

“Did you really need to ask?” He speaks from a hunched over position while clumsily taking off his shoes. “You know where my room is.”

It’s a painfully familiar place; Lando’s never around enough to change it up anyway. When was the last time you were here? Maybe two years ago, during summer break, your memory is too foggy, but not to the point where you can forget your first time visiting. You and Lando were nineteen and twenty, and he wanted to use his well earned ‘Y/n’s daddy’ funded bonus on something practical. A house was not what you had in mind, but twenty five year old Carlos had a bottle of wine and a pipe dream of a three person housewarming party (one your father wasn’t too stoked to hear about, no doubt). It ended just as expected, wine drunk and full on that no bake cookie dough, albeit against the wishes of the drivers’ nutritionists, and you somehow bundled up in Lando’s brand new King bed while the other two found their comforts in plastic wrapped couches tucked away in the living room.

The only thing different in Lando’s bedroom are the bedsheets (thankfully), and frames full of podiums that showcase just how far he's come.

The smile you fight while reminiscing falters when you reach to tug at your zipper and fail. For what you spent on it, the list of inconveniences following your dress just seems to grow.

“Lan!” An exasperated huff escapes you, “could you come in for a moment?”

“My zipper, it’s stuck and I can't get it.” You want to cringe at your words, it’s a cliche—one of the many the universe seems to put you two in. Turning away from him, you move your hair out the way to expose your back, “do you mind?”

His fingers feel warm on your back, it’s a foreign feeling that creeps over the expanse of your nerves and has your breath hitched uncomfortably in the back of your throat. Something is just…different—maybe the alcohol, but you’ve been drunk around Lando one too many times and never has it ended like this, with his fingers nervously fiddling with the metal zipper, tugging at your dress material while gently trying to yank it down.

“Lando, that hurts.” you breathe for the first time in what feels like ages.

He kisses his teeth in frustration, placing a firm hand on your waist to keep you from squirming around, “You need to stay still.” The thickness of his accent becomes more apparent with each word.

You feel so weak, letting just a simple touch bully you into submission, silently you nod. The zipper's journey down is agonizing and slow, for both of you; at this moment, Lando wants nothing more than to leave the room, yet his feet seem glued to the ground he stands on. It’s dimly lit, but you can still feel eyes burning holes into your bare skin, up from the nape of your neck and down to the top of your hips that the lace material underneath clings to.

He watches the thin straps of your dress struggle to stay atop your shoulders and fall down your arms, further exposing the skin of your back—he sees a tattoo, one that he convinced you to get in Vegas last year, it looks good, better than he thought it would.

“—did you hear me? Are you done?”

He should leave.

“Yeah, yup. I just got it down,” and as quick as he came, it feels like Lando’s miles away, “I’m gonna go now, just…grab whatever shirt you would like.”

–

“Hey.” You say quietly, padding your way to the kitchen island.

Okay. Things seem a lot more normal between you two. Maybe all that was needed to fix whatever tension between you both was a fresh change of clothes and some bright lighting.

“You hungry?” He prompts, leaning against quartz counters with the world famous boyish smile signature to Lando himself. “I can make us a little snack before bed, just to lighten the hangover you’ll probably get tomorrow.”

You hum sweetly, the time reads 1:53 am—it’s earlier than you thought, time always blurs together when you’re drunk. “Could you get me a glass of water please?”

“Here you are, missy.”

You scrunch your nose up at his tone, “any name but that.” He laughs obnoxiously, proud of how he manages to get under your skin in a way only he can.

The sizzling sounds of grilled cheese on the pan accompanied by the dull hum of a faulty ceiling light are the only ones in the kitchen (you’re constantly telling him to get it fixed, but Lando never seems to follow up on your suggestions, opting for the answer of ‘I don’t even live here like that anymore’). Sipping from your glass, the lipstick stain on his collar catches your eye again—you’re curious, why didn’t he just go home with her?

“So what happened with the girl?”

“What?” He turns to look at you, brows furrowed into a knot. It’s not until you make a little gesture to the base of your neck that he looks down at his own to see what you mean. “Oh, her, what was her name again…Abby, Aria—no, Amy. She was too…onto me, only talked about racing and the other drivers. Don’t get me wrong I like, love, racing, but I want to have a natural conversation.” he searches for the right comparison, “like how you and me flow.”

You and me.

Empathetic, you sigh into your hands, Lando is simple, adjacently, he likes things that are simple; routine and normal, like you two. “Lando, if you keep comparing girls to me you’re going to chase them away.” You think his attitude will be his undoing, but he says if it hasn’t happened now there’s no chance of it happening ever. “Even worse, they’ll think I'm your girlfriend.”

He shrugs calmly, so normal about the entire idea, “Max says they already think that.”

“Yeah well,” you huff out in mild annoyance, stuttering over your words at the thought of Lando discussing your relationship status with someone. “Max doesn’t know everything.”

“Yeah, I wouldn’t date you in a million years,” mouthing off, he turns to look at you with a sour face, “too snobby.”

“You talk like you’re not daddy’s money too.” The reaction of your middle finger poking out is almost reflexive. “You’re not my type anyway.”

“That’s a lie. You thought I was cute when I first met you.” It is a lie, a painfully bad one at that—Lando has always been a cutie; though, his constant need to annoy you in some way seemed to drown that aspect of himself out.

“And then your personality came to light.”

The witted banter between you always comes naturally—he would poke and prod at your last fiber of patience with him until you finally find yourself giving your attention to his words and firing something back that would be surefire dig deep had it not been aimed at somebody like Lando.

“Doesn’t mean you don’t think I’m hot.” Sniggering, he shoots you a teasing wink, “don’t worry, I think you’re hot too.”

“I know that, everyone thinks I’m hot.”

He scoffs to himself, he says you’re a narcissist, you say it’s not narcissistic if it’s true.

The spurt of banter is short lived, and soon enough you’re back to hearing the hum of the kitchen lights. It’s peaceful enough, better than the crescendo of club music from an hour ago.

But you’re inebriated—and needing to talk to keep yourself from falling asleep while waiting on Lando, you start, “Have you ever thought about it?”

“About what?”

“You and me,” you repeat his words from earlier, but they’re not laced with the cool and calm confidence Lando had—instead, they’re shaky. You’re unsure if you want to know the answer to your own question.

“Like…dating?” The pitch of his accent goes higher in confusion.

“Uhm, not dating per say…” you down your saliva to slow yourself before continuing, with the liquid courage flowing through your veins, the mental filter that once barricaded stupid nonsense from revealing itself is nowhere to be seen; which sucks because you could really use it right now.

“Do you mean hooking up?” Lando takes the meek stare you give as a yes, and your sudden shyness has him wanting to press you for more, “Have you?”

Have you thought about it? Screwing Lando Norris? Embarrassingly so, you’ve always wanted to sleep with an F1 driver (to know what makes these girls so insane for them, that’s what you tell yourself), but you prefer to keep those fantasies in your head, locked away in an untouchable space where nobody can reach. Still, it would be a lie to say it hadn’t crossed your mind—even if you harbor no romantic feelings towards him, people don’t usually mind sleeping with someone they find physically attractive.

“And what if I have?” You probe, arms folding into each other as you watch Lando watch you out of the corner of his eyes.

You’ll put him into a lot of trouble soon enough, and he dreads the day you do. “You’re funny.”

“So it never crossed your mind?”

Of course it has, look at you—unbelievably pretty even while piss-drunk and dressed in an old wrinkled t-shirt riding up your thighs. Though, he would never tell you that to your face; it would do him more worse than good. Lando might not love you in that sense, but he is a single man with an appreciative eye; he thinks many of the other drivers on the grid can attest to the fact that you’re stunning, some even going as far as using him as a means of snagging your number. He does you the favor of turning them down in your stead, though, because you would never get with any of them—he’s sure of it.

At least, that’s what he hopes.

“Every guy has thought about hooking up with his best female friend, at least once.” He shrugs, not seeming to care about the way your mouth hangs open at his nonchalant vulgarity. Lando doesn’t actually know if it’s the truth, but he sure as hell feels that way about you, wrong or not. You don’t notice, but he’s already turned the stove burner off before facing you with a jerkish smirk, “what, did you want to try tonight?”

“Jesus, goodnight.” You shove at his left shoulder and try to make a b-line back to his bedroom, only to be held back by Lando's outstretched arm that wraps itself around your shoulder.

“Okay, okay,” he’s quick to plead, and he’s equally as quick to overlook the plans of goosebumps that settle across your body at his touch. “What I said was a dick move, I admit it.” Through a fanned breath, he heaves out, “but seriously, hm? What’s got you thinking about all that?”

What has got you thinking about all of this? The shots of Patron making its home in the pits of your stomach mixed with rumors that never seem to die down, maybe. There should be a warning sign, Patron & gossip: can lead to shamelessly flirting and innocently talking about topics like hookups and sex—with Lando Norris no less.

And Lando…

He’s better than this, he knows he’s better than this, letting your suggestions lurch him into a debauched daydream of the two of you coming to a head in the bedroom of his home, skin hot from fleeting touches instead of warm alcohol, hands grabbing underneath the shirt hung over your body and finally being able to do what no other man could—

“It’s not going to happen.”

—do for you.

You bring him out of his thoughts when you quickly dismiss the entire idea (disappointingly so), “I brought it up because I’m…bored, and drunk.” the tone of your voice goes high enough to pan your mumbled words out as a question, even you sound unconvinced of yourself.

Lando recognizes your doubts just as you do. “You suuuure about that?” He says in a way that has you giggling schoolgirlishly into his arms and makes this a little more not-so-awkward. “You know you don’t need to lie to me.”

While there's probably some truth to his reassuring words, he’s being bad, he wants this—maybe even more than you do, you can tell. It makes you a bit more still, knowing that he’s also, to some extent, got a hard on for you in a one-off sense. Meanwhile, Lando’s mind is going a mile a minute (it’s characteristic of someone who actually goes a mile a minute for a living), carefully observing your expressions to see what it is you’re thinking—to some degree he is a gentleman, if you say the words, he’ll forget anything was ever mentioned.

But boy does he want it.

Glassy eyes seem to pierce yours for what seems like an eternity, “Lando…” You hope your voice is calmer than how you feel, but it’s not promising; the world around you feels standstill—like you can’t even breathe for air.

“Don’t say my name like that.” He mumbles, eyes softening at how your body relaxes into his own. The two of you dance around the point of no return, still, magnetically you gravitate towards it. You want to embrace it tonight, and worry about the mess brewing tomorrow.

“Fucking hell.” He curses in the endearing way only a Brit can, arm circling the small of your back and lips ghosting against your own, “it’s just a one time thing.”

“Just this once…”

Just this once is what you tell yourselves when his lips catch your own, tongue languidly breaching your mouth whilst pulling you closer into him as you fall into his touch and wrap your arms around his neck. It’s just this once that he’ll push away plates and keys to pick you up and sit you on the kitchen counters for you to entangle your fingers within his curls, moaning for more as he kisses his way around your neck.

It’s just this once you’ll sleep with him.

—

Lando, like with everything else, is a massive tease. You should complain, but the feeling of warm hands hiking up your t-shirt short circuits your nerves and limits whatever capability you have to bite back, so you take it all; the ghostly touches, trailing kisses along your jaw, and hands wandering from the crux of your neck down to your entrance.

It aches so unfamiliarly, cotton panties are tugged haphazardly to the side and your pussy is wet and overstimulated.

Yes, that’s the word you’ve been looking for. It’s all so overstimulating, the fading pulsations of your last orgasm brought on from having two thick fingers scissoring out of you, the puffiness of your nipples still sensitive from Lando’s ongoing oral fixation, and the feeling of his dick messily slotting itself between folds and up against your clit, it’s all just so much.

“Lando…” You whine, “c’mon.”

He mocks you with a haughty smile, repeating his name shamelessly in a pitch much higher than your own. There’s little to be embarrassed about, yet you feel so exposed, in both a literal and figurative sense. He’s drawn two orgasms out of you with such ease, like your body is as simple to navigate as a track, all without even fucking you properly. Somewhere deep down you’re grateful he’s so observant; it’s a wildly different experience than what you’re used to in every way possible.

“Did you want me to do something? You need to use your words.” He feigns ignorance, like he doesn’t feel the clinging drag of your naked hips against his crotch. Right now, there is nothing nice about Lando—he’s brought you to the edge and left you to plead for him to dig his hands into the meat of your thighs and finally fuck you as promised.

And with eyes barred shut, you do ask for it, muttering a quaint just put it in with a hushed whimper that shoots straight through him, fueling some kind of excessive desire to give it to you straight.

“Lan!” Your instincts to twitch take hold of you when you feel the tip inch into you, stretching you out more than anything else.

“Relax.” He soothes not only you, lazily thumbing your clit to distract your body from the unnerving stretch of him bottoming out, but also himself; there’s a prayer he’s mumbling at the back of his mind, asking for strength to keep him from succumbing to the biting grip your walls welcome him with, he could cum on entry alone. “That feel good?”

It feels great, but you can’t find the words to talk, so you opt for the drawn out whine that amplifies to a full moan when he finds his rhythm. You guess Lando fucks like he races, wild but calculated, hard and fast. His thrusts push you up closer to the headboard, and you think you see stars with each one. Lando’s dilated eyes are focused on the way your boobs move in tandem with his hips, which roll into your own unforgivingly.

If this is what he gets when he does well, he needs to get those wins and that championship, as soon as possible.

“Just like that, Lan.” You exhale out, fingers darting to grapple at his wild brown tufts, “I want more of you. Need it.”

To hear you say you need him, it makes him somewhat insane. His body is eager to close in on your own, lips ghosting over your jaw and inching closer to your ear as a hand gently finds its way to your neck.

“You feel so perfect.” He’s so breathless, practically whining into your ears about just how good you feel, It doesn’t reach you, you’re too focused on feeling every inch of dick buried into you. It feels like he’s mushing up your insides, hitting spongy walls that desperately cling to him. Every thrust is harder than his last, and the way the trimmed hair resting above his base brushes against your clit provides all the extra stimulation that has your head lazily rolling to the side.

You’re not sure when you cum, but you do. It’s wet and his name is hot on your tongue, as if you’re cheering him on to fuck you through your orgasm, and who is he to deny you? Lando’s undoubtedly happy to see the pleasure he’s giving you, his eyes blowing wide at the feeling of his lower abdomen growing soaked by your arousal.

“Look at you,” he marvels, prideful and horny, “ever done that before?”

You haven’t—it freaks you out, yet despite all of your hurried apologies and groans of embarrassment, Lando finds himself dipping his head into the crux of your neck to suppress a groan. You’re so pretty it hurts him, his hips bore deeper into yours, hoping to get closer than humanly possible.

When he kisses you, your legs slither around his waist as if to cage him. You’ll be the death of him—the two of you are playing a dangerous game, and you both know it.

“You shouldn’t do that,” he smiles against your lips, and your body melts like putty, malleable enough for him to pry your legs from its digging into his back and push them closer towards you by your thighs.

His pace noticeably falters when you flutter around him. You’re muttering something about coming inside, pleading for it—but he pays you no mind; you’re intoxicated by the feeling of dopamine, and as much as he would love it, the feeling of stuffing you full, he’s a smarter man than that.

