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goldenlikedayl1ght · 4 days

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weren't we the stars in heaven? | m. murdock

a/n: hi guys. so sorry i haven't posted a full length fic about matt in a while so as a sorry here's a BEAST of a fic. i have nothing much to say about this, but i will say that i am not thrilled with the ending but oh well. enjoy! i'm gonna go take a nap but i am really proud of this so if you guys like it, let me know! warnings: oh boy. so many things. cursing, use of weed, drinking, matt is married but it's an open marriage, lots of religious imagery, sex, rough fucking, unprotected sex, no use of y/n, lowkey some mean matt smut, his kid is autistic but its not mentioned a ton, reader is hard of hearing but its only mentioned once, female reader with female anatomy, age gap, nicknames, ANGST, dirty talk, hella flirting and pining, just. it's a lot. word count: 9.2k (holy moly) summary: you develop a crush on a friend of your dad's from work. the only problem is that he's married, twice your age, and you babysit his son. pairing: dbf!matt murdock x fem!reader now playing: anything - adrianne lenker "lay on your lap when i'm crying/weren't we the stars in heaven?/weren't we the salt in the sea?/dragon in the new warm mountain/didn't you believe me?"

Spring

A week at home is too long. You think about how torturous a whole summer here will be. It’s almost enough to make you sign up to be a summer orientation leader or even a tour leader. Almost. The pay isn’t that good to stay in the dorms without AC all summer.

Of course, your mother asks you to go to church on Easter Sunday and because she did your laundry and cooked you your first home-cooked meal in months, you oblige her.

And as you’re sitting there, on your knees with your hands folded, your eyes peek open, beginning to wander around the church. It’s way too hot in this church, and you are bored out of your mind.

You realize you are the only one who is bored out of your mind. Well.. Almost.

Your gaze catches onto a man who looks just as bored as you do, only, you can’t really tell if he’s looking at you. You lean your head back and roll your eyes, trying to signal how god damn bored you are to him. He just smirks, and your heart flutters.

It almost looks like his smirk widens at that.

Your face flushes and you just put your head back down, closing your eyes as if you’ve been caught doing something you’re not supposed to.

Eventually when the service is over, you’re still thinking about the strange man on the other side of the church as you sip church lemonade that is way too sweet—But you’ve been up for hours and this is the first thing you’ve had since you woke up.

Your parents are making pleasant conversations with various friends they know, and you smile awkwardly at friends from high school. You almost choke on your lemonade when you see the man make his way out of the church, his arm hooked to a woman’s as he taps a cane against the pavement, a young boy next to them as well.

And before you know it, the family of three is approaching your family and your ears are burning red.

Your dad happily shakes his hand and pulls him in for one of those weird man hugs that you don’t really understand, as your mother does one of those weird moves where she presses her cheek against his wives.

Your father gestures over to you and says, “This is our daughter,” And he gives them your name, “She’s home for spring break from school.”

You wave to the kid, before shaking the wife’s hand, and then his— His hand is warm. Your heart is racing and you just shake his hand, trying to ignore the soft squeeze that accompanies the shake.

“Matthew,” He introduces himself like your insides aren’t discombobulated, “Matthew Murdock.” You just look at him, blinking for a second, and your mind begins to wander. How did he know you were rolling your eyes in the church if he’s blind? And how is he so hot?

You think you might die—Your face is flushed, and you think for sure that you’ve been caught, and that his wife will see right through this little charade and knows that you have a huge crush on her husband, whom you just met. He must know what he’s doing because he just smirks at you and opens his mouth to say something, but your mom just looks at you with a look of concern.

“Honey, are you alright?” she asks, “You look warm,” You shake your head with a soft smile.

“No, I’m uh.. Well, I think I’m gonna take a quick walk, find some shade—Excuse me.” You say politely, but before you can leave the conversation, Matt smiles,

“I’ll come with you. I could use the fresh air.” He offers, and you almost say no, but your mom smiles like she’s trying to fucking kill you—

“What a wonderful idea, You can tell Mr. Murdock all about your studies.” She offers, and something in your stomach twists with embarrassment—the way she phrases it makes you sound so.. young. So, you just offer Matt your arm, and he hooks his hand onto it like it’s casual.

And so, the pair of you walk through the courtyard of the church, eventually finding a bench where the sun barely creeps through the leaves of the willow tree that hangs over it, and the pair of you sit down, silence overwhelming you.

“So, what’s your major?”

“Oh, uh—English. I’m an English major.” You say, almost ashamed at how boring you sound, “And.. what do you do?”

“I’m a Lawyer,” he smiles. Your dad is a security guard at the court you have in town, so there’s no question of how they know each other.

“Your wife seems nice,” you blurt out, wanting to say something nicer to convince him—maybe yourself, that you really truly are not jealous of a woman you just met.

“She is,” he answers politely, as if that’s.. the kindest thing he can say about her.

“What’s your son’s name?” You ask curiously.

“Lucas.” He smiles fondly now, and your heart melts at the thought that this man truly feels nothing but pure, burning affection for his son. “When do you go back to school?” He asks curiously.

“Oh, tomorrow.” You smile, “Thank god.”

Then, he catches you off guard.

“That’s the most genuine thing you’ve said since we sat down.” He smirks, “Not a fan of your hometown?”

You don’t know how to explain it, not really—When you were applying to college, your mom asked you if you wanted to apply to any local colleges. And while you’re persistent that there’s nothing wrong with community college, you were sure that you needed to get out of here, or else you think you would’ve died.

But, you owe Matt an explanation.. Well, maybe you don’t, but you think you do.

“It’s not that,” You promise, “There’s just something about being here that brings out the worst in people.” You sigh.

His hand comes up to rest on your shoulder, and while it’s subtle, you notice the way that his thumb rubs against your skin, and you might melt right into him.

“Don’t let anyone ever shame you for leaving.” He offers gently, and you think you just about fall in love with him. Then, his head picks up as the screechy tone of his wife calling for him interrupts your conversation. He just sighs, and makes a bold move—his hand goes to your thigh and gently, just barely, rubs his fingers against the fabric of your sundress, the tips of his fingers teasing your skin. “Well, I’ll.. see you in the summer then?” he ponders.

“Uh-huh..” You say, your eyes soft with want. Then, he walks right out of your life.

Summer

As spring melted into summer, and as you finished the rest of your finals, your dad picks you up from your dorm, packing everything you hold near and dear into his truck, and then starting the drive home.

For the past month and a half, you have heard nothing about Matt or his family. Sometimes, you ask your parents, ‘How’s your job, how’s the church’, begging for any crumbs of information about Matt. And you aren’t even sure why, because in your mind, he is very happily married.

It takes about a week. You sit, day after day, summer job hunting, waiting to be doomed to minimum wage and exhausting hours. Then, your mom comes home with groceries and a smile that you know can only mean bad news.

“I found you a job!” She declares happily, as you put the milk in the fridge.

“In the dairy aisle of the grocery store?” You question, and she laughs.

“No, no, I found you a babysitting job for the summer.” She smiles. “For the Murdocks!”

You squeeze the orange in your hand so hard that your thumbnails pierce it as orange juice drips down your hands, blinking before throwing out the orange, your hand reeking of the tangerine, fingers sticky with sugar.

“I’m sorry?” You manage to squeak out.

“You’re going to be babysitting their son, Lucas. They both work from nine to five, sometimes later. You’d get paid to just hangout with the kid,” She shrugged with a soft smile.

Oh, great. You’re gonna be trapped in the man’s house, looking after his kid. Fucking amazing.

But, you really don’t even see Matt, especially not the first day. Well, really, you barely see him over the course of the first week, but you get whispers of him, and it’s almost worse. You see his graduation photos, his wedding photos, a photo of him holding Lucas in the hospital.

You see his office door cracked open, you see a mug with his name on it, you see his wedding ring on the table—

You see his wedding ring on the table?

He’s elusive. But, from the fragmented sentences you get from Lucas, he tells you how his parents aren’t quite like other couples. Your mind is caught on the fact that Matt and his wife might not be 100 percent happy together, and then you feel guilty that you want to take it as an opportunity to comfort him, in the least Godly way possible.

Matt and Lucas’ mother will be working late tonight, she tells you in the morning, there’s money for dinner on the counter, and you can just relax until they get home.

Lucas drags you all over town that day. The park, the comic bookstore, and then you spend two hours in target, trying to find anything related to Bluey or Cars 2, the only two things he wants to talk about. Your body is sore from looking after him. He’s a very nice kid, but you recognize that he’s.. different.

Nobody in your town has a diagnosis, but you can tell that Lucas is on the spectrum, and you have every intention of telling Matt to get him a diagnosis, so he has the resources he needs to succeed in school.

But, tonight, you’re tired. Very very tired.

So, after putting Lucas to bed and enjoying a slice of semi cold pizza, along with flat diet soda, you find yourself in the backyard. Lucas’ window is open, and you can see the downstairs steps from where you’re sitting, so you’ll be able to see Lucas if he needs anything.

You’re sitting in a patio swing, letting your feet rock you back and forth. Maybe it’s unprofessional of you.. but you scrounge through your bag, finding your pen and turning it on, taking a long hit. You walk to and from work, so it’s not like you won’t be able to drive yourself home.

Then, you see Matt come in, and you freeze. Fuck.

You watch as he sets his bag down, slipping his suit jacket off after. Then, he tucks his cane somewhere safe, before his fingers begin to work at folding his sleeves up to his elbows. His fingers rub his temple for a minute, obviously exhausted from a long time. Then, he takes off his glasses and your heart skips a beat.

He pauses as soon as your heartbeats and he smirks when he turns towards the backyard door. Oh fuck.