He cums with a guttural fuck, barely managing to rip himself away from your clutches and spill himself onto your stomach—and you just watch, doe eyed and jolted by the warm feeling on your skin. You both pant heavily against one another, until all you can hear is the noise of the London night leaking in from an ajar window.

“Hey.” He lazes out, rubbing circles on your thigh.

“Hi.”

“This can’t—” happen again, get out to anyone—there’s so much he could say, but you would rather not hear it. Not tonight.

“Yeah.”

❀❀

tags: @babyvinnie @leclercdream @im-an-overthinker@ririyulife @1655clean @sukisheadlights @harrysdimple05 @drunkinthemiddleoftheday

(if bolded i couldn’t tag you i’m so sorry!)

#f1 x reader #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 smut #lando norris x reader #lando norris imagine #lando norris smut #f1 x female reader #f1 x black!reader #f1 x you

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ohnoitstbskyen · 2 months

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What are your thoughts and the same-face-syndrome Oda has going on with Nami, Vivi, Rebecca, and Shirahoshi?

Oda is kind of a frustrating artist in this regard, as he is in many regards.

Because on the one hand he demonstrates, to a greater extent than almost any of his peers, the ability to design interesting, varied, creative, compelling and fun characters, with a huge variety in presentation and body type, and without the dehumanizing distancing that a lot of artists employ when depicting non-normative bodies.

Charlotte Lola for example, one of my favourites, is a character who is extremely caricatured, and depicted as stocky, broad, and rough around the edges, with a missing tooth and odd proportions. But the story consistently treats her interiority with respect and depicts her as complex and interesting beyond her sillier surface traits.

... and then up AGAINST that you have the Infinite Leggy Busty Beauty Brigade, which includes Nami, Robin, Carrot, Pudding, Doll, Domino, Boa Hancock, Vivi, Kalifa, Shakuyaku, Alivda, and on and on and on and on.

And it's this frustrating binary where Oda seems to know exactly ONE way to visually present feminine beauty: thin, curvy, busty, with long legs and a round face, and he repeats it over and over and over again like his only two modes of design are either Copy Paste Pin-Up or Crazy Caricature.

The same face syndrome comes out of that, I think. Because the gamut of what A Beautiful Woman™ can look like in One Piece is so narrow and has so few traits available to it, repetition becomes inevitable.

And idk if this is just Oda's personal indulgence, maybe he just draws the kinds of women he's attracted to, and fair enough I guess, people have the right to be self-indulgent in their art, but it is consistently one of his biggest weaknesses as an artist and designer that he just can't seem to stop reproducing the same hot babe design over and over again.

I will say that Oda is not noticeably any worse in this regard than most anime and manga - copy pasted normative bodies with same-face syndrome is the norm, not the exception, especially for female characters. And that doesn't make it not a flaw in Oda's work, just a flaw that should be understood and assessed within its context, where Oda's repetitive babes are (at least in my opinion) still more distinct and interesting than how most of the industry treats its Hot Babe characters visually.

Still wish he would incorporate, like, ONE new idea for what a beautiful woman can look like, though.

#tb answers #one piece

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maeby-cursed · 6 months

Text

KISS ME, TRY TO FIX IT…

𓂃 COULD YOU JUST TRY TO LISTEN ?

a/n: starting a new series of songfics ! this one is very obviously inspired by sad, beautiful, tragic, so you can see where this might be going. enjoy the results of my brainrot ♡ (also, i’ve never written for gojo before, please have mercy)

✧ synopsis: you’ve been waiting for satoru gojo for ten years, but there’s no trace of the man you fell in love with when you were sixteen years old. it’s time to let go, but he might not want to.

✧ pairings: satoru gojo x fem!reader

✧ wc: 2k

✧ rating: angst. so much of it, angst to drown in. might get suggestive at some points.

✧ cw: mentions of drinking, of the great jjk tragedy of 2006 and its aftermath, implied cheating, gojo may be ooc, toxic relationship ??

An ice-cold wind blows through the window as you wait.

It’s not even December yet but it’s already snowing.

Soft snowflakes the size of stars, far away in their firmament, enter your living room. When they land on the sofa, they dissolve, leaving in their wake thousands of specks of water that look disturbingly like tears.

It doesn't matter. You don't think he's going to notice anyway.

It's been ten long years of waiting. Ten long years of fighting, of fixing what's broken and denying that it's ever been broken.

It's over. Let winter freeze everything in its path.

When Satoru walks in through the door, you hesitate for a moment. A moment of madness when you see his hair, as white as the snowfall that has invaded your home. Just a moment when you see him in his burgundy turtleneck sweater, his tight-fitting coat. One single moment when you recognize the cold in his pink cheeks.

But it's all over when you meet his crystalline eyes. The fault is theirs.

"Is the window broken again?" he asks, dropping his keys on the entryway’s table.

The window has been broken since September.

You nod and he grunts, running a hand over his face.

"I'll call someone tomorrow, although you could have said something," he says. This is your fault. Of course.

You keep your eyes fixed on the snow. From the living room you can see the sidewalk across the street, covered in a blanket of white that sparkles under the street lamps. It's so painfully beautiful it makes you nostalgic.

You and Satoru moved into this house three years ago, when he got his teaching position, and you can't quite get over the fact that it's time to say goodbye.

You've spent three years of solstices here. You've seen the sidewalks covered with dead leaves, with thousands of little flowers that broke the pavement in their wake. But it’s never snowed.

It’s not fair, not one bit.

Satoru says no more. He goes to your room and undresses; he replaces his street clothes with a black outfit that seems very appropriate for the occasion. Since you’ve known him, he always takes off his glasses when he crosses the hall of your building, but for once, you wish he'd put them back on.

When he returns, his hair is dripping over his forehead. You hadn't even noticed that he was taking a shower.

But he hasn't noticed that your bedside table is empty, either; that your slippers are missing, that there's a seeping coldness in the hearth of your house, and it's not coming from the window.

"What's for dinner?" he asks, plopping down on the couch with his cell phone in his hand.

You get up.

9:26 p.m., November 8. This is where it ends.

"I don't know. I'm going out to dinner," you say.

He doesn’t even bother to look up.

"Hmm, where are you going? Are you bringing something back or should I order myself a pizza?"

It's painful to watch as nothing seems to touch him. He’s infinite — always infinite.

"I'm going to a work friend's house."

"The one with the lovely curly hair and those pretty hazel eyes?"

Christ.

"No. I'm moving in with Rhea. Dark-eyed, blonde, leggy."

"Hmm, how nice."

A moment passes where he just keeps staring at the screen, and you despair.

"Satoru."

"What's up, baby?"

"I'm moving."

At last – at last – he looks up. In his eyes you see nothing; two blue marbles that have sworn you two to an unjust fate.

"You're moving out? Why?"

Where to begin? Because you have been loving a man destined to save everything and everyone for a decade, because you have been trying to fill a void that is not your size for eight years, because the windows are broken and the bed is cold and Satoru arrives several nights smelling of anisette and the perfume of another, because you don't want to live looking at the Strongest, the possessor of the Six Eyes. Because you thought that in some hidden corner Satoru Gojo was still there, and he isn’t.

"Because it's killing me to live like this.” You settle for that as your explanation and try to keep your stare unwavering.

"Like this how?" he questions, suddenly irritated. "In a luxurious house?" He gestures around him with the cell phone in his hand. "Comfortably, with your dream job? Knowing you'll never have to worry about money?"

"No, Satoru. Like this, without you loving me."

That chills him to the bone.

"Of course I love you."

"Do you? Do you want me for anything other than to warm your bed and your cock? Do you want me here, as your partner? Do you need me for anything at all?"

You don’t gesticulate, you barely move from your spot in the middle of the room. Everything in this fucking place is white and uncannily clean; the sofas, the coffee table, the walls, even the snow; but you and Satoru. He’s in all black, you’re in all red. It’s almost dreamlike, and you struggle to stay grounded.

The only thing you could remove from this house that would grab his attention would be you.

"Yesterday you weren't complaining about any of this, what the fuck is the matter with you today?"

And you can't stand it anymore. The winter current lifts your hair, soaks the back of your neck and disguises your tears.

"THE MATTER IS THAT I'VE BEEN WAITING FOR TEN YEARS. WAITING FOR YOU. WAITING FOR THE MAN I MET AT SIXTEEN TO COME BACK, SLEEPING WITH A MAN OF ABSENT GAZE WHO STAGGERS INTO MY BED WHEN HE'S TIRED OF BEING IN EVERYONE ELSE'S. I DON'T WANT TO BE YOUR DOG, SATORU. I DON'T WANT YOU TO COME HOME AND FEEL OBLIGATED TO GIVE ME A WALK, A PETTING."

The words come spilling out of you without remedy, every wound bursting open through the stitches. He just looks at you.

"You think I don't love you?"

It hurts to hear him say it, it fucking hurts. You were prepared for the yelling and the coldness, even for a quick vulnerable stare. But never for his trembling voice and soft frown.

You inhale deeply.

"I don't think your love is of any use to me any longer."

Satoru stands up at that.

He's tall, tall and beautiful like Michelangelo's David. All your life, you've been feeling like you had no right to touch him. His infinity assured you that was the case.

He takes a step in your direction and whispers:

"Then what should I do now?"

Your eyes, fixed on the ground, rise to meet his. There's something in the void and you're not sure if it's just your reflection.

"What?" you mutter.

"How do I fix it? What do you need that I can't give you? Do you want me to quit work, for us to leave, for me to come home and kiss your temple, to cook for you, to listen to you, to cherish you in bed?” A heartbeat. “I will."

There’s something about the desperation in his tone, you aren’t sure of what to say next.

Satoru knows how to lie, but you don't know how to tell the difference.

"I don't want anything, Satoru. I'm tired," you whisper back, eyes full of water. "I want it to end. I want you to let it end."

He shakes his head, frowning, and through the mist of your tears you recognize that he is crying too.

"There has to be something. Anything. Something I can do, I can do it all."

It's partly true. He's Satoru Gojo; all-powerful, all-knowing. Eternal and young and beautiful and tragic as a poem.

You are just another person. You cried when Suguru left, when Haibara died, when Kento gave up the Jujutsu world and when Ieri locked herself in her office. You clung to Satoru, who resembled an empty seashell more than a person.

You remember those nights back in 2007. You remember blindfolding him so he wouldn't activate infinity by accident, by reflex, out of overstimulation. You remember cutting his hair when he couldn’t and looking for him in his old antics. You remember taking care of Megumi – always reluctant – and Tsumiki – who you felt was too mature for her age. You remember the burden of being eighteen and having lost a world.

And, above all else, you remember Satoru under the rain. Under the pressure of the world you had lost, the one that he was trying to put back together. There was a month where he seemed catatonic; no smiles, drinking anisette as if it were his one source of life. A thirty-day period followed by the rebirth of a person who looked like the one that stood before, but who seemed cold and alien to you.

"Don't you love me, my darling?" he seeks for you, reaching out a hand to brush against your cheek.

Of course you love him. You love him even like this, like you have loved each and every one of his versions.

"I adore you, Satoru. But I can't stay; you can't fix it."

"Of course I can," he reaches out to you, holding your face between his fingers, "Of course I can."

His lips connect with yours — one last attempt, you don't know by whom.

Snow fills the room and it's cold, but you drink from his mouth, from his everlasting warmth; everything in him lasts forever.

Between kisses, you show him everything you have been for years. Ten years of kisses, of hands looking for hands and flesh searching for flesh.

He moves backwards, keeping you between his hands and guiding you towards the hallway and from the hallway to your shared bed.

This is where it ends.

"Satoru..." you whisper.

"I'm here. I'm here, beautiful, my favorite girl. Talk to me."

A sob escapes you as he utters those words. My favorite girl. That’s what he used to call you. Talk to me, he used to plead, that year at sixteen, when everything was about to start.

Isn't it beautiful that it ends the exact same way?

"Satoru, I'm leaving," you press a farewell kiss to his jaw.

"No, you're not leaving," he murmurs, smiling against your mouth, searching for your lips.

You back away and look at him one more time. And you smile, because there's nothing left.

"I'm already gone. Just let go of me, please."

"But..." he starts, his smile hesitant, "But I'm going to fix it."

You take one of his hands between yours and kiss it as it presses against your cheek, before lowering it to your lap.

"Satoru..." You pronounce each syllable of his name carefully and he stifles a cry. "I'm not going to go any further. I've already made the move and Rhea's expecting me at her house in an hour. I love you, I’ll love you until I run out of kisses, but it does me no good to love you. It is of no use to me, this love. I wanted to tell you. I wanted you one last time. Wasn’t it my turn to be the selfish one for once?"

He watches you, and his mouth shuts close. You've never seen Satoru lose.

No, that's not true. There was a time, one time, where you saw him lose everything.

His eyes fill up with you one second and empty the next.

This is his second time.

He lifts his chin with an arrogance that no longer means anything and lets go of your hands.

"Go then, if you want. I'm not going to do anything to stop you,” he drags the words with feign disinterest. “I can't do anything."

That's the last gift he can give you. An honesty unbecoming of him, a truth that will never belong to Satoru Gojo ever again.

From god to human in three kisses and a goodbye.

"Thank you," you say to him. Then you get up, heading for the living room, where your coat and your escape door await you.

He stays in the bedroom – with himself as he always is – after you leave.

And he hides you where he always hides the things he breaks, in the back of his eyes, where no one can reach to see anything.

(reblogs are appreciated !!)

#🎐 𓂃 mae’s typing !#jjk imagines #jjk angst #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #satoru x reader #satoru x you #gojo x reader #gojo x you #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x you #gojo satoru angst #gojo angst #satoru gojo x reader #satoru gojo x you

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courtforshort15 · 1 year

Text

Green is the Color

Pairing: Matt Murdock x FemReader

Word Count: 7,200

Summary: Karen Page looks flawless next to Matt in a way that you don’t. Insecurities and jealousies were bound to pop up at some point.

Trigger warnings: None. Just some angst with a happy ending.

Masterlist

You're jealous of Karen.

Beautiful, smart, sweet Karen who has never been anything but kind to you. Leggy, slender, blonde Karen who catches eyes effortlessly wherever she goes. Determined, self-sacrificing, truth-seeking Karen who seems genuinely interested in what you have to say, who seems honestly happy to see you whenever you join them out as a group.

And though you're the one who sleeps in Matt's bed more often than not, though you're the one he whispers soft, sweet things to while he holds your hand as you walk home, though you're the one he calls when he's hurt or happy or needing you with him, you can't help but be jealous of her.

They look flawless together. She's light where he is dark. She is petite in everything but height, and he is made of muscle and broad shoulders. She is sweet and open where he is charming and dangerous when you truly look at him.

They are beautiful, standing together laughing loudly, and you are not the only one who notices.

"God, some people have all the luck, don't they?" A woman next to you at the bar says to her friend. It’s your turn to buy the drinks for the group, and you're waiting patiently as Josie helps another patron. The conversation catches your ear, and you're not exactly surprised when you notice they're talking about Matt and Karen. It's not the first time you've heard something of this sort.

"They'd have such beautiful babies," the other woman replies, and the sound of her voice and the words being said pierces into your skin. "They look so good together it almost hurts. I hate them."

The women gather their drinks with shared laughter and walk away, leaving you to yourself while you wait on Josie. Your cheeks burn in something akin to shame and sadness, the realization that you'll never look as good next to him as Karen does. And though Matt has told you time and time again how much he loves you, it's not the first shred of doubt you've felt.