He slides the patio door open and approaches you,

“Why are you outside?” he asks, sitting next to you.

“Uh.. Just, enjoying the weather.” And he laughs like you’re the funniest person he knows as he sits down next to you, groaning as he does, and your heart can barely take it.

“You’re a horrible lair, sweetheart.” He tells you. Does he know how desperately you want him? “What are you really—” Then he pauses, his nose twitching. “Are you smoking weed?” He questions.

“No.” You say, but as you breath out, smoke blows out of your mouth as you cough a bit.

“Oh my god—”

“Wait, wait, wait, don’t fire me—”

“Hand it over.” He says, hand outstretched, waiting for the pen. And not even for a second does your brain imagine denying him. It doesn’t cross your mind that maybe he doesn’t have that authority over you and you’re a grown adult.

In fact, you’re foolish if you ever thought he has no authority over you.

You hand over the pen sheepishly, but.. you’re caught way off guard when is fingers study the pen, finding the button and taking a hit for himself. You just watch him, mesmerized as he exhales through his nose.

“Sorry,” he starts, taking another hit before passing it back to you, “I’ll make it up to you.” he promises.

“It’s okay,” You giggle, a little bit from how comical it was, but a little bit from how fucking hot that was. Then, you take another hit, as he just rocks the porch swing back and forth, like he’s rocking you to sleep. The night is cool enough that the smoke barely rattles your lungs, and the intensity of summer has gone to sleep. Silence fills the air, as you just pass your pen back and forth, love in your eyes.

“Why is your wedding ring on the table?” You finally ask. You expect Matt to tense up, to scoff and tell you to mind your fucking business, but he just blows out more smoke before responding,

“My wife and I don’t have the most.. conventional of relationships.” He responds, “We’re in an open relationship.” He adds.

“Oh.” You breath out.

“Yeah. Oh. It’s more like.. She goes out and dates and fucks and I flirt occasionally, but that’s sort of a long title.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.” He takes a hit, “Oh.”

You don’t have anything to offer to that.

“Are you from here?” you ask, and he just smiles.

“No.” He says, and now there is true yearning in his voice. “Hell’s Kitchen, New York.” He responds.

“Do you at least like it here?” You ponder, as if his far away voice didn’t give him away.

“At first it’s fine. You try to fit in, just, make your way through, settle down. Then, you begin to hate it. You feel like if it sunk into the ground right at this very second, you’d die happy. Then, you become.. indifferent. You don’t mind the numbness of it all, you just stay perfectly complacent. Then, you wake up and are desperate to escape, like your own personal Truman show. The Matthew Show. Wouldn’t that be something to see?” He muses.

And again, you have nothing to offer but another piece of your soul, just throwing it out there,

“Would you date anyone?”

“Excuse me?”

“Like, if you had someone you were really into, would you date her—Them, whoever?” You ask. “Whomever?” You ask, quieter now, mostly to yourself.

He smiles.

“If someone came along, someone say, who smoked weed, got along very well with my son, and was a horrible liar? Bonus points if she—they,” You suspect he’s making fun of you, “were an English Major?”

You tilt your head with a doe eyed smile.

“You remember I’m an English major?” He coos at you like you’re stupid,

“I remember everything about you, sweetheart.” What is wrong with him? What is wrong with you? Why aren’t you saying anything more to him?

“You know, sometimes, I remember the feeling of your fingers on my thigh when I touch myself,” And he grins like he knows he’s won.

“I bet you do,” He whispers, leaning forward so that his breath was hot against your skin, “Bad, Bad girl..” he ticks, and you can’t help but blush.

“Sorry,” You giggle out as your hand comes up to his face, just to move the pads of your fingers over his scruff.

“It’s okay, sweet girl,” he purrs, his hand finding your thigh again, the twitch of your legs not lost on him. “I don’t mind,” he hums. The weed you smoked is starting to kick in, and with it, your inhibitions start to slip away, your hand reaching so that you can barely touch his hair with the tips of your fingers. He takes another quick hit of your pen before taking your face in his hands, squeezing just a bit so he can lean in and blow smoke into your mouth, and as if it’s communion wine, you inhale, wanting every part of him you can have. Maybe it’s greedy, but you’ll atone for your sins later.

When he pulls away, you think you might just die and go up to heaven.

“I think..” You think so many things. You think that maybe he’s fucking with you. You think that this is a nice little dream that you’ll think back on when you’re old and wrinkly. The deepest, darkest, most insignificant piece of you that you pretend isn’t there, says—

What if he leaves his wife for you?

And you completely understand that you’ve barely kissed the man, but you never claimed that the deep dark part of you was smart, chill or even a little bit in touch with reality, only that it exists.

Besides, the deepest, darkest, most insignificant piece of you that you pretend isn’t there isn’t something you can ignore. Ignoring it is like trying to hold a beachball underwater—Eventually it’ll pop back up and hit you in the face.