Hearing someone else echo the things that have lived inside your heart for so long drives a sharp blade into your chest, and you struggle as you work to maintain your breathing, knowing Matt will pick up on the irregularity. You're in a crowded bar and Matt is a few drinks in, so you think you're safe at your current distance away, but the second you join the group, he'll be able to tell that something is off if you don't force yourself to calm down.

With a fake grin that pulls sharply at the corners of your suddenly dry mouth, you thank Josie when she sets your drinks in front of you, and you slowly make your way back over to them where they're playing a game of pool. You set the drinks on the table next to them, and Foggy immediately dives into the beer you've brought over.

Karen thanks you for her drink with a smile, and Matt squeezes your hand in appreciation before he plays the part of an ordinary blind man and pretends to be awful at the game. It's all in good fun for him, though you all know he could whip everyone's ass, and he gasps in fake shock whenever he sinks a ball intentionally that he pretends is unintentional for the benefit of whatever bystander may be nearby.

Matt says something that makes Karen laugh, and she places a hand on his shoulder as he smiles. Matt is your boyfriend, the man you'd gladly spend the rest of your life with, but you suddenly feel like an intruder in your own relationship.

With a grimace you hope no one notices, you toss your drink back, setting the glass loudly back on to the table.

"I think I'm going to call it a night," you tell the group, already turning to grab your purse. Immediately they all protest, asking you to stay for another game, or at least another round of drinks. You try to make the smile on your face look as warm and friendly as it always is, but you know you fail on some level. But in everyone's inebriated state, they all take it as completely genuine.

"Alright, sweetheart," Matt says easily, placing his cue stick in the rack, turning to grab his suit jacket from where it's been tossed over one of the chairs. "We can leave. Are you staying with me tonight? Or do you want me to come over to your place?"

"No, it's totally fine," you object instantly, already taking a few steps away in an effort to distance yourself. "You should stay and have fun."

He waves your protest away with a smile. "We’ve been here for a while already. We can head out.”

You let out a laugh that surprisingly doesn’t sound nearly as fake as it feels. “You guys won a big case today. You deserve to stay out and celebrate.”

“She’s right, Matt!” Foggy calls out from the other side of the table before he takes a long sip of his beer. “We deserve all the alcohol that Josie can provide us with tonight. That case was a nightmare.”

Your laugh is a little more genuine this time, eyeing the way Foggy sways when he puts his beer down. Karen isn’t faring much better, if the flush on her cheeks is anything to go by. “Stay, Matt. I’ll be okay getting home.”

The easy smile has left his face, and he makes his way over to you. You stay rooted to the spot, knowing that rejecting his advancements would tip him off to the fact that something is wrong. There's also the factor that you hate denying him any sort of affection he needs to give or take from you, so you stand still and wait for him. When he’s in front of you, he reaches a hand up and pushes a piece of hair behind your ear, rubbing a finger over your cheekbone with the movement.

“Are you alright?” He asks quietly, his voice meant for only your ears. “I can at least walk you home if you want.”

You turn your head to press a light kiss to the inside of his wrist, unable to deny yourself the warmth that his closeness brings you. “I’m just tired, and I think my stomach is a little off.” This close to you, he should be able to tell a lie from the truth, but the words that leave your mouth are honest enough. You’re tired of feeling inadequate, and your stomach is reeling with the thought of other people seeing what you see when you look at Matt and Karen.

The excuse you’ve given him is completely true, he just doesn’t know the reasons behind them.

“Then I should definitely–”

Smiling slightly, you shake your head. “I’ll take a cab home. I want you to stay with your friends and have a good time. You earned it."

Matt sighs and reluctantly agrees to let you leave without him, but not before pulling you in close and placing a gentle kiss on your lips. “I’ll call you later, alright? If you’re still up, I’ll come over when I’m done tonight.”

“That works,” you say with a small shrug. A small smile slides across his face, and he pulls you in one more time to press his mouth to yours, before he takes a step back and turns to face his friends. You send Foggy and Karen a quick wave and another false smile, before making your way to the door.

You don’t miss the way the two women from before not-so subtly eye you up and down with their eyebrows raised, no doubt finding you lacking for a beautiful man such as Matt, especially when compared to the gorgeous woman that is one Karen Page.

Your cheeks burn again, but you push past the women without a word.

When you’re all settled in bed, you curl your knees up to your chest, yanking your heavy blankets over you in an effort to keep yourself in and the rest of the world out. A few tears cloud your vision, but you squeeze your eyes tightly shut to keep them from slipping out. If Matt were to stop by, he’d smell the salt of the tears, and nothing would stop him from getting an answer out of you for why you were upset.

He’d know if you were lying, no longer distracted by his friends and the loud noise of the bar, and you’d be unable to persuade him to let it go. Feelings would tumble from your mouth unchecked, and he’d either be angry or hurt at your accusations.

…or worse, he’d admit that he feels the way about Karen that the rest of the world has decided he should.

In order to keep that from happening, you turn your phone on do not disturb in an effort to make sure you’re not woken up by his call, hopefully keeping him away for the night if he decides not to disturb your sleep.

You ignore the way your heart twists painfully in your chest.

****************

“That looks awful, Foggy,” you tell him as you step into the office of Nelson, Murdock & Page a month later, eyeing the way his face is peeling from an awful sunburn he’d gotten on a trip to Florida to visit his parents. “Do you need me to go and get some aloe for you?”

Foggy laughs, but immediately winces as the expression on his face pulls at the skin that already looks extremely painful. “I’ve got some in my drawer,” he says, motioning to the bottom part of his desk. “I’ve been told to reapply several times during the day. Thank God I don’t have any clients coming in today. I'll just be here all day working through some case items with Matt.”

“That’s good at least,” you say, walking forward and placing a sandwich on Foggy’s desk before taking a seat in one of their lobby chairs, waiting for Matt to arrive so that you can have lunch with him in his office. You’d picked up sandwiches from his favorite deli, including one for Foggy, knowing Matt won’t have time to go out and meet up with you somewhere today.

“Thanks for bringing this, by the way,” Foggy says with the biggest smile he can offer with the way the skin has tightened on his face. “Though, I’m not quite sure how I’m going to open my mouth wide enough to eat this.”

You send him a sympathetic look. “I can’t imagine. It looks super uncomfortable.”

Foggy snorts. “If I can deal with watching Matt kiss Karen in the hospital that one time, I can deal with this. Now that was uncomfortable.”

Your blood runs cold.

“Matt…kissed Karen?” You ask, heart hammering uncomfortably in your chest, the increased speed sharp and painful as it pounds relentlessly. “When was that?”

Foggy must not hear the way your voice has changed, too busy trying to take a bit of his sandwich. “During the Punisher case. I like…turned to look at them, and bam. A full smack of his lips against hers, and it looked just as uncomfortable for me as it was for them.”

“So this…was a while ago?”

Foggy freezes, finally glancing back up at you, a confused frown on his face. “Matt didn’t tell you?”

You shift in your seat, trying to appear as nonchalant as possible, but you're not quite sure if you pull it off. “Tell me what?”

He shakes his head. “I mean, it’s no big deal, really. They only dated for a small period of time, and it’s barely even worth mentioning, to be honest. It was right as Elektra came back into the picture.”

Ah, Elektra.

The woman whose scars you’ve been steadily trying to heal ever since you met him.

“Do you think it would have gone anywhere if Elektra hadn’t come back?” You ask hesitantly, fingernails biting into the palm of your hand. Foggy looks thoughtful.

“I’m not sure,” he says, appearing to think about it. “They definitely liked each other. It could have been something, had either one of them been truthful with each other. To be honest, I kind of thought they would try again after everything with Fisk, but they’ve remained just friends.”

You glance down at your hands, struggling to take a deep breath. When you glance back up, Foggy is frowning heavily.

“Are you okay?”

Forcing a smile on your face, you nod, trying to get rid of the images of beautiful Karen and handsome Matt, standing next to each other and smiling, like they had that night at Josie’s. The picture of them together flashes through your head almost brutally. “Yeah, I’m totally fine. I just didn’t know is all,” you tell him with a shrug of your shoulders. “And I’m super hungry, so I think I’m a little out of it.”

Foggy looks at you, eyes narrowing in consideration, before his face brightens again. “I totally feel that. Like…my life is perpetually split into two sections; eating, or thinking about when I’m going to eat again. My stomach is forever calling out for food.”

You laugh, and while you find what he’s said amusing, it’s not enough to drown out the roaring in your ears. The new knowledge has sent you spiraling, and it’s like every thought you’ve had about the two of them is standing in front of you, taunting you. Matt and Karen had at one point been together. Maybe only for a short period of time, according to Foggy, but feelings had been there, and you can’t help but think that you were possibly the thing that was standing in the way of the universe correcting itself.

Foggy has thankfully turned back to his sandwich, and you pray for the floor to open up and swallow you whole.

Your phone rings, and you pull it out of your purse, grateful for the first time in your life to see your boss’s name flashing across the screen.

“Hello?”

“Hey,” her voice greets you, “I know you’re taking your lunch, but is there any way you can come back early? Someone in accounting messed up the data you’ve collected, and I could really use some help getting it sorted back out. It needs to be resubmitted by the end of the day.”

Perfect.

“Yes, I can be there in ten. I’ll see you soon.”

Your boss hangs up, and you’re shoving your phone into your purse as you rise up from your chair. “I have to go, work emergency,” you tell Foggy in explanation as he looks at you questioningly. “Will you give Matt his lunch and tell him I’m sorry I missed him?”

He nods with a small grin, gingerly wiping his mouth with a napkin as he swallows, careful to not rub too hard. His skin really does look painful. “I’ll tell him to give you a call later. He’ll be sad that he didn’t get to spend lunch with you.”

Your heart aches painfully in your chest. You’re sad, too, but right now the relief far outweighs the disappointment. You’re not sure you’d be able to handle sitting across from him right now, insecurities and negative thoughts spreading through your entire body like an uncontrollable wildfire.

Matt has always made your heart pound relentlessly in your chest, the mere thought of him sending you into overdrive. His wide smile. His cocky smirk. His beautiful eyes he only lets a select few see. His soft skin.

But now your heart is pounding for a whole different reason, the anxiety ensnaring you so completely in such a small period of time, and you don’t want him around to witness the fallout that’s bound to happen.

You send one last smile to Foggy, and if he notices the panic and misery in it, he doesn’t say anything.

*****************

The final nail in the coffin happens at a fundraiser Nelson, Murdock & Page had been invited to. The fundraiser was raising money to help underprivileged individuals afford legal counsel when charged with petty crimes, and the firm is happy to attend and donate what they can to the cause.

Matt had asked you to accompany him, wide smile on his face while he told you about the mission and purpose, and you readily accepted his invitation to join. He seemed so eager and excited, and you couldn't have thought of an excuse to justify not going if you tried.

You’d picked out a beautiful dress for the evening. Red and black, an echo of the black he wears out at night, and the red of his sharp lenses, two different personas he puts on for the world. You prefer Matt in sweat pants and a hoodie with large fuzzy socks pulled up mid-shin, but you love all pieces of him, and this dress reminds you of the person he chooses to be for his city.

He’s running late, which is unsurprising, given the long day he’d had in court. He warned you earlier that his work day may run over, but that he’d join the group as quickly as possible.

You enter the fundraiser with Foggy, Karen, and Marci instead, taking in the way the lobby of the museum has transformed into a beautiful layout filled with cocktail tables that are covered with sleek black cloths and lit-up centerpieces. The lighting is low and almost romantic, a soft jazz band is playing on a stage directly ahead, and there are various decorations and balloons in hues of blues and purples.

It’s not necessarily a black-tie event, but people are dressed beautifully as they talk amongst themselves, weaving in and out of the crowd as they greet and strike up new conversations with people who have just walked in. It’s not exactly surprising when an older woman walks up to the group with a smile on her face, arms outstretched for a hug. Your group of lawyers is bound to run into people they know.

“Foggy,” she greets warmly, pulling him in, squeezing him to her. Foggy leans in immediately, beaming at the woman.

“Emily,” he says with a kiss to her cheek. “Always wonderful to see you.” He turns to the rest of the group, arm still around her shoulders. “Everyone, this is Emily Davidson. She is an old friend of the family.”

She smiles broadly at the group, before lifting her face back towards Foggy

“Where’s Matt?” Emily questions, arm still wrapped around his waist after a brief chorus of hellos are said. “I thought he was coming.”

“He’ll be here soon,” Foggy answers easily. He takes a flute of champagne that a waiter hands to him. “This is–”

“Oh, you must be his girlfriend,” she says with a large smile, interrupting Foggy and finally stepping away from him. Her eyes are absolutely lit up with warmth and excitement. “Matt said you’d be here with him.”

But Emily isn’t looking at you. She’s looking at Karen.

Your heart drops.

Of course it’s Karen. It’s always Karen.

“Aren’t you just beautiful,” she gushes, grabbing Karen’s hands in what can only be described as pure joy. “That boy always sure knew how to pick them.”

“I’m not—”

“He says you’ve been together for over a year, right?” She continues, voice carrying over Karen’s immediate objection. Karen gives you a look that is extremely apologetic, cheeks turning red. “None of the other women he’s brought around have stuck. I’m so happy to know someone as sweet looking as you has decided to–”

“I’m not his girlfriend,” Karen finally manages to interrupt, looking deeply uncomfortable as she shifts on her feet. The woman frowns, but Karen removes her hands from hers and gestures towards you with a smile that is kind, but also increasingly awkward.

Emily stares at you for a second, mouth dropping infinitesimally, but she recovers quickly, a wide smile once again lighting up her face. Though she is subtle about it you don’t miss the way her eyes briefly glance up and down, as if sizing you up.

“Oh. It’s so nice to meet you, dear,” she says, taking a step towards you. Her gaze upon you is kind, but more reserved and closed off than it had been with Karen. She seems to be yet another person who expects Matt to have someone as beautiful as Karen on his arm, and the thought causes your throat to go dry and your heart to drop. “You look lovely, too. That dress is stunning.”

You force a smile, and you hate the way it’s appeared on your face more and more these past few weeks. It was once a smile that was meant for the occasional awkward conversation, but lately it’s almost found a permanent home on your face.

“It’s nice to meet you, too,” you tell her, hugging her awkwardly when she pulls you in. Your body is full of tension, and your movements feel stiff. She pulls away, taking a step back. She eyes the group once more, the four of you in a semi-circle around her, before mentioning that she has some friends she needs to catch up with. Emily walks away, unaware of the turmoil that is brewing in you.

The air is sweltering around the four of you, and your hand is holding on to your clutch in a grip that would be bruising if it was someone's hand instead.

Karen abruptly turns to you, an hesitant smile on her face, “I–”

“Does anyone know where the bathroom is?” You cut her off, making a show of looking around you, trying to spot one. Your eyes land on one finally, and it’s like a lifeline that’s calling to you. “Oh, there it is. I’ll be back in a few.” Without another word, you turn on your heel and make your way towards the bathroom, shoes clacking loudly on the floor.

You're in a stall before you know it, the bathroom shockingly but thankfully unoccupied. You lock the stall door with shaking hands, begging yourself not to cry as your face crumbles. The last thing you want is to go back out to your friends with red eyes and smeared mascara, so you bite your tongue until it bleeds.