“I think that maybe I should head home.” You finally answer, and maybe it’s the weed, but you see a flash of.. disappointment cross over his features. But that couldn’t be it, you’re much more pathetic than he is, he wouldn’t be so upset over you having to leave..

Would he?

But as quickly as the disappointment was there.. It was gone. Poof. As if it had never even existed.

“That’s okay,” he promises, pressing a kiss to your forehead, and handing your pen back to you so you can tuck it into your bag, until the next time you need another hit. His head picks up as you glance over to door, where his wife walks in, putting her things down. He glances over to you, “Let me walk you home.” He offers.

You smile gently, standing up with him. You don’t say much as you make your way to gather your things from the front door, making pleasant conversations with his wife as he waited for you to get your shoes on. Soon enough, you’re making the quiet walk back to your house, and you’re accepting the swirling mess that is your emotions—Sure, he’s married, technically your boss, way older than you, and most definitely able to read you like a book, but there’s something about him that makes you forget all of that.

Maybe it’s just the general look of him—the salt and pepper hair, the stubble that’s just a bit too long, the sleeves rolled up to his elbow, the way his hands have just a few wrinkles and are covered in scars (from what, you do not know), the feeling of his hand on your thigh or the way his pink lips blew smoke into yours, the way his pants hug the curve of his ass, or maybe, you pathetic college student, maybe it’s the shine of his shoes, professional but just begging you to ride them.

Jesus, you’re too high for this.

But you’re almost certain that what did you in, the roots of your delusion, is the way he squeezed your hand the first time you met. You think, with the upmost affection, that your handshake was the most intimate two strangers could get on a Sunday in the blazing sun, the hypnotic daze of the light shining through the stained-glass windows of the church finally wearing off.

You want to tell him as much, to tell him that you haven’t gone a day without thinking about him since that day, that no amount of college students who ask you out for coffee have been able to drown out the sound of his voice in the back of your head, that the deepest, darkest, most insignificant part of you thinks that he might leave his wife for you.

But the walk home is silent.

You say nothing, but you listen to his breathing, calm, steady. You’re envious. Sure, he’s blind, but there is quite literally no part of you that doesn’t betray you, that doesn’t give you away.

He stops at the end of your driveway, and you hold your breath, waiting for him to speak. You can tell he has something to say, by the way he inhales, lips just barely parted. Sure, you’ve been an English major for years, but you’ve quickly picked up a minor in Matt Murdock studies.

“If I made you uncomfortable tonight, I’m sorry.” He starts, and your brows furrow in confusion.

“I’m—You didn’t make me uncomfortable,” you promise. If anything, even though you were the one who said it was time to go, there’s a twinge of disappointment in your throat.

“Still—I don’t want you to think I’m taking advantage of you or anything..” He starts, “Just.. Have a goodnight.” He smiles gently, his hand slowly, all too slowly, sliding off your arm as he steps away, but in a moment of, possibly THC induced, boldness, you grab his hand as he stands, arm outstretched to you. His sightless eyes hold onto you.

“You aren’t even gonna kiss me goodnight?” You ask, your voice vulnerably hopeful.

His lips twitch up in a smirk, pausing for a second, his head tilted in the most curious way. Like he’s waiting for the perfect moment. Then, he pulls your hand towards him so now you’re the one with the extended arm, like the two of you are dancing, pulling each other back and forth with an intensity birthed from desperation.

He brings your hand up to his lips and presses a soft kiss to the back of it, something straight out of a fairytale. But just as quickly, he gently drops your hand, his eyes blazing with affection.

“We’re okay?”

“We’re okay.” You confirm with a soft smile, not wanting to dwell on any uncertainty that’s between the two of you. To accept that there is any uncertainty at all would be to accept the chance that this is as far as you two will get—lingering crushes and the ghost of a pair of lips on your hand.

He waits until you get back into your house, then walks down the sidewalk back towards his house, putting the idea of you in the trunk that sits in his armoire, only in the back of his mind, next to his old suit, his old friends, and his old life.

On Monday, you get to the Murdock’s house after Matt and his wife have gone to work, but before Lucas has woken up.

On the counter, a tiny envelope sits, your name typed onto the envelope. You tear it open, finding a freshly bought cartridge for your pen. A note falls out of the envelope, and it’s.. in braille.

You sneak into Matt’s office, pulling out a braille dictionary, and you quickly figure out that the note says, ‘We’re okay?’

In the middle of his work day, Matt gets a text.

‘We’re okay.’

When you tell your mom you got invited to go out with some friends from high school, she nearly jumps with excitement. You weren’t exactly popular in High School—that’s not really something you hide, since you’re now going into your senior year of college and you can admit that you were something of a loser in high school..

And in college. But, at your college, that’s more normal and even encouraged, so you run with it.

But your stomach churns at the idea of hanging out with the girls that you hung out with in high school—Wasn’t one of them married?

You knew from your mom, mostly, that the three girls from high school stayed very much in touch throughout their time in college. They were always closer to each other than you were with them, but you know that wasn’t really their fault. They were dumb teenagers just like you.