You have to get out of here.

An idea springs up inside your head, and you yank your phone out of your purse, immediately pulling up your message chain with your younger sister.

Text Sent 7:32pm: I need you to call me in fifteen minutes with an emergency.

You hold your breath, praying that your sister responds shortly. It’s always been a code when one of you needs an excuse to get out of something, and you’ve never relied on it the way you’re relying on it now.

Text Received 7:33pm: Is everything okay?

Sighing in relief that she’s answered so quickly, tears still pricking at your eyes, you type out a quick reply.

Text Sent 7:33pm: Not really, but I’ll explain later. Can you call me in a few?

Text Received 7:34pm: Absolutely.

You rejoin your friends with another fake smile, and make an effort to seem as put together as possible. Temporarily shoving your misery aside, you crack a few jokes, laugh at Foggy’s commentary of the people around him, and tap your champagne flute against Karen’s in a funny, random toast, ignoring the way she’s looking at you in concern. You make a show of wondering where Matt is, casually mentioning that he had said he would be arriving soon, craning your neck to glance around the room as if in search for him.

In reality, you’re hoping he’s nowhere near the event, so that you can slip out without a word.

You know you’re being borderline childish with how you’re reacting. It had been an easy mistake on Emily’s part, but it’s once again reinforcing the idea that Matt should be with someone who looks like Karen, at least by society’s standards.

A beautiful man with a beautiful woman. It doesn't matter that he's blind and can't possibly know what his partner looks like; there's still an unfortunate, unspoken rule that says beautiful people belong with other beautiful people.

You're cute, in your own way. But other people don't seem to think it's enough. And while you’d normally be the type of person to flip society the bird, you can only hear the same message so many times before it starts to sink in like a poison with no antidote.

True to her word, your sister calls at the fifteen minute mark, and you feel the way your phone is vibrating in your purse. You pull it out, sending a quick apologetic look to the trio as you take a small step to the side, and answer it.

“Hello?”

“Are you coming over to talk about whatever is going on?” Your sister says in greeting, her dry tone still managing to sound a bit concerned.

“Oh no, are you okay?” You ask in reply, placing a heavy frown on your face. The group is watching you closely, even while they make small talk amongst themselves.

“Did Matt do something?”

“I’m at an event right now,” you say, somehow managing to sound regretful, letting a wince slide across your face. Foggy looks at you, his brow furrowed, as if trying to figure out what's going on. When he wants to be, he's more perceptive than anyone ever gives him credit for. “Can I come by after?”

“Tell whoever’s there that I need stitches or something,” your sister suggests helpfully.

You sigh loudly, shifting your eyes upward in what you hope conveys a small amount of annoyance. “Okay, I’m coming.” You hang up shortly after, turning to the group with an unhappy look across your face. At least that part isn’t necessarily a lie.

“Do you really have to leave?” Karen asks, and while she sounds sympathetic to whatever may have happened on the phone, there’s also a tiny spark of suspicion in her eyes. You ignore it.

“My sister sliced her hand open and probably needs stitches,” you say as an explanation, grimacing. “She asked me to meet her at the hospital. She’s awful with needles and is freaking out. I’m sorry, I’ve got to go.”

Marci gives you a sad smile, and it looks a little too knowing for your taste. She’s the one who knows you the least, and while she’s a part of the friend group by way of Foggy, you don’t know her nearly enough to be overly concerned about whether or not she believes the act.

Foggy and Karen, on the other hand, seem to be a little more cautious with the explanation you’ve given, and you know that if you stay with them much longer, they’ll see right through the agony that’s tearing its way through you, no matter how hard you’re trying to keep it at bay.

“Tell Matt that I’m sorry to have to leave so early,” you say to Foggy as you lean in to give him a hug. Karen hugs you, too, and you try not to flinch from the touch.

Beautiful, lovely Karen. It’s not her fault, you know. But it doesn’t stop the sting.

“You could call him yourself,” Foggy suggests as you move to leave the group. You don’t answer, adrenaline and panic finally sliding through the cracks, and you can’t be there one second more.

You’re crying on your sister’s couch in a set of pajamas she’s leant you forty-five minutes later, bottle of whiskey on the table in front of you, your cell phone once again on do not disturb with a growing collection of missed calls and voicemails.

******************

You stumble back into your apartment the next morning, still dressed in your sister’s pajamas, evening dress bunched over your arm. Your expensive heels hang almost pathetically from your fingers, a reminder of a failed night out, having been replaced by a pair of old flip flops.

“Hey,” a voice says, and you’re not necessarily surprised to see him standing in your kitchen, sipping on a cup of coffee. He looks tired, more tired than you’ve seen in a long time, and you wince, knowing a large part of it is due to you.

“Hey,” you whisper in reply. You set your shoes and dress on your kitchen table, rubbing your eyes tiredly. “What are you doing here?”

Matt’s eyebrows shoot up in slight surprise, mouth parting. “Am I…unwelcome here? Am I intruding?”

“No, of course not,” you say in a rush, disliking the way his beautiful face flashes with something that looks like hurt. “I just…wasn’t expecting you to be here.”

“You would have known if you bothered to answer my calls or listen to any of the several voicemails I left last night.”

You hang your head in shame and guilt. “You’re right, I’m sorry.”

“I had no idea what was going on,” he tells you, placing his coffee cup on the counter and taking a slow step forward. There's a look of concern on his face, though it's buried under a level of irritation and exasperation that seems to be slowly settling in. “You were just…gone.”

“I told Foggy and Karen that my sister–”

“You’re a horrible liar, sweetheart,” Matt says with a laugh that almost sounds bitter. “They knew something was up, and unfortunately I was still too far away to know something had happened to actually do anything.”

“Nothing hap–”

“Did you miss the part where I just said you are a horrible liar?”

Your jaw snaps shut.

“Your sister finally called me back last night after you went to bed, or else I would have had no idea where you were,” Matt says, and he sounds extremely frustrated. “You can’t…you can’t just disappear on me like that.”

You know the way people have just up and left him in the past without a word, you know the way it has continued to leave scars on him, and it makes you feel incredibly guilty. But it doesn't stop the way you begin to also feel defensive, a direct result of the weeks of hurt still flowing through you.

“I’m not a child, Matt,” you tell him in something that could almost be construed as a snap. “You don’t need to know my whereabouts all hours of the day.”

He looks like he’s been slapped and you wince, already regretting the words. “That’s not–you think that’s what this is? Me being clingy? Or–or me trying to control what you do?”

“No–”

“Foggy said you ran out of there last night looking like you were about to burst into tears and all I could do was call and call and call and pray that you were okay. You went to your sister’s place in Jersey because you knew I wouldn’t be able to track you the further away you got, right? That I would have no idea where you were unless someone told me?"

You flinch, you can't help it. “That wasn’t the only rea–”

“And all because a woman mistook Karen as my girlfriend instead of you?” He asks incredulously. “How childish is that?”

It’s your turn to feel like you’ve been slapped. Your cheeks flood in shame, embarrassment, pain. You’re not quite sure how to respond to it, because a part of you knows how childish it had been. But the insecurity is not based on one event, but a series of them, and the chorus of voices in your head that tells you you're not good enough for him has been growing steadily louder since that night at the bar.

Matt’s words have effectively stunned you into silence, and while you open your mouth several times to speak, nothing comes out. Your shoulders sag, and you all but curl into yourself, hugging your arms around your waist in an effort to appear as small as possible.

To take up as little space as possible.

The way Matt is still tense tells you that he had been ready for you to fire something back at him, some sort of rebuttal that he’d easily tear down as he would in court, and when you don’t, he seems confused. His brow furrows as you all but wilt in front of him.

You watch as a flicker of realization passes over his face, and you cringe. He's caught on, and you don't like it.

“It actually…it actually hurt you,” he says, and his voice is startlingly quiet, a sharp contrast to the way he had sounded so heated and frustrated just moments before. “Didn’t it?”

You give a noncommittal shrug, shoulders rising and falling ever so slightly, but otherwise don’t have any sort of reaction.

Matt licks his lips, and your eyes can’t help but follow the motion even in your misery. “Why…why did that upset you so much?” You shrug your shoulders again, but he shakes his head, as if refusing your lack of a response. “No-no, don’t do that. You can’t have a reaction like that and expect me to just not say anything about it, to not want to know what’s wrong or what I can do to fix it. Talk to me, sweetheart.”

Your eyes are welling with tears before you can even try to stop them, and with a quiet whine, you cover your face in your hands.

You hear Matt swear, and before you can even take your first shuddering breath, he is wrapped around you. Your head is tucked under his chin, a hand cradling the back of your skull to keep you pressed into him, the other wrapped around your back. You leave your hands covering your face, unwilling to tear down the barrier at the moment. You’re barely holding things in as it is, and the thought of exposing yourself to him completely right now is terrifying.

He’s whispering soothing words into your ear, the same things he always tells you when he knows you’re upset, and while the words take the edge off, they’re not a match for the misery that’s got you shredded by its claws.

Eventually he takes a step back, though his body is still pressed lightly against yours. With slow movements, he removes his arms from around you, and gently tries to pry your hands from your face. You struggle against him for a moment, tears still soaking your hands, but you give in, as you so often do, when it comes to the gentle force that is Matt Murdock.

He tilts your face up and places a soft kiss onto your forehead, palms cupping your face as he gently wipes the tears that have dripped down your cheeks. His eyes dance blindly across your face, and though he can’t see the way your sadness has literally poured from you, he can feel the way the heat of the tears have scalded you on their way down.

“Tell me what’s wrong, sweetheart,” he whispers against your skin, still cradling your face in his scarred, calloused hands. “What happened?”

You take a deep breath, one that sounds more like a gasp than anything, and keep your eyes squeezed shut. “Everyone always…everyone always assumes you’re with her.”

“With Karen?”

You nod, fingers twisting themselves into the t-shirt he’s wearing.

“It’s happened more than once?”

“It happens all the time,” you tell him with something that sounds suspiciously like another sob. His frown deepens. “And maybe…maybe I just hear it more now because I've become so sensitive to it, but it’s happened quite a few times. And I know how stupid it is because I shouldn’t listen to what other people say, but it still just sucks to hear it over and over again.”

“What do people say?”

You try to twist out of his grasp, but he doesn’t let you. He presses another kiss to your forehead and asks the question again, softer this time. “They say…they say how beautiful you are together. How you’ll have beautiful children together. And when they–when they see that you’re with me instead, it’s almost like it’s offensive to them.”

Matt makes a mournful sound in the back of his throat, thumb catching a new wave of tears that trail down your cheeks at the admission. “None of that matters to me. You know that. You're the most beautiful person I've ever met, and I don't need to be able to see you to know that.”

“I know,” you whimper, and the sound makes you feel borderline pathetic. “But it matters to me.”

“Why, sweetheart?”

“Because it’s like everyone is saying I’m not good enough for you,” you say, still keeping your eyes closed as you expel the root of the insecurity. You feel like you're tearing yourself apart for him, the wounds every bit as real as the ones you spend night after night patching up on him.

“She is beautiful and kind and all the wonderful things you can think about a person. And I love Karen, she is such a wonderful person, and I'm incredibly lucky to call her a friend." You open your eyes briefly, taking in the way Matt looks just as pained at the words spilling from your mouth. "But it’s hard when everyone is basically telling me that she’s the person you should be with. And it’s–it’s not like I haven’t thought the same thing before. But hearing it come from other people just makes it worse.”

“Why would you–”

“And then Foggy told me–”

“Foggy?”

“--that you and Karen used to date,” you continue, as if the words can’t be stopped now. “He told me that you were together briefly, and that maybe it would have continued had Elektra not come into the picture. He said he had half-expected you two to perhaps get back together, or to try again. And I couldn’t help but think that maybe that’s the way it’s supposed to be. That maybe I’m just some placeholder until–”

“Don’t you dare finish that sentence,” he says, and though he hasn’t raised his voice, the tone is stern and it finally manages to cut you off. You lower your head, but he lifts it back up. “Open your eyes.” With a deep breath, you do so, his face coming into view above yours. His mouth is parted in something that both resembles shock and slight frustration. “I am with you because I love you. Not because I can’t have Karen. Not because it didn’t work out with her. I am not with her because I don’t want her. I want you, only you.”

“But–”

“We went on one date, and I knew pretty early on that even though it felt nice for a moment, it was never going to be something that was sustainable, or worth fighting for because she wasn’t right for me. There is nothing between us, and there hasn’t been in years, and there won’t ever be again, because I am with the person I want to be with,” he tells you fiercely, pressing his forehead into yours, thumb tracing your bottom lip. “I am yours in every single way. And whatever you need from me to help you believe that, say the word and it’s yours.”

His tone is once again quiet and gentle by the time he’s finished speaking, and the words are a balm that rushes through your skin, putting out and soothing the heat and anxiety that has been coursing through your veins since the night before. You take shuddering breath after shuddering breath, attempting to bring your heart rate back down to normal, and at last you succeed.

“Sweetheart?” he asks gently when you’re quiet for too long. He pulls his head back, head tilted down towards you in the way you’re so familiar with. “Tell me what you need from me.”

You shake your head, contemplating the right words. “I can’t think of anything that you don’t already do, Matt,” you admit softly. “You…you already know what I need before I even know how to articulate it.”

He's quiet for a moment before he opens his mouth. "Do we need to…keep a little distance from her for a bit?" He looks deeply unsettled by the idea, and it's equally disorienting to you, too.

"God, no," you say with a gasp, jerking back as far as his hold on you will let you. "None of this is on her, at all. And I don't want her to feel like she did anything, because she didn't."

Matt looks relieved. "I didn't think it would be something you'd go for, but I wanted to throw it on the table, in case you did need some space."

You shake your head. "No, I don't need anything like that. I promise. Foggy and Karen are my friends, too, you know," you tell him, mouth tilted ever slightly at the corner as you think about all the memories you've shared over the past year. "Sure, I met them through you, but I love them. You're a package deal, and I wouldn't have it any other way."

He tucks a stand of hair behind your ear. "They feel the same way about you."

You can't help the way your smile widens slightly. "Good…I'm glad."

Matt places another kiss on your forehead, pausing again before he speaks. “I like to think I'm good at reading you,” he says softly, eyes landing on your shoulder, the color almost green in the sunlight that's pouring in from your kitchen window. “And I like to think that not a lot gets by me. But this did. And it seems like it’s been there for a while.”

You shrug, as always trying to downplay the way you’re feeling, but per usual, Matt doesn’t let you get away with it.

“It was a miss on my part,” he continues with a sigh. “I’m sorry I didn’t pick up on the fact that something was off.”

“Nothing about this is your fault, so please don’t apologize.” He opens his mouth to object, but you shush him with a soft finger on his lips. “I could have said something. I know how to use my words. I… purposefully avoided you when I was feeling like this because I knew you’d pull it out of me eventually. So that’s on me, I think.”

He looks contemplative for a second, before a small smile graces his face. You trace his mouth with the finger that’s already resting there, and he takes the opportunity to press a kiss to it. “I’ll make an effort to listen more for when something might be upsetting you, and you’ll make an effort to talk to me about it. Deal?”

Nodding, you mirror the small grin. “Deal.”

“And if I feel the need to pull you close and put my hands on you in public so that everyone knows you're mine, you'll be okay with that, right?"

You can't help but huff a laugh. "Matt–"

"Or if you prefer, you can do the same to me, whenever the need arises," he says innocently.

Your eyebrows raise. "Why do I feel like you're asking me to claim you in public?"

"It's a mutual claiming, sweetheart."

You roll your eyes fondly. "I guess when you put it that way, how can I say no?"

Matt smirks as he lowers his mouth towards yours, hand slipping into your hair so that you are angled perfectly beneath him. "Seal it with a kiss?”

“Absol–”

His lips are on yours before you’re done speaking the word.

#daredevil #matt murdock #human disaster matt murdock #marvel #foggy nelson #karen page #matt murdock x fem!reader #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock x you #matt murdock fanfiction #daredevil x fem reader #daredevil x reader #daredevil x you #daredevil fanfiction

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eddiesxangel · 9 months

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Hey Siri, Play Jealous by Nick Jonas | BarTender!Eddie

ty @mmunson86 for the idea 😚

Wc 2.4k

Cw: You see another woman flirting with your husband when you go to visit him at work, smut ok no minors 🔞 only description of the reader is what they are wearing

You’re late, Eddie was expecting you at his bar at 8:00pm like always, except it was already 8:45pm and you were just leaving the house. You were running behind because you were trying to look extra special for him. It has been a while since the two of you had been intimate. You’ve been married for a little over a year now and to say you’re still in the honeymoon faze is an understatement. However in the past month or so, it’s been lacking. Work has been draining you so much that you’d only want to sleep after the two of you would come home from closing up the bar. Eddie's business was doing very well, so much so that he needed to hire more help but training had been taking longer than expected, so there was no way he was able to leave the bar unsupervised, he had to work.

You wanted to get dolled tonight for the both of you. That’s why you decide to go all out for him, to show just how much you want him. Your hair was done at the salon after work, you refreshed your makeup to more of an evening look and you bought new lingerie just as a surprise, and to top it off you put on that midnight blue mini dress he loves so much. That’s why you’re late tonight.

You walk into the bar and take in the familiar surroundings. You make a B line to the main bar to the far right, and you spot him immediately. There he is, leaning over the bar, a toothy smile plastered on his face, his hair was down, framing his beautiful chiselled face, both elbows resting leaning into someone that you can’t quite see yet over the crowd. As you make your way through the horde of people you’re able to make out who it is he’s speaking to. Your heart stops and a wave of insecurities washes through you. The person he is charming was a beautiful brunette, evidently sitting alone. You can automatically tell by her body language that she’s openly flirting with your husband. The sirens in your mind are screaming, MINE MINE MINE. Can she not see the single wedding ring adorning his hand? It’s not like the other hand, hidden with the rest of his signature rings.

Eddie stands up, turning to make another drink, mid-way through he spots you. At first, he’s taken aback by how good you’re looking tonight. You have on that tight low-cut dress he loves so much. Was that a push-up bra you were wearing? Yes, it was. As you got closer the smell of your perfume consumed his sense, it was the same one you wore on your wedding night. Was tonight your anniversary? No, it wasn’t. Eddie was sure of it. So why were you all dressed up?

You sit down on the bar stool next to the leggy Brunette, side-eyeing her as you do. Eddie always knows how to read you, he knows you are about to start acting up. Eddie enjoys it, so he lets it happen.

“What can I get for you doll face?” Eddie eyes you up and down. He clocks your jealousy in a second.

“Whatever she isn’t having” nodding to the drink he had just made the brunette.

He playfully rolled his eyes while she scoffs at you. So this is how you’re going to play tonight? Yes. Do you care she is a paying customer? No. She’s probably thinking her drinks will be free by flashing her tits to your husband.

Eddie gets to work on your favourite drink, you don’t have to tell him, he didn’t have to ask, but he wanted to have some fun.

“I don’t know who you think you are but I saw him first.” The brunette flips her long hair over her shoulder.

“Oh really? Did you now?” You raise your perfectly sculpted brows to her. You can see Eddie’s shoulder slightly moving up and down like he’s stifling a laugh, which he was.

“Looks like you’re taken anyway, what your man who gave you that rock not satisfying you?” She motions to the 2-karat diamond ring Eddie gave you as an engagement ring. It's sat there for 3 years along with the newer wedding band to match. So she notices your ring but not Eddie’s? “Have to run out on him like a little tramp?” She smirks thinking she’s won the battle.

You don’t think twice, you hop your ass on the bar, swing your legs over and plop down on the other side. You grab Eddie’s shirt by the collar, startling him a bit, and kiss him. You kiss him hard, calming your territory and he pulls away.

“This chick bothering you baby?” You look over at her, face in shock. Eddie didn’t think It wasn’t funny anymore, he should have stopped the situation from escalating sooner,

He firmly whispers in your ear to go to his office and don’t talk to any more customers on your way there...You’re in trouble. what you did was unprofessional. However, technically you didn’t work there. You walk from behind the bar and he apologized to the brunette for your actions, yet she’s the one who called you a slut.

Not even 5 minutes later the door swings open and slams shut. Eddie locks the door and turns to see you sitting in his desk chair.

“on your knees. Now.” He points to the ground in front of him.

As you slowly get up revealing that you’d taken off your dress leaving you in just the black lacy set you had on underneath for him. If he was affected by it, he didn’t show it, he just continues speaking.

“You think you can play these games while I’m at work? You think you can just walk in here an hour late, start acting up, looking like that, and you’re not going to get into trouble?” Your pricing eyes look up so innocently like you’ve done nothing wrong.

“You’re mine, and you were flirting with that wom-”

“Are you talking back to me right now?” Eddie cuts you off.

You both know this isn’t how he truly feels. This was your little song and dance the two of you did. You could see he was holding back a smirk.

“No” you answered.

“Don’t make me tell you again” he cupped your throat and you let a moan slip.

You sunk ever so slowly to your knees. His cock was already painfully hard, seeing you kneel before him.

You grazed your hand over his tented jeans.

“You’re in no place to tease sweetheart “ he undid his pants shoving them and his underwear down to release his cock. The tip was already red and leaking pre cum, ready and waiting for you.

“Open up sweetheart, show me you can be my good girl”

He didn’t have to tell you twice, you opened your mouth slightly sticking out your tongue. He slapped the head of his dick on it a few times before sliding it in.

His head fell back with pleasure, as your warm wet mouth consumed him.

“You’re taking it so well baby, being such a good girl” he didn’t give you a chance to take control he just slowly thrust into your mouth, slowly picking up speed as he began to throat fuck you.

“You think I would want anyone but this perfect mouth baby? Do you think I would want to replace you with someone else? Not a chance “ he spoke through gritted teeth.

You can feel a puddle of heat collecting in your panties. Your blood was rushing south, your now swollen clit was throbbing and begging to be touched. Eddie gripped your hair at the back of your head. You’re sure your perfectly styled hair was now ruined. The tears were forming in your eyes as he continuously fucked into your mouth.

“My perfect girl, look at you, so good to me” He abruptly pulled out giving you a chance to catch your breath. He placed his hands on your shoulders to lift you up. He grabbed your throat as he kissed you sloppily.

“Get on the couch” he walks you backwards, hand still attached to your throat, kissing you until the backs of your knees fold against the plush green corduroy. You plop down with a bounce.

“Spread those legs for me baby, let me see you” he hovered over you, both hands settled beside each ear on the back of the couch.

You slowly opened your legs, exposing more of he delicate black lacy number you had on.

He trails a single finger down your chest, across your tummy, and stopped at the hem of your thong.

“This new baby?” He pinches is fingers into the gusset of your panties and snaps the material.

“Already soaked for me and I haven’t even touch you yet.” He motioned to his fingers covered with your heat.

“Baby, please touch me” You grind your hips into nothing, begging for his touch, the only touch that ever gives you the amount of pleasure you desire.

“You think you deserve it? You’ve been naughty” He questioned.

“Yes, baby, please, I need you, it’s been so long, I need it, please” You’re begging your husband to fucking touch you and he was reviling in it.

“You need me to claim you? Let everyone know who you belong to? Hmmm is that it? Not enough that I made you my wife? Just had to claim me in front of everyone in the bar”

“Yes you're mine” you state.

“Fine, but only because I haven’t tasted this pussy in weeks” He didn’t give you time to reply. He moved so quickly, shoving your lacy panties to the side and attaching his lips to yours. He ran his hot tongue up your slit, collecting all your wetness in his wake. He hummed into your pussy as a sign of enjoyment. He circled your clit, finally getting relief from the pulsing that has been building since the second you walked into the bar. You groped the back of his head like he did you minutes before. “Oh right there!” You let your head rest on the back of the couch, soaking in the marvellous feeling of Eddie's mouth on you. His 5 o’clock shadow was brushing your inner thighs as he ran his face up and down, and side to side. He was devouring you. Every touch, every kiss, every lick was consuming you. The build on your lower abdomen was growing, you were being wound up tighter and tighter. “More please” You managed to whisper.

“Good girl, remembering her manners” Eddie spoke into you while inserting a single finger into your wet hole. “More baby, I need more” You ground your hips into him.

“Greedy greedy girl” Eddie takes his finger out of you just as quickly as it went in, he gives your pussy a small slap and stood up. You cried at the loss of him, but it was short-lived. He crouched down to bring one leg up and rested it on his shoulder. He lines himself up at your entrance and groaned as his throbbing cock slid into you effortlessly.

“This what you wanted baby? *thrust* To fuck you *thrust* in my bar *thrust* You got all pretty just for me? *thrust* All pretty just so I would fuck you silly tonight is that it?” You couldn’t answer, you were in fact being fucked dumb. Eddie sped up with each thrust and with each thrust the head of his cock would brush up against that spot. The spot that made you see stars.

“Answer me” he gripped your chin and made you look into his eyes, his beautiful brown eyes that made you fall in love with him. Looking into his eyes snapped you back into reality. “No, it’s not what I wanted” his hips stopped mid-thirst not expecting your answer. You strain your neck to connect your lips. You kiss him, you’re desperate for his affection. Touch starved by the weeks without intimate moments like this. Eddie kissed you back with the same need you both needed this just as much as the other.

“No baby it’s what I needed” you spoke into his mouth. Eddie groaned and flipped you over. He yanked down your thong and bent down to give your pussy one last kiss before splitting you open again. The new angle made your eyes roll to the back of your head, and the sounds of your moans, and skin-to-skin filled the room. Your moans could be heard above the sounds of the noisy bar on the other side of the door, but none of that mattered.

“Baby touch me please I’m so close” you panted. A hand reaches around your lower tummy down your mound and attached to your clit. A cry of pleasure left your mouth as he grazed your clit while plowing into you.

“Give it to me baby, claim me as yours” Eddie gritted out, you can tell he was getting tired but he wasn’t about to give up.

“Your pussy was made for me, going to fill you up with my cum, gunna give you a baby”

His words had you coming on his cock instantly, your body shook with pleasure and he continued to pound into you as he rode out your orgasm and chased his. “Give me your cum baby, I need it. I wanna have your baby” you cried as he continuously fucked into you balls deep, they were slapping your clit overstimulating you just prolonging your orgasm. That seemed to do for Eddie. You beg Eddie to fill you with his cum making him pump his hot load into you time and time again.

You felt Eddie slump his body over yours as he let out a sigh.

“God I missed this” he gave you a peck on the cheek before pulling out. You whimpered at the loss of connection.

He damped some paper towels with his water bottle to clean you up. It’s the best he could do without having to go back into the bar bathroom.

“Don’t ever think I would want any other girl other than you” he kissed you before having to walk back out into the bar. The impromptu 30-minute break was not on the schedule. He needed to make sure everything was ok in the bar. You found your dress and walked back out like nothing happened.

The leggy brunette was now snuggled up to some other guy in the back booth, you make eye contact and give her a little wink. Eddie was already back behind the bar, lipstick still smudged on his face but you couldn’t really tell in the dim light.

“See you at home for round two hot stuff” You leaned over the bar to give him one last kiss goodbye. Eddie groaned, he still has 2 hours left until closing he wasn’t sure he could wait that long.

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muffinlance · 8 months

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Isopuppy update: Legs! So many legs. So many many horrifying legs. I ran out of the sparkle-white yarn so he got gray socks. Highly recommend mismatched legs, they are very joyful.

Also: antennae!

[id: Photos of a crocheted isopuppy from various angles. He has fourteen isopod-esk legs. End id.]

Going to make the shell slightly wider and longer (he needs a little more room to roll now that the legs are on). I'd also like more stability in the neck for when he sits up, which he does fantastically and terrifyingly well (so. many. legs), so I'll likely make that a single piece with the body. The legs are customizable--you can make them short or long to preference extremely easily. Mine is a Leggy Boi.

IMPORTANT UPDATE: Toddler saw the finished isopuppy and IMMEDIATELY demanded that it be A) rolled, and B) taken to the hallway to play fetch. Quality assurance testing now in progress.

#Leggy Bois are toddler and baby approved #alarmingly so #sparkle-white yarn is NOT BABY SAFE HONEY GIVE THAT BACK NO EAT #this first one belongs to toddler #next one will be to test the final modifications + give baby something she can more safely shove in her mouth #avatar the last airbender #atla #salvage #the amazing isopuppy #crochet #Scuttles/Sokka/Seal Jerky #amigurumi

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ficsofabotchedmind · 4 months

Text

For better or worse? Time will tell.

Summary? None.

Once again, thank you @cissyenthusiast010155 ! If it wasn't for you I'd be fucked (in the bad way). 🥹

Warnings? Yes; NSFW, 18+, smut, oral sex, slight, if any at all, Angst.

———————————————————————————

Larissa sat in her chair by the fire thinking of what had transpired earlier in the day. Did she really think that letting the offspring of Morticia and Gomez Addams into Nevermore was a good idea? No.

Did she think that pairing her with Enid Sinclair was a good idea? Yes.

The girls reminded Larissa much of herself and Morticia back in the day. Enid was like Morticia personality wise, bubbly & friendly. Wednesday reminded Larissa of herself, standoffish & firm.

Larissa couldn't help but pray that whatever she had just allowed to happen wouldn't come back a bite her in the ass.

She snorted to herself at the thought, she knew damn well it would come back and bite her. It always would dealing with someone who is part Frump. Now don't get her wrong, she has no issue with Wednesday, just one with her mother.

Larissa let out a heavy sigh, took a long swallow of her wine and started thinking back to when her and Morticia were still students in Nevermore.

Nevermore, 1990

"Morticia, you can't just go around doing that!" Larissa exclaimed through giggles

Morticia, quite busy with her head in Larissas neck, didn't care at the moment. She just enjoyed the sounds she was pulling from her leggy, blonde girlfriend.

"Morticia, I'm serious! Enough!" Larissa hissed out, "I think I hear someone coming."

Morticia let out a quiet snicker but thought better of saying what she wanted to say, "Yes, mon amour, whatever your heart desires."

Larissa thought for a second and grumbled, "My heart desires for us to have a moments peace." she thought a bit more a smirked, "And so does my body."

"Oh you flirt! You can't expect me not to do anything after you say something like that." Morticia exclaimed through a pout

Larissa let out a giggle and opened her mouth but before she could say anything further she was proven right, and next thing she knew Gomez popped around the corner.