Maybe not inviting you to hangout outside of school was a side effect of being a seventeen-year-old, as so many things were.

You tell her that you have no interest in going out with them, but she tells you that you should have some friends at home! You want to tell her that having no friends was one reason why you went away to school, but instead, you text them back, asking what they had in mind.

So that’s how you end up in a bar two towns over, liquor burning the back of your throat, your head pounding and your ears aching. Your face twists into despair as you swallow the shot, not feeling as good as your ‘friends’. You’ve never been a fan of drinking, even feeling guilty when you took your first shot of communion wine when you were 8.

Your friends start giggling and laughing as you try to keep up with the conversation, a little lost, a sinking feeling in your stomach as you poke at the ice in your empty glass with a straw.

Then, the bartender comes over to you, placing your drink of choice in front of you, your friends pausing their conversation as she does.

“Oh, I’m so sorry, I didn’t order that,” You say politely, smiling awkwardly to her. You wish you were underage, you wish you were anywhere but here, you wish—

“Actually, the gentleman at the bar got it for you,” she smiles, and you furrow your eyebrows in confusion, glancing at the bar and—

Warmth explodes in your chest, your heart beginning to thump loudly in your ears.

Your friends laugh a bit, shoving your shoulders gently, teasing you.

“You have to go talk to him,” One starts, and another picks up,

“He’s hot!” You smile shyly down to the drink in front of you and nod,

“Fine.” You hum, picking up the drink and walking over to where Matt sits at the bar, sipping a whiskey on ice. You sit next to him, and for a moment, neither of you say anything, and then his head turns to you.

“Why are you here with people you don’t like?” he asks, and you just blink in surprise.

“I’m sorry?”

“Your friends. You don’t like them.” He says, and you just blush, embarrassed.

“How do you know that?” You ask, and he shrugs, taking a sip of his drink.

“You’re just.. quieter than usual.” He says honestly, sending you a sympathetic smile. You feel seen in the worst way possible. It’s like you’ve spent your entire life hiding, and Matt can see you for exactly what you are. Your face burns with embarrassment, taking another sip of your drink.

“Can we just flirt and almost fuck like we usually do?” You wonder.

“That makes it sound so much more.. casual than it is.” He pouts, and you just laugh, already feeling more relaxed than you had been before. And it isn’t even because of the alcohol, or so you suspect.

“What are you doing in a bar two towns over?” You ask, unsure how to respond to his comment about the casualness of your.. relationship, although that’s a rather strong word for what you two have.

“I was meeting with a client in town,” he responds, “Thought I’d stop for a drink before going home.” He says, and all you can find to respond is,

“Won’t your wife be mad at you for getting a drink when you could be home?” And he laughs, like you said something funny or cute.

“No, when she says she’s working late, she’s probably getting a drink and hooking up with someone. I thought I’d try it.” He smirks, and your face flushes. This is not a man who has any pure or holy intentions, and that absolutely turns you on. You have so little inhibition at this point that you simply lean forward, grab his tie, and pull him in for a long kiss.

Your nose twitches at the smell of vanilla, mixed with a bit of the whiskey, but quickly followed by just a hint of lemon. His hand quickly finds your waist, causing your posture to straighten as he kisses you deeper, his other hand trailing up your thigh, just like that first day outside the church.

The bar is dingy, so no one cares when he pulls away to finish his drink, then, straightens out his tie (which might kill you), and then he stands up, taking your hand in his.

“Let’s go,” he says quickly, pulling you along to the hallway that leads to the bathrooms. On the way there, your friends whistle and hoot, and while your face flushes, Matt does not seem to even notice. He opens the bathroom door without hesitation, like he knows it will be empty.

And the bathroom is.. disgusting. It’s dingy, dirty, but the sink looks.. clean enough. As soon as the door is closed behind you, Matt has you against it, his hands exploring your body as he kisses you, your hands instinctively going to his hair, as if you’ve done this a million times before.

His kisses are gentle, but invasive, like he wants to taste every single inch of your mouth with his tongue, and you happily let him. His fingers slip beneath your skirt, creeping up, finally finding the waistband of your panties, and he hums against your lips as if to shush you when you whine at the contact, his fingers slipping right under them to touch your throbbing cunt—It’s the type of warmth he’ll chase during cold, snowy days come winter.

His lips begin to attack your skin, kissing your jaw and your neck as he rubs circles into your clit, sucking up the breathy moans that escape your lips as he touches you. You’re soaking wet, and he wonders if you’ve ever been with anyone who knows where your clit is.

His fingers don’t even slip inside you, they just rub your clit with the attention it deserves, Matt taking your moans and how your hands grip his shirt as payment. But the movement of his fingers are too much for you, and before you know it, you’re squeezing your eyes tight, hands tangled in his clothes and hair, as you reach your first orgasm of many brought to you by the man.