Larissa, while not a werewolf, let out the most impressive growl anyone has ever heard.

Upon hearing the sound emerge from her girlfriend Morticia shivered in excitement but from what she could tell out of the corner of her eye, Gomez did the exact opposite.

Larissa, upon her realization that she scared the boy damn near out of his wits, smirked.

"How can we help you, Gomez?" asked Larissa through gritted teeth and a fake smile.

Gomez, now nervous, let out a shaky laugh, "I was just wondering if I could speak with, Tish?"

Larissas teeth ground together upon hearing the nickname the Addams boy gave Morticia.

"Tish?" Larissa asked

"Y-yes? Oh! Um, I meant Morticia!" stuttered Gomez nervously

Morticia noticing that her normally loving and kind girlfriend seemed to want to snap Gomez's neck at any moment accepted the offer to speak with him, "I'll be right with you, Gomez. Now run along."

As Gomez rounded the door out of earshot Larissa hissed, "Are you fucking joking, Morticia? That boy has had his eyes on you ever since he's arrived! Are you sure you wish to speak with him,-" Larissa had to take a deep breath before she spat out, "-privately?"

Morticia sighed, she knew of Gomez's feelings but was not in the mood to entertain them today. She gently approached Larissa, who had moved across the room while in a huff, cupped her cheeks, stood on her toes and pressed a gentle, loving kiss to Larissas lips.

"My darling shifter, I will not fall for his little attempts. He can wish all he wants,-" Morticias smile grew more provocative, catching her bottom lip between her teeth, let her hands wonder, "-but he will NOT be getting anything from me." and with that Morticia drew Larissa in for a long, deep kiss.

Once pulling away, Larissa seemed in a daze at first but slowly snapping out of it, she muttered to Morticia, "Ok, I trust you. I just don't trust him."

Morticia, with a wicked gleam and an evil smirk, "I know, ma chérie but he will lay no hand on me for if he does, I'll cut his dick off with that lovely sword mounted in the hall."

At that being said Morticia turned and walked off, throwing one last look of one can only describe as pure sex towards the blonde.

Larissa shivered in arousal, "That woman will be the death of me."

2 hours later

"Hello, my love!" Morticia giggled out as she entered their shared dorm, "What are you up too?"

"I am trying to figure out how this stupid fucking essay is going to work!" Larissa was far beyond frustrated with this essay and Morticia could see that if she didn't distract her girlfriend now, there would be trouble in the very near future.

Morticia thought about what was interrupted earlier and smirked, "Oh darling! W-"

Larissa interrupted before Morticia even got to speak, "Not now, Mo. This has to be finished by next week."

Morticia cocked a brow, she could not bel-well yes, she could. So she just had to get more creative and so she removed her school uniform and stood directly in front of Larissa.

Larissa caught sight of bare skin in front of her a furrowed her eyebrows and slowly looked up and what traveled through her mind, "Oh good God. Her legs, n-no underwear. Oh dear God she hasn't worn underwear all fucking day! God her stomach looks biteable, damn fucking bra in the way. Oh of course she's smug, I'm fucking drooling."

"Have you decided on what or who you'd rather do, my stately Sequoia?" Morticia asked with a dirty smirk firmly in place

"Yes! God yes!" Larissa got out as she shoved her books off of the bed and stumbled to get up.

Morticia giggled at Larissa and her excitement of finally getting what she was robbed of a little over 2 hours earlier.

"Be careful, we don't want you to hurt anything, my darling." Morticia got out through a fit of giggles

And once Larissa had finally gotten herself and her bed right and ready, "Alright, all done! No more schoolwork or anything like it, promise!"

Morticia smirked and unhooked her bra and let it fall, "Good, now where were we?"

And all during the night you would have thought that neither girl was human with the sounds they each were making. Luckily the dove had out a spell on the room after formulating her little plan.

Present day, 2022

Larissa drained the last bit of the bottle of wine and sighed, "So much for not falling for his tricks, eh Morticia..."

"I didn't fall for them completely, my love." upon hearing that she whirled around and spotted Morticia.

"What are doing here this, Mrs. Addams?" Larissa gritted out

Morticia expecting the hostility in her tone, made sure to keep hers calm, "I was hoping to speak with you, Larissa."

"What about? It's too late in the day to want to talk about your daughter and her academics. So what do you want?" hissed an angry Larissa

"I want to talk about us, my darling. And before you say anything, I have had a talk with Gomez! We have agreed that as long as the other person is happy then they may see other people." Morticia said, worrying at her nails

Larissa, not believing a single word at first, looked down. Morticia was ruining her nails, something she never did unless she was truly nervous.

"It will take some time for me to truly believe you, Morticia." Larissa spoke cautiously

Morticia smiled up on hearing her name being said without anger and bitterness behind it, "Yes! Sorry, yes I can accept that."

"Good, now if you'd please leave. We can talk more tomorrow" Larissa said, desperately needing Morticia to leave so she can retreat back to her room to handle the wet problem they both caused.

Making sure to keep her legs as close as possible when she walked, she approached Morticia and desperately tried to guide her out, but the woman wouldn't budge.

Larissa, looking down about to say something, noticed a smirk on the doves face. "Oh no, she's noticed." Larissa thought, "she's like a bloody hound! Quick, Larissa! Say something to get her out!" and yet the woman couldn't form a single sentence.

"Do you you really want me to leave?" Morticia questioned innocently, "Or would you like for me to sit you on that desk and make you scream my name?" she then said not so innocently.

Larissa mind skidded to a halt, her body growing warmer by the second, underwear no so very clearly sticking to her, she gave a shaky, "Yes, please."

Did Larissa think this was a good idea? No, because she couldn't fucking think.

Morticia guided Larissa to sit upon her desk, "Lean back, ma chérie."

Larissa, knowing she was not steady at all, propped up on her elbows and watched as the raven-haired goddess dropped to her knees. Growing water by the second she made a whining noise to which Morticia immediately silenced with a look.

"Be patient, Larissa. You'll get what you want, just wait a bit. Now, hips up." Morticia crooned out as she bunched Larissas skirt around her hips and slid her very soaked underwear down her long legs.

"No touching, keep your hands at your sides, and NO moving your hips." Morticia stated

"Deal! Now, just bloody get on with it, woman!" Larissa whined out

Morticia smirked and let her tongue trail through Larissa, basking in the taste the was her first and forever love.

Morticia gripped Larissas thighs and held them apart and took her time nipping at each one, drawing helps and whines out of Larissa.

"Oh fuck." Larissa breathed out as Morticia circled her tongue around the throbbing bud.

Morticia let a smirk tug at her lips enjoying the fact she still has such an effect on the woman. Morticia applied immediate, hard pressure with her tongue to Larissas throbbing and swollen bud and that earned the loudest groan that she's ever heard from the woman above her.

Larissa, giving up her fight to stay upright, laid back and gripped the edges of her desk so tight her, knuckles turned white.

"Fuck, Tisha! Please for the love of God, stop teasing!" Larissa cried out.

Morticia, glaring through her lashes, gave a sharp nip to Larissas clit in retaliation, with that Larissa yelped but shut up and Morticia soothed the sting with a broad lick.

While above, Larissa was flushed, panting, trembling, and whining. All she could think was, "Fuck, fuck, fuck, ffffuckkkk!"

Morticia latched onto Larissas clit and gave a sharp suck, and Larissas hips bucked into her mouth at that. Morticia used that as a distraction to plunge in two fingers, starting a hard and fast pace immediately.

Larissa let out a sharp, pleasured filled scream at the feeling, a smile forming, eyes hooded, brows furrowed, breathing ragged, nothing but screams emerging at the feeling of the fast and relentless pace Morticia set from the start with her fingers and the feeling of Tisha's tongue, teeth, and lips on her clit.

Morticia dragged her nails carefully against the sweet spot inside the woman above her, causing her hips to jerk and a squeak to erupt from her mouth. Still relentless with her place she started curling her fingers as she pulled out, reveling in the sounds it drew from the taller woman.

Feeling Riss's walls contracting around her fingers caused Morticia to speed up her motions. No matter how much her wrist was cramping all she wanted was to draw an orgasm out of the woman above her. Give her something much better than Larissa could give herself in this moment.

Larissa, growing closer, let out a whine, "T-Fuck! Close! Tisha, I'm close!"

Morticia changed the angel a bit, shifting one of Larissas legs up in the air and down a bit as best she could from her position on the floor between the woman's legs.

With the new angle Morticias finger were able to drive deeper reaching spots that haven't been touched in so long.

Morticia could feel that Larissa was on the brink and let her eyes flicker open and up, "Go ahead, ma chérie. Let go for me, my darling." and with that said latched back on successfully driving the woman above her over the edge fast and hard.

"Fuck! God yes! T-Tisha, thank you." Larissa screamed out and continued singing Morticias name as if it was a pray in and of itself.

After successfully driving the woman she loves to 2 strong orgasms she brings her back down to earth. Gently lapping at her, cleaning her. She stands and carefully lowers Larissas leg down to lie on the desk, dangling off the edge bent at the knee.

Morticia grasps Larissas hand and carefully brushes some strands of hair, that had fallen out of the perfect up do, off of her sweaty forehead.

"Let's get you cleaned up, my love." Morticia gently guiding Larissa up and into her apartment off to the side of the office.

Getting the bath drawn and Larissa undressed and bathed all went with ease, and now lying in bed beside the woman curled around her, "Get some sleep, ma chérie. We shall talk in the morning about everything and I promise you, I will never leave you again."

Larissa had no strength to reply but instead pressed a soft kiss to Morticias shoulder and lay her head back down and snuggled in.

The next morning

Morticia was still by her side, she didn't lie. Let's just say more than a talk was had and the dearly loved principal of Nevermore could be seen walking a tad funny and the smirk adorning Morticias face was unmistakable.

Wednesday recognized everything clearly. Of course she had, she an Addams after all and living with her parents had taught her things. To say she was disgusted was an understatement but it wasn't because it was two women, she's more open-minded than that. She was disgusted that it was her mother and the principal.

Wednesday mused to herself with an evil smirk, "Well, at least now I can do as I wish with my time."

Boy was she wrong.

#morticia addams #larissa weems #larissa weems x morticia addams #larissa weems smut #Morticia Addams smut #netflix wednesday #wednesday addams #wlw #wednesday

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cottonlemonade · 1 month

Text

How You Met (and other stuff)

word count: 1430 || avg. reading time: 6 mins.

pairing: post-time skip Daichi x chubby!Reader

genre: angst, a dash of fluff, smut - it has it all, happy ending I’d say (or very happy ending ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°))

warnings: mdni, nsfw, getting stabbed (no actual description, just… it’s happening quite casually)

____________________________________________

> so how you met was a bit wild

> Daichi had a blind date

> a friend from work had talked him into it and Daichi made the grave mistake of telling his mom about it when she called demanding her weekly update on his life

> upon hearing her only son had a date she immediately made an appointment with her fortune teller and was delighted to tell Daichi that it was predicted he would meet his wife on the day of his date

> Daichi highly doubted that that would be the case but humored his mom

> after the blind date he met his friend for a drink, very sure that while the set up had been nice enough, she seemed more interested in his looks and badge than his personality

> as he brainstormed with his friend how he would let his mom know that she would have to wait a bit longer for her grandkids he heard someone shout “Watch out!” and got pushed out of the way

> a young woman around his age had shoved him off his stool

> confused he looked you up and down then noticed the knife sticking out of your thigh and his eyes widened

> a man dressed in black hurried out of the bar and Daichi was torn between staying with you or running after him, but his friend was already in pursuit, calling for backup

> “Don’t move.”, Daichi said, offering his steady hand to your shaking one

> What were you thinking!? Guilt washed over him that a civilian got hurt because someone tried to harm him

> while you waited for an ambulance he tried to distract you

> apparently you had also just been on a blind date tonight but the guy, upon seeing that you weren’t slim and leggy, had just turned around and left without even saying Hello

> somehow that just made Daichi even angrier because when he the adrenaline had subsided a little he had not been able to stop staring at you

> not only were you brave and selfless by protecting a complete stranger (although he was saving a severe scolding followed by a long lecture on self-preservation for later) but you were also - in his opinion - just absolutely stunning and joking around mere minutes after literally being stabbed in your … very plush thigh (Daichi shook his head to keep his thoughts straight)

> using strong liquor the bartender kindly provided he poured some over the wound, making sure to leave the knife in, marveling once again at your strength that you hardly even winced

> Daichi joined you in the back of the ambulance and actually visited you every day until your release, bringing you flowers and good food, every time staying just a little bit longer so he could talk to you

> when you were allowed to go home he offered to drive you and as you said Goodbye at your door, he finally worked up the courage to ask you out

_________________

Two Months Later

When you had first suggested it, Daichi was all for the idea. The incident at the bar still lay heavily on his mind and whenever he closed his eyes he could still feel your blood running through his hands where he had used napkins to stop the bleeding.

As far as he could tell, you carried nothing but a scar on your upper thigh from it. You still limped on occasion when you two took a longer walk in the park or when you came home from work, having had to run to catch your bus, but besides that you seemed perfectly fine. Although once or twice shortly afterwards, you had bolted up in the middle of night drenched in sweat, calling his name. In those nights he wanted to cry or break something for you having been in danger in the first place.

And then he would hold you tight until the morning and tell you that you were safe, that he would protect you.

So, saying that you wanted to learn to defend yourself properly sent a rush through his body. Of course he immediately agreed and booked the studio he usually trained at for his next evening off.

“So the first thing you need to know is how to stand.”, Daichi said, taking position next to you.

You nodded.

“Since you are right handed, you would keep your left foot forward, and your right foot would be at an angle. - Just like that, perfect.” He put his hand on your shoulder, guiding you a little forward. “Don’t stand too straight, you gotta slouch a bit. - Exactly, you’re a natural.” He kissed your cheek and went on, “Now, you lead with your right, so you will want to jab with your left, keeping your right for your power punch.”

He demonstrated and lightly punched the air, watching as you followed his example.

As the night went on, you eventually switched to training with pads. He had you punch his hands in alternating patterns, correcting your stance, encouraging you, reminding you to move. Sweat was running down your back and your arms were glistening, you were getting tired.

You started to pant and the throbbing in your thigh was killing you, but you didn’t want to stop.

Daichi straightened himself when he saw your leg shaking.

“Stop.”, he told you, “You are in pain.” It wasn’t a question and he looked at you disapprovingly.

“No, I’m fine, let’s keep going.”, you said, raising your hands for another set of jabs.

“y/n.”, Daichi’s tone was stern, “When did it start hurting?”

“I don’t know.”, you said truthfully. You had been wrapped up too much in the training to pay attention.

Your boyfriend shook his head and took off the pads, nodding towards a bench in the corner.

With pursed lips to conceal a groan you sat down and stretched your leg. Daichi knelt in front of you and carefully took off your gym shorts to have a look at the scar.

“You need to be more careful.”, he scolded, gently massaging your leg with his warm hands, having you close your eyes in sweet relief.

After a while he asked quietly: “Have you been lying to me…?”

Your eyes shot open in shock. “What do you mean?”

“I haven’t been able to sleep over this past week. Are you sleeping well?”

“Of course I am.”

“Then why your sudden interest in kickboxing?”

You avoided his eyes. For what seemed like an eternity, none of you said a word, both trying to focus on anything but the tension his implication had left behind.

Letting out a deep breath, he leaned his forehead against yours. “I am so sorry.”

“There is no reason for you to be sorry…” Tears began to fill your eyes.

“I should have seen him coming, I should have been the one protecting you, that’s my job, I shouldn’t have-”

You cut him off with a kiss, cupping his cheeks to pull him closer. He breathed heavily, kneeling between your legs, running his hands up your thighs, closing the gap between your bodies.

Guiding you to wrap your legs around his waist, he lifted you up like it was nothing, keeping his lips firmly pressed against yours. The cold concrete of the wall against your back made you gasp, letting him deepen the kiss.

You felt him hard against the thin fabric of your panties and held tight to his hair.

The only sound for a long time in the empty studio was your heavy breathing.

“Hold on.”, he whispered against you and you tightened your arms and legs around him.

Supporting you with one hand on your ass, he pulled your panties to the side and relieved his now painfully hard cock from his sweat pants.

His thrusts were slow at first. Deep and sensual. He kissed your neck and breasts, getting rougher by the second.

He felt hungrier now, increasing the pace, leaving you grabbing his shoulders in sensitive pleasure.

All the anger, all the fear, frustration and hatred he had felt since the attack were breaking free and the powerlessness that controlled his thoughts was washed away.

You called out his name over and over, letting it echo through the studio.

His kisses at your neck had become bites, alternating between teeth and lips.

For a while he held you there, pressed against the wall, twitching in his arms, tears running down your cheeks from the intense climax.

“You are my everything.”, he said softly in your ear, kissing your jaw, then cheek, then finally your lips.

____________________________________________

✨ @briokayama ✨

#daichi x chubby reader #haikyuu x chubby reader #daichi x reader #haikyuu smut #haikyuu angst #daichi angst #hq daichi #haikyuu daichi #sawamura daichi #daichi smut #chubby reader

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kaiijo · 6 months

Text

PARALLELS — OIKAWA TOORU

pairing: oikawa tooru x reader content: gn! reader, long distance relationship, light angst, fluff

when the cherry blossoms bloom, you think of oikawa. of days spent hunting for beetles at the base of the trunk when you, he, and iwaizumi were kids. afternoons in middle school when oikawa would roll his eyes at you and repeat again: “parallel lines will never intersect” and ignore your “what if”s. the evening when oikawa pulled you aside during your three-way graduation party and kissed you under the canopy of brown branches and pink flowers.

“oi,” iwaizumi’s gruff voice breaks you from your memories and he asks, “thinking about him again?”

“missing him, more like it,” you say. you glance back at the cherry blossoms, petals translucent in the light of the setting sun. you breathe in the fresh scent. you loop your arm through iwaizumi’s and drag him close to you for a selfie. he offers a small smile to the camera, a dim contrast to your beaming grin.

“we’ve gotta hustle,” he says, checking his watch. “gonna be late for the team dinner.”

“right.”

iwaizumi has the two of you power-walking down the street, thought it’s more like a light jog for you given your friend’s long, steady strides. you pass a convenience store down the street and you do a double take, stopping to stare at the magazine display in the window.

your boyfriend’s face is plastered on the glossy cover, his argentina uniform fitting him in all the right places. he smiles up at you for the paper, the blurb next to him promising a tell-all interview with juicy details. your eyes lock in on the words “love life” and “latest fling” and you can’t help but frown, stomach flipping slightly.

you know all of it is tabloid fodder, nothing but eye-catching headlines, and you trust and love oikawa with everything in you. still, you can’t deny the jealousy you feel when you see him cozied up with a beautiful, leggy model for a photo shoot. jealous that she gets to be physically present with him and you’re halfway around the world.

you hear iwaizumi urge you to come and you quickly catch up with him, your boyfriend’s blindingly white smile flashing through your mind.

the beach makes oikawa think of you. when your parents would take you guys there and you’d all run off to the tidepools and gawk at the starfish and crabs inside. when you two buried iwaizumi up to his neck in sand. when he would scoop you up and dunk you in the salty water, despite the shrieking pleas you let out, begging him not to.

oikawa sighs heavily. he leans against the balcony that over looks the seaside, watching the crystalline water ebb and flow. his phone pings on the small, glass-topped table behind him and he picks it up.

a notification lights up his screen: @.officialhinatashoyo mentioned you in a comment: we’re coming for you @.oikawatooru!!

oikawa opens his phone and finds hinata’s comment underneath a photo of japan’s national volleyball team enjoying drinks and food together.

he swipes through the photos, a bunch of group shots with other players (bokuto and hoshiumi are notable making stupid faces in many of them). oikawa stares at the last picture. hinata’s got his arms thrown around your shoulders and he’s clearly said something that has you giggling right at it was taken.

hinata’s tagged you but he also mentions you in the caption, thanking you for taking these pictures and every other photo of them as the official photographer for the team.

oikawa tries to push down the hollowness spreading in his chest, zooming in on your face. you’re glowing — you always are — and he’s happy you’re happy, but there’s the undeniably envious part of him that wishes he was there. making you laugh and smile. maybe sneaking in a kiss or two in between.

he loves playing for argentina; he likes his teammates, the country, and is grateful for how he’s grown, but he’ll never stop missing you when you’re this far away.

oikawa thinks his thumb moves on its own, dialing your number with practiced ease. he memorized it right after you got your phone, begged his mother to let him get a phone so he could input your contact immediately.

you pick up on the first ring and oikawa can’t hear your very well. he assumes that you’re still out with the team, ears straining. you say, “wait, hold on, tooru.”

he thinks he hears atsumu in the background, “ooh! you’ve got a boyfriend! you’ve got a boyfriend!” and he definitely hears you reply, “this is why you get no bitches, ‘tsumu.”

your voice gets clearer as the background noises fades. “hi, love,” you say, and oikawa can’t help but grin at the words.

“hi, baby,” he says. “you picked up quick! you must really like me, huh?”

you chuckle, “something like that. everything okay?”

“yeah, i just wanted to hear your voice.”

“now who’s the one who likes who?” you tease.

his smile only grows. “you know it. i’m obsessed.”

“right back at you, love.” there’s a short lull in the conversation, but it’s not uncomfortable or awkward. it never is with you two.

oikawa’s alarm breaks the silence, the buzzing of the alert sending vibrations through his hand. he frowns. “i’m sorry, baby, i’ve got to get ready for practice.”

“alright. i miss you and love you, tooru. have a good practice. we need you in top form for internationals.”

he laughs. “yeah, you better tell the guys to watch out. especially ushiwaka and tobio.”

“i let them know.”

“i miss you and love you two.”

“we’ll talk later.”

“promise?”

“i promise.”

#oikawa tooru x reader #oikawa x reader #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu x you #oikawa tooru x you #oikawa x you #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu #oikawa tooru #.𖥔 ݁ ˖ kaiijo writes

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avocado-writing · 7 months

Text

Roland Blum x Reader

notes: nobody asked for this but I wrote it anyway. big shout out to my mate M who helped me brainstorm this and came up with some of the *chefs kiss* lines. might do a part 2 idk rating: E, minors dni

words: 2.4k

cw: utter filth. smut; excessive discussion of oral sex; pegging; you’re both switches lmfao taglist: @clarina04 @havaheart @angiestopit @cryptid-flannelhell @shadowluna25

Roland Blum fucking hates you.

He hates how you think you know everything even though you’re just a kid. Yeah, sure, he was the exact same way when he was your age, but he also acknowledges that he’s a hypocrite and doesn’t care. He hates the tight little outfits you wear, because he’s a slut for a well-tailored suit and you know you look exceptionally fuckable in them. He hates how he couldn’t stop imagining bending you over his desk and drenching his cock in your tight little pussy, wondering what his name would sound like from your mouth as you choke it out through orgasms. He hates that you’ve rejected his every advance so far.

Most of all he hates how you’re good at this job. It’s infuriating. If you were shit, like so many of the others he’s seen come and go through these doors, it might be different. But you’re not. You’re a fucking shark, out for blood. Just like him.

He hates you.

If there’s one thing that’s worse than you it’s your shitty little boyfriend.

He’s constantly around, trying to earn your approval - and he does need to earn it because it doesn’t take much research to find out he’s a fucking serial cheater. He has this habit of falling dick first into leggy blondes he finds at bars which you don’t much approve of. And you fucking let him keep getting away with it! You don’t even seem to like the guy that much. Roland can see the thinly veiled disinterest on your face every time your boyfriend tries to surprise you with your favourite coffee or a bunch of flowers. You accept them, and the kiss he offers, and then look relieved when he’s gone.

You need a good fuck. You need it. He can tell, and he’s sure your boyfriend isn’t getting the job done. Nobody sexually satisfied is as bitchy as you are. Except, maybe, for him. But his exception doesn’t prove the rule. He teases you about it mercilessly and loudly, and your conversations always end the same way.

“Maybe if someone was taking care of your vagina, it wouldn’t have sand in it.”

“I fucking hate you, Roland.”

“Yeah, I know.”

But you work well together, that can’t be denied. Case after case you take on, and case after case you win. It’s nice that you can put your mutual loathing aside to be professional for long enough to help your clients out.

He knows where you’re meant to be meeting your boyfriend that night. That fancy bar in the penthouse of that hotel. Seems fucking stupid to him, bars should be on ground level, but what does he know. While you’re in the bathroom he gets himself something strong which goes down well with the pill he takes; he sits in the corner where he won’t be seen and watches you.

You’re sitting on a tall stool, drumming your fingers on the counter. At first you look hopeful. Then you look at your watch. Over and over again. He can see the excitement leave you and you deflate like a balloon animal left in some kid’s room as time ticks by. Eventually your phone rings, and though he can’t work out every word, you have a very short conversation with the person on the other end, finishing the call by jabbing your screen so hard he’s surprised the glass doesn’t shatter.

You head into the elevator. He follows you. You’re the only two in there as the doors slide shut and it begins its descent. He leans on the wall and looks at you, levelly. You don’t even seem surprised that he’s there, you just look sort of tired.

“So,” he says, and you look like you’re bracing yourself for him to mock you like he usually would, but he gets straight to the point, “you gonna let me fuck you?”

You look at him, properly look at him. You seem to sum him up for the first time since you started at the firm, let your eyes trail up and down his body, taking him in.

“Roland, you have until the alcohol wears off.”

You barely get the last word out, actually, because he hears your consent and fucking lunges for you. His mouth is hot and rough on yours, beard scraping your chin and cheeks, and he grins into it when he hears you moan. Moaning from a kiss? You are desperate.

He slams his fist on the emergency brake button and the elevator screeches to a halt. You pull back to look at him, confused and appalled. He likes it.

“What?” he asks, pressing his thigh between yours, up into your needy cunt, “You said I have until the alcohol wears off, I’m not wasting a single fucking second with you.”

You seem oddly charmed by that idea, but it’s only a quick flash of sentiment over your face before he finds your clit and begins to fuck into it with the width of his thigh. You begin to twist and writhe in pleasure against him, wanting to ride him yourself, but him not allowing you the freedom to do it. He grins as he watches you melt.

“Knew you needed someone to take care of your little cunt.”

“I fucking hate you,” you snap, but he can tell your heart isn’t in it. Not this time anyway. He pulls off his suit blazer and, with a flick of the wrist that is too certain to have not been practised before, he manages to throw it over the camera in the upper corner of the elevator, letting it hang off it as if it were a coat rack. Seemingly happy that you have a few minutes, you let him kiss his way down your body and end up on his knees in front of you. He sees the hungry way you look down at him and wants to see it on your face all the fucking time.

He makes light work of your tight little skirt, raising his eyebrows when he gets to your thong. You shove him with your foot.

“What?”

“Someone thought she was gonna get lucky tonight.”

“Yeah, well, I fucking am aren’t I?”

He can’t argue with that. Well, he could, but for once he doesn’t. Instead he rips it off your body with his bare hand and shoves it into his trouser pocket. You yelp but any complaints you have are quickly doused when he begins to fuck you with his mouth. He is fucking ravenous for you, pressing his fingers up inside your greedy cunt and latching onto your clit viciously. You haul a leg over his shoulder and pull him in harder against you, your heel knocking against his spine. He digs his hands into the meat of your ass and hopes his fingernails leave little crescents.

You come once on his fingers, heavy and slick, and look both exhausted and disappointed when he pulls his hand away. He sucks his fingers dry and nods to the elevator control panel.

“Thing’s about to start working again. I’d get dressed if I were you.”

On cue the elevator begins to whir as someone somewhere deactivates the brake. As it starts to swoop downwards and finish its journey you scrabble to get your skirt back on while Roland grins at the show.

He takes his suit jacket and walks out the door with confidence when they open, striding past the assembled staff with utter nonchalance.

“Get that fucking thing fixed, almost ruined my evening,” he shouts at them, but anyone looking for too long can see his beard is soaked in you. You do your best to mimic his confidence, walking out as if the elevator room doesn’t reek of sex.

He heads to the street, doesn’t say anything, but offers the cab driver two hundred dollars to ignore what’s happening in the back seat. You bark out your address and fall into his lap.

Roland fingers you while you’re driven to your apartment. You’re one orgasm deep and high off it, and he makes you come again in the back of a dark taxi while easy listening plays over the radio. When the journey is over you grab his tie and pull him the two flights up to your home. He likes it a lot, being led like a dog, but there will be time to explore that another day.

Because there will be another day.

Roland takes immense joy in fucking you on the mattress he can only imagine your boyfriend has disappointed you on hundreds of times. He has stamina, you’ll give him that, and he ends up coming inside you three times over the following hours. By the end of it you’re lying on either side of the bed, sweaty and exhausted, just listening to the sound of your combined breathing.

“Why do you wax?” is the question he chooses to break the silence with. You look confused, and he points to your pussy.

“Oh. Personal preference I guess.”

“No, try again.”

“What—”

“I can tell when you’re lying. About this, anyway. Tell me why.”

You clench your jaw, but admit: “My boyfriend doesn’t like me hairy.”

Roland lets out a short, loud laugh that’s reminiscent of a bark.

“What, he afraid to get a pube in his mouth?”

“Roland!” you snap, and hit him with a pillow far harder than it has any right to feel.

“I’m just saying he’s a pussy. Wait, no, let’s not use that word, I fucking love pussy - he’s a coward. Grow it out if you want to grow it out, fuck him. If my face isn’t stuck to your cunt like Velcro then it’s no fun.”

You purse your lips but don’t say anything else.

The next time he fucks you, hair is beginning to grow there again. You’ve not really spoken about that night, and a couple of weeks have already passed. There’s been too much work to think about sex, anyway. Well, to act on it, at least. Well to act on it with each other - he’s not above admitting he kept your thong and likes to have the fabric over his mouth and nose while he jerks off into the toilet. You must know but you’ve not asked for it back, which he finds just wonderful.

The two of you are working late, main office lights off, lit by lamps, utterly exhausted. You’re in business mode, swapping ideas back and forth, butting heads a little but generally agreeing with what the other is saying. Excitement builds in the room and bubbles over to something else, and suddenly you’re in his lap stripping him off, and then he’s hefting you onto the desk and pulling down your skirt. He grins when he sees the slightly more natural state of your pussy and you roll your eyes at him.

“Don’t say a fucking word.”

“Oh, but I really want to.”