He continues to rub your clit as you come down from that high, your breath getting more even, despite the way your skin burns and cum drips down your thighs. Then, he kisses you, jarringly soft—

“All that over some attention from my fingers?” He teases, that shit eating grin on his face. Part of you wants to tell him to fuck off, defend yourself, but you recognize, as does he, that he holds all the power in this dynamic.

“If I say yes, will you fuck me properly?” Because ‘make love’, despite what your mother and aunts always said, doesn’t seem proper. You two aren’t in love.. you’re in lust for this man—Or at least, you’re telling yourself that because of how desperately you want his cock inside you.

“I guess you’ll have to try it and find out.” He says, as if he’s not hard, his cock twitching in his pants at every little whiff he gets of you.

“Yes.” You hum, “All that over your fingers,” And he just smirks before asking,

“Anything else?”

“…Please?” And it seems to be the magic word, because he leans forward and kisses your cheek before adding,

“Good girl.” And at how excited that makes you, Matt finds himself practically fumbling for the condom he had put in his wallet the day he met you, but as soon as you realize it, you’re grabbing at his hands, trying to take it out of his hands, and his free hand finds your chin, gripping it just tightly enough to make your brain feel fuzzy, “What? What is it, baby?” he asks, and you have to take a moment before you respond,

“I’m on the pill, we don’t need a condom,” And a part of Matt’s brain that never quite grew out of the Catholic upbringing in which he was raised wants to remind you of all of the complications that could come with that, but another, stronger and more tempting part of his brain, the devil part of his brain thinks about the feeling of being buried deep inside of you, in the middle of this dingy fucking bathroom, with your ‘friends’ waiting outside, and he literally tosses the condom on the floor.

No words are spoken as he kisses you again, his hand that was holding the condom now working on unbuttoning and unzipping his pants, his free hand simply holding yours—perhaps the most romantic thing a man has ever done for you.

Eventually, your panties are rolled down to your ankles, and he pulls you just to the edge of the sink so you’re hanging onto him for dear life, and he just kisses you, and in between kisses he says, “Shh, shh, I’ve got you, just like that,”, and you trust him.

He pulls away from kissing you, to take your chin in his hand one more time and demand your attention.

“I’m gonna fuck you now,” he starts, “And it might hurt at first, but we’re gonna go slow, okay?”

“Okay,” and he kisses your forehead, strikingly loving compared to the situation that you have found yourself in. You wait, anticipation dripping down your thighs, before Matt slowly pushes himself inside of you, and as he fills you up, you moan into his skin.

There’s a part of Matt that starts shaking at the feeling of how tight you are around him. He lets out a low groan, his breath hot against your neck, as he bottoms out inside of you, his finger twitching a bit, aching to fuck you so intensely you’ll forget your own name..

But he resists, waiting for your grip on him to loosen softly,

“We’re okay?” He asks, and you nod.

“We’re okay,” You breath out, ready for him to move.

“Yeah, I know, baby, we’re okay,” he purrs, before slowly, agonizingly slowly, beginning to thrust in and out of you, only encouraged by your moans as they begin to pick up, thrusting into you faster, unable to resist the way you clench around him.

Your fingers barely scrape over his skin as he thrusts into you, his lips kissing your skin. He wants to tease you, he wants to tell you that you’re so dirty, letting a grown man fuck you in a dingy bathroom, but he finds himself lost in your warmth, unable to provide you with the dirty talk that he has dreamt of giving you for months.

But.. this is better. This is a well put together man, who falls apart at the feeling of your cunt, who shudders at the feeling of your hands on his, who tears apart at the seams of his being when your lips touch his. It’s the closest you’ve ever gotten to being an artist, mending and molding him with your hands.

It’s mesmerizing, and if you could, you’d stay here forever, letting him fuck into you like it’s his god damn job, slowly becoming faster, harder, more intense, never letting up, so you decide to push him—

“Need you to come inside me,” You pant out, and Matt won’t ever admit it to you, but he almost comes right then and there, not even bothering to give you a warning. Almost.

“I will, baby,” He hums, kissing your neck as sweat glistens his forehead, trying to push himself, trying to fuck you like you deserve, like he knows you deserve, his thrusts unrelenting.

Your thighs begin to shake as you claw at him, your breath catching in your throat.

“Matt- Please, oh my god—” You whine, “I’m gon—”

“Yeah, I know, baby, You’re squeezing around me so well,” He purrs, “C’mon, you can cum, you just gotta let go for me,” He advises, “C’mon, show me how good I’m making you feel,” And as you creep closer to the edge, your heart thumps loudly in his ears- You can’t help yourself. You’re sort of taken by the fact that when he’s breathless like this, you can hear his New York accent twinge out of him..

And that might just be what pushes you over the edge.

You cum with a moan, shuddered into his ear, panting as he keeps thrusting into you. The only time your mind wanders is rather briefly, as the way the stained glass windows looked in your church on the day you met him.

He lets out a soft whimper as he bathes in the feeling of you coming around his cock, the feeling of your hands in his hair, the feeling of your breath against his neck—he’s actually falling apart, and his thrusts only stutter as he comes inside you, deep deep within you.

Neither of you say anything as your hips pathetically roll, and he leads you down from your high as he slows his thrusts. For a moment, you both need to sit in the silence of your breathing..

And then, you start to laugh.

He laughs with you.

“What’s so funny?” He asks through laughs, tracing the side of your face with his hand, and you just laugh harder.

“You’re just..” You find the words, “You just exceeded my expectations is all,” and it’s so funny to him, that that’s where your mind goes after he fucked you so well. You’re adorable, he thinks, and he needs to keep you like this forever, stuck in time with his cum dripping down your legs.

When you both come down to earth, finally, he kisses you and says gently, “Let’s get you cleaned up,” And you happily oblige him.

He helps you off the sink, steadying you with his arms as your legs shake, holding onto him like a newborn deer, unsure of your movements.

But soon enough, you’re stable enough to stand on your own and the dawning realization hits you— you just ran away from your friends to go fuck a married man. And.. there’s so little regret—really, there’s nothing much at all that you feel besides an aching in your core for more.

He squeezes your arm gently, before asking,

“Feeling okay, honey?” he asks gently. And you just grin at him.

“Never better.”

So, funny enough..

You get grounded after your night out.

“Grounded?” Matt laughs as you tell him that, not at all caring that he has you sitting on his office desk, hands wandering your thighs, “You’re twenty one, how’d they ground you?” He ponders, and you huff.

“Well, my fuckin’ friends were telling their parents about this hookup I had in the bar, and their parents told mine, and they got mad at me—So now I’m only allowed to go to work, and then go home.” You huff.

Matt smirks against your skin, kissing your neck. He pulls back and grips your chin, tilting your head up to look to him, his thumb slipping into your mouth, pressing your tongue down.

“What’re you gonna do all summer, stuck in your big bad bosses house?” he asks, and you just roll your eyes as your face reddens. “Don’t worry, pretty thing,” he says gently, planting a long kiss to your jaw, “Your old man is gonna take good care of you.”

And you know he means it, too.

One weekend, your parents go away. They trust you won’t have any boys over, not even considering the idea that you’d have Mr. Murdock over.

He has his arm wrapped around you as you lay in bed, mumbling something soft in your ear. You roll over, admiring him for a minute, the way his eyes look.. he’s so pretty. You reach out and gently touch the skin around his eyes, noticing the scarring around his eyes.

“Hm?” You question, tilting your head. You didn’t quite hear him. He looks at you for a long time before responding,

“I think you’re hard of hearing,” And you can tell by the tone of his voice that he means it. “I’ve noticed it a lot, you always miss things when you aren’t looking right at people, and you’re always asking people to repeat themselves. There’s nothing wrong with that, I just.. You should be able to get the resources you need to help with that.” He shrugs, like it isn’t the most observant anyone’s ever been of you.

You lean in and kiss him, for a long time, your hand on his cheek. When you pull away, you take a second to breath before kissing him again.

“What was that for?” He eventually asks, a smile on his face.

“I just..” You shrug, “No one’s ever really noticed anything like that about me.” You feel seen, in a way that pulls at your heart. He smiles gently to you, kissing your forehead before responding,

“All I’ll ever want is for you to feel seen.”

The end of the summer comes a lot faster than you would’ve liked. You had a great summer, you tell yourself, you spent a lot of time at work with Lucas, smoking weed, sitting under the stars, and being with Matt.

But, as your move in date for your senior year approaches, and you begin to start packing, an anxiety starts to creep into you.

How will you say goodbye to him?

Neither of you have discussed what will happen when that day comes, but it looms over you like doomsday. Each day that passes, you get hit harder and harder with the realization that summer will end, and nothing will be the same.

And eventually, though you will and pray it does not, the day comes.

It’s hot. Blaring hot, hotter than you would’ve liked. Even as the sun begins to set, there’s a brutality to the air that does not provide any relief.

You’ve already said goodbye to Lucas and Matt’s wife, so now, you just sit on your front porch, staring at the house down the street. When the door to the house opens, you advert your eyes like you’ve been caught doing something you weren’t supposed to.

Soon after, you pick your head up to see Matt approaching you. He smiles to you, and you try to smile back, but your heart aches with the knowledge that this will be the last time you see him until.. well, you aren’t sure when. You stand up to meet him at the end of your driveway.

“All packed?” he asks. You scoff softly.

“Something like that.” You shrug, and he smiles.

“What’re you still missing?” You answer before you can stop yourself.

“You.” You say, tears beginning to well up in your eyes. Immediately, his arms are around you, overheating you in the late August weather, but you can’t find it in yourself to care. He holds you gently, as if you’ll break when he lets go, crying into your shoulder. His hand rubs your back as he gently shushes you.

“It’s okay,” he says gently, “I’ll be here when you get back.” He promises, and you know he’s right. But for the first time, leaving your home will be hard, and you do not know what to do about it, other than buy a candle that might smell like him.

You stay like that for a long time, longer than you care to admit, before he slowly pulls away. You look to him for a few minutes, before he kisses your forehead. He hands you an old Columbia tee shirt of his, one that smells just like him, and you clutch it like your life depends on it.

“We’re okay?” He asks gently, and even if it’s a lie, you nod, and respond,

“We’re okay.”

Fall

Adjusting to dorm life comes back to you quicker than you would’ve thought, despite your heartbreak that came with living. You and your friends fill your time with studying, smoking, and doing anything you can to distract yourself from the aching in your chest.

But, you can’t deny, that on nights where it’s too hot to sleep, you scroll through Facebook—yes, Facebook of all things, looking at photos of Matt, getting just small glances into his life from two hundred miles away.

And as the time melts away, you become more and more.. numb to the pain that stung so intensely.. But you also spend a lot of time looking for the cologne that he wore, and you won’t deny that when your roommate leaves for the weekend, you spend hours in the memories of the summer, with your hand between your legs, aching for just a bit of the pleasure he gave you.

You almost have a heart attack when your mom asks you to come to church with her while you’re home for fall break. Of course you’ll go, of course it’ll be your pleasure, mainly because you’re hoping—maybe even praying for him to be there.

When that Sunday comes, you spend an hour getting ready. You know that Matt is blind and won’t care, but maybe a part of you believes you need to dress all pretty for him. You even wear the sundress you wore for Easter Sunday.

Your thighs are already slick with heat when you get there, and your eyes scan the crowd for Matt.. and when you eventually find him, your breath hitches in your throat, just like the first night you felt him inside you.

You grin as you see him, all by himself, at the back of the church. You excuse yourself from your parents, making your way back to him like it’s your god damn birthday you’re so excited.

But as soon as you approach him, someone calls his name behind you—an old friend or maybe a coworker, and Matt walks toward you, and you open your mouth to say something your eyes following him, and then—

He walks right past you, avoiding you completely. Your face falls with disappointment, your heart sinking. Maybe.. he just didn’t realize it was you. Maybe. You don’t know, but it messes with your head throughout all of the service.

You and your family are sitting more towards the back, while Matt and his family sits in front of you—You watch him like it’s your damn job, waiting, waiting, Until—

He gets up, quietly making his way towards a door to the side, one that will lead downstairs and to a restroom. You begin to count to sixty, waiting so very patiently, before quietly excusing yourself, and following him down the stairs.

As soon as you open the basement door, Matt is pulling you further into the basement, to a deep dark corner, and immediately, you’re pressed against the wall, his mouth on your neck. You moan softly as your hands find his hair, tugging on it, as his hands begin to explore your thighs like a starving man.

“Matt—” You go to say, but his hand clamps over your mouth as his free hand tugs off your panties, his hand cupping your cunt as you roll your hips, desperate for more contact than that.

“You gonna behave for me, pretty thing?” He grumbles, and you nod against his hand, so he bites down on your shoulder, “There we go,” He mumbles, his hand coming off your mouth to pull your panties down, before working on his belt and his zipper.

Your hands work at his hair, trying to cope with the fact that he is not being gentle, in fact, he seems to be purposefully mean, like he’s trying to see if you can even take it. This is nothing like when he first fucked you—this is a fucking that is making you see stars, and will leave you in tears.

Two of his fingers spread you open, making sure that you’re ready for him to fuck you. When he decides he is, still kissing your neck, he thrusts into you quickly—unapologetically. He doesn’t care about much else besides chasing that feeling of you clenched around him. He bottoms out inside you and moans against your neck.

Then, his thrusts start. He doesn’t even pretend to start slow, immediately he is thrusting into you, harder than he had in months, relishing in the feeling and the sound of his skin slapping against yours.

“Missed your tight cunt,” He mumbles into your ear, “Missed how well you take me,” he hummed, his pace relentless. He’s trying to satisfy his cravings for you, but his attempt is messy and he’s losing his mind over the idea of not being able to fuck you for another few months.

“I’m—” You whine, your hair falling into your face, your brain fuzzy, “I’m gonna—” He coos softly as he grips your chin with his free hand.

“C’mon, pretty thing, cum for me—” And just like that, you do. You absolutely do. You don’t hold back, and as soon as he feels you clenching around him, he’s coming too. You don’t know what else to do other than let him ride his high. When he pulls out, his hand comes back to your thighs, beginning to gently massage the mess the two of you had made into your thighs, pulling your panties back up so that for the rest of the service, you kind of just.. have to sit with that.

Your hands stay in his hair as he cleans the pair of you up, and you lean in to kiss him, and he lets you, but.. he doesn’t really kiss you back. And it breaks your heart. Your eyebrows furrow, as you reach for him like a child, and he just grabs your hands, “