You silence him with a ferocious kiss and he begins to slide inside, too horny to bother getting out of his clothes properly; which is saying something because he loves being out of his clothes. He sheathes himself in you and you throw yourself back against the legal papers, not caring about how they scatter.

“So, your boyfriend pissed you off again?” he begins to thrust, pushing his girthy cock even deeper inside your creamy pussy.

“You wanna ask this while you’re inside me?”

He shrugs. He’s still hard as rock, so doesn’t seem to mind the discussion, so you humour him as he begins to work your clit with his thumb.

“Eh, a little. He’s always pissed me off to some level.”

“Why are you with him? You seem to fucking hate him.”

“We’ve been together - aah! - since we were in high school. Our families are friends. It’s just – oh, fuck – expected now.”

“Ahh, expectation, the truest form of love.”

You seem to mull that over, sincere, but you’re taken out of the moment when he slings one of your legs up over his shoulder and fucks into you so deeply you think he’s about to split you in half.

It becomes a more regular thing after that. Your little boyfriend is still around, but he’s none the wiser that you’re spending every other night fucking one of your coworkers. And the two of you are amazing at fucking. Roland believes you could sell tickets to a show to watch the two of you going at each other, feral and needy. And you’re kinky, too! One night you wrap his belt around his neck and squeeze it so hard his vision blurs and he comes more than he has since he was a teenager. On another, you fold him in two on your bed and take your time stretching his ass open before you peg him with the biggest dildo he’s ever seen. A prostate orgasm can really make you appreciate the world a little better.

You see each other a lot outside of work now, too. Usually he feels like the little dates you go on are extended foreplay, where you can run your foot up and down his leg and press your toes into his dick, but sometimes he has to admit he just likes going out with you. You’re a quick wit, whip-smart, and fucking filthy. You’re wasted on going out with that pathetic asshole, you really are.

And one night the two of you are working late, again. You’ve both ordered Chinese takeout from down the street, and have found yourselves distracted. Not with sex, not with arguing, but with trying to fling battered chicken balls into each others’ mouths across the length of the office. You’re in literal tears as Roland tries to wheel his chair into the chicken’s oncoming trajectory only to lose his balance and tumble out of it, landing miserably on his ass.

You can’t breathe. You grip the edge of the desk for support, tears streaming down your cheeks, the long line of your beautiful throat exposed as you throw your head back laughing, and Roland finds himself fucking enamoured with you. He wants to hear your laugh all day, every day, forever, actually. He wants to go home tonight knowing his is the only cock you have inside you. Fuck it if that’s possessive, he’ll promise the same thing if it means you’ll be only his.

He’s fucked.

He’s so fucked.

Roland Blum hates you.

Except he doesn’t really. He just has to tell himself that, or he’ll realise he’s fucking fallen in love.

#roland blum x reader #michael sheen x reader

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abiiors · 10 months

Text

haunt // bed - pt. 1

a/n: a while ago, i wrote do me a favour after which i said, i would write a matty hate sex fic. well this is it (and perhaps a bit more than anyone asked for), read dmaf again if you want to refresh your memory, or don't. there are 3 parts to this + an epilogue. i also know very little about western weddings, so ignore the inconsistencies lol.

a note about the banner: the photo in it is only meant to describe the dress, not the race, body type, hair colour, etc of the reader <3

minors dni! part 2, part 3

wc: 2.7k

see u in an hour xx

charli’s text flashes on your screen, illuminating a small corner of the dimly lit room. it’s not that late in the day, in fact, it’s quite early—only about 10 am. you’re supposed to be hurrying around the room, checking for any last minutes things you might have forgotten. you won’t be back home until tomorrow after all. yet here you are, surrounded by the things that should have been packed in your bag last night.

the dress, laid out on your bed, feels like a weapon; red silk slippery enough to slide between your fingers effortlessly. “a wily vixen”, that’s what charli had called you when she'd seen you in it for the first. the thought of that day—bridesmaids dress shopping with four other excited girls—brings a small smile to your face.

everything laid out here is a weapon really; your four-inch, sharp heels, the delicate and dainty diamond jewellery, the makeup you plan on wearing—blood red lipstick, a perfect shade match for the dress. an expensive crystal bottle of the same perfume you have used for the past six years.

familiarity breeds contempt. familiarity is also an excellent knife to twist in someone’s gut. because everything here, today, is meant to maul and wound him.

see you in an hour babe, love you. you write back and chuck your phone onto the pillow where it bounces a little before nestling between its creases. you stare at it, maybe your body still yearns for a call that will never come? no more can’t wait to see you up there. no more cheeky selfies in a state of half-undress. just a smooth, black screen.

right then…time to get going.

charli has been flittering around the room for the last twenty minutes. her white dress fits her like a dream, her makeup is a work of art and her excitement about marrying george is so palpable in the room that at least one person squeals or sighs every five minutes.

most importantly, the smile on her face is a permanent fixture. and every time you look at it, a warmth spreads through your body. she deserves this—the happiness, the celebration. the happily ever after. no matter how your marriage ended, you won’t stop believing in it for her.

“so!” charli walks over to you and takes your hand, “how do i look?” she twirls and the dress swirls around her, the tiny crystals catching light and making her shimmer like starlight.

you laugh in response, “like george is about to go into cardiac arrest the minute he sees you!”

the pair of you giggles like teenagers. you can so clearly picture it before it has even happened. the joy and love that will shine on george’s face; his excitement, quiet yet infectious and for a brief moment you’re transported back to your own walk down the aisle.

small, unsure steps, worried about falling flat on your face in those tall heels, but all of that had evaporated the second you had seen his tear-stained face. and the bright smile that had bloomed a split second later.

but that’s how long the ache lasts; a brief moment. it’s bad enough that you’re going to have to be civil to him, there’s no need to make it worse with unnecessary nostalgia.

besides, there’s her to think about.

she in question is a beautiful, leggy blonde who is at least seven years younger than him. not that you’ve seen either of them today…yet. it’s only because you and charli got drunk one night, four weeks before the wedding, and she felt bad about keeping it from you that matty had a plus one. and that’s how you fell into the rabbit hole of scrolling through this girl’s Instagram profile at two in the morning.

if you thought you knew his type, you would be dead wrong. physically speaking, she is the exact opposite of you—someone who looks like they belong on a giant billboard in times square, perfect and stunning. then there’s the more questionable aspects of her feed. the flat tummy tea adverts and the paid partnerships with various brands that are always under fire for being unethical.

but that’s the ugly green monster rearing its head. it’s not like you aren’t known for indulging in vanity every once in a while.

she will be here today, no doubt, clinging onto his arm like a decorative little thing—woah, where did that snide thought come from?! you shake your head to yourself, at least a little embarrassed. he’s not even here yet and he’s already screwing with your head; pushing you back into old jealous and insecure habits. someone clears their throat.

nora, one of charli’s longtime friends, has her champagne glass raised. a toast. she takes a deep, shaky breath and smiles tearily at the room, about to give her sentimental speech when a resounding knock echoes and cuts her off before she has even begun.

five heads turn to the locked door and you happen to be standing closest to it.

‘i’ll get it,’ you tell no one in particular, hand already on the doorknob. the possibility of it hits you way too late.

it hits you right as his clean-shaven face comes into view.

it has been ten months. ten months since you gave up the last name healy and changed it back to your maiden name on all your official documents. it had felt like a form of catharsis, getting it done with such urgency back then. but you also remember the days when you would be asked to state your full name and stagger a little at how odd it sounded to no longer have healy in it. to not have a ring around your finger to fidget with. no one to hold you at night.

but back to now. back to here.

it’s not hard to see that he has changed a lot in the last ten months. he looks serious; not necessarily sombre—it’s his best friend’s wedding, after all—but mature, more grown up. the grey in his hair, in his beautiful curls, is now much more prominent. the crow's feet around his eyes are more or less the same (and it sends a small pang through you; has he not laughed recently?). his mouth holds—held—a faint smile that’s already slipping, already morphing into a thin line. the exact same face that you woke up to for years now turning into a mask of carefully arranged neutrality.

“charli,” he whispers roughly and then clears his throat, “here to check on charli.” and just like that, he steps past you and into the room where he’s engulfed into a hug by the bride (and slapped on the bum by another bridesmaid but you ignore that for now).

pointedly, you also ignore the sting that comes with being sidestepped so easily.

you stand by the door, back still to the room, for a second longer than necessary. it doesn’t even register that you’re letting the warm spring air in. is this really how little seeing you impacts him? it must have. because if he’s here then she is also here.

“tell him i’m fine!” charli’s voice brings you out of your thoughts, making you shut the door softly. “and tell him not to meddle, i’ve got my girls.” she looks at you over his shoulder and throws a wink. your gut tells you it’s nothing but a charity gesture, just trying to gauge the tension between you two. guilt gnaws at you—she shouldn’t have to play peacemaker, she shouldn’t have to worry about two adults behaving themselves.

“only doing my duty here,” matty raises his hands defensively, “keeping the groom happy.”

the rest of them tease and taunt him playfully while you take the time to admire—no, simply look at—his suit. it’s nowhere near as nice as the one he wore at your wedding, of course not. but it’s beautifully made, tailored to fit and accentuate his muscles. and there are a lot of those now, that much is evident from the way his sleeves stretch over his biceps. he fills it out nicely, not that he didn’t before, but something about the fabric straining across his arms does funny things to your stomach. funny, you thought that feeling was a thing of the past. then there’s the navy trousers that compliment his backside rather nicely.

there’s a part of you that is appalled at all these observations you have been making but there’s another part—bored and much more matter-of-fact—that reminds you that there’s nothing under those clothes that you haven’t seen, touched, licked or sucked before. there’s nothing new. he is still the same as he was before, just now with a few extra muscles.

“go away,” charli’s nudges him gently toward the door. “we’ll be out in fifteen.”

he hugs her just before he leaves, dropping a friendly kiss on her head. after everything you’re glad no one had to pick sides in the divorce. you’ve at least managed to hold the friend group together, even though the same can’t be said about your marriage.

matty leaves just like he came in, sidestepping you and making sure he’s looking straight ahead. there’s a brief second however—a fraction of one really—when he slows down and breathes in. his adam’s apple bobs roughly and his face struggles to hold the blank expression.

but it must have just been you projecting right? no one can go through that much in half a second.

“there you are, darling,” denise walks in on you mid-smoke. “i was looking for you.”

she’s in a beautiful pink dress that brushes her knees and makes her look ten years younger than she is. you blush slightly at having been caught smoking; it’s a recent habit, not one she would be aware of, and you don’t want her to judge you for it.

“denise,” you try to hide the half-smoked cigarette, “you look beautiful.”

she pointedly looks at your hand and laughs. “my son does enough of that.” then she straightens up, as if bringing matty so casually into this conversation was a mistake. you suppose it was—it does make your heart skip a beat.

“i just wanted to say hi, darling,” she adds hastily, “and look at you…” her eyes scan you from head to toe, linger on your face for just a second before she smiles again. “simply stunning.”

“thank you.” your voice comes out in a whisper, fighting to get past the lump in your throat. you didn’t think there would ever come a day when she would have to so formally stop by to ‘say hi’. yet here you are, almost a pair of estranged mother and daughter.

“i don’t…” she starts but shakes her head minutely, “i don’t want to condescend you. but are you okay? with matty bringing that girl, i mean.”

that piques your interest. “that girl?” you stifle a little giggle. “sounds like you don’t like her…”

denise shrugs, leaning against the wall and looking at the bushes in front of her. “she’s okay, i guess.” then she takes a bit to smooth out her dress. “but she’s not you.”

“dearly beloved…” the officiant, charli’s godfather, begins, which you tune out instantly. weddings are lovely and romantic, wedding speeches are dull and boring. besides, like it or not, something else has captured your attention.

you stand behind the bride, holding the ring she’s supposed to put on george later. and right in front of you stands matty, holding the matching platinum band in his hands. adam and ross stand behind him, smiling and occasionally laughing along with the rest of the guests. you tried it at first too, to only keep your attention on george—who looks very handsome and beams wide the whole time—but it’s impossible when you feel your ex’s piercing stare right on you.

you would have thought he would stick to the little ignoring act from before. instead, his eyes have lingered on you from the second you walked down the aisle as a part of the processional. tracking your every move, every small step. frankly, it’s insulting. does he think you would ruin the wedding as some sort of diabolical revenge against him? you scoff internally; of course, he would think such self-centred thoughts, it’s just all about him, after all.

you raise an eyebrow at him. what’s your fucking problem?

he smiles back; an arrogant curl of his mouth that turns his face from sweet to insufferable within a matter of seconds. you, his eyes seem to say, you’re my problem.

well too fucking bad then…

you huff and look away to the side at the guests. it’s only about fifty people from both sides. just family and friends—a lovely kind of intimacy the couple had asked for. you smile at george’s parents who sit in the first row. his mum dabs at her eyes, clearly overwhelmed with emotion. and behind them sit denise and tim. right next to her.

she’s exactly what she looks like on her instagram page. dainty and beautiful, picture-perfect elegant. her whole face looks like it could be hand-crafted by the gods (or very expensive surgeons according to the snide little voice in your brain) but her eyes are bone dry.

that’s because she doesn’t belong here, your brain chimes in. not among your friends and your family.

well, ex-family…

her name doesn’t immediately come to the forefront of your mind. all you know from that drunken night is how charli made you block all her socials at the end of it. as if you were going to go back to them again and again. as if you have no purpose in life other than obsessing over your ex’s new girl.

she sighs, then looks out the window with a bored expression on her face and you have to focus your attention back to the bride and groom before you do something drastic. not before you catch matty looking at you from the corner of your eye, however.

not just at you…he’s staring at the plunging neckline of your dress that shows off your cleavage wonderfully. with the big window to your side, it’s so clear to see every little detail of his face—his teeth gnawing on his bottom lip (he’s unaware that he’s doing it. you know that for a fact). his pupils that are blown out wide, making almost the entirety of his eyes look black; dark and hungry.

your mouth curls into a smirk, arrogant enough to mirror his own. well, this is interesting.

matty’s mouth presses into a thin line. even now, after you caught him so red-handed, he’s trying to deny it. but you don’t miss his ears turning the telltale shade of pink.

“...and i promise to love you for the rest of my life.” george’s voice breaks on the last word, the tears flowing freely but he smiles through all of it. in front of you, charli’s shoulders shake. they haven’t even put the rings on each other yet and they’re already emotional. it makes you laugh, and surprising, you feel the tears escaping your eyes.

i promise to love you for the rest of my life. that’s what matty had said too. i promise to dance in the kitchen with you and do all my silly little romantic gestures. i promise to never let you fall. i promise, i promise, i promise…

so many of them unkept, so many of them just pretty words spoken on a perfect day in front of a tearful audience.

“i do!” charli squeals before the question is even finished, making everyone laugh. a wet chuckle escapes you at her infectious joy.

“do you, george, take charli to be your lawfully wedded wife?” the officiant asks.

“i do,” he says patiently and charli sticks her tongue out at him.

you sincerely hope they stay like this for the rest of their lives—polar opposites who complete each other. not people who are so similar, they don’t know how to exist in the same space anymore.

matty smiles, first at the couple and then, shockingly, at you. husband and wife he mouths.

jarringly still, you smile back.

i would love to hear what you think 🤭

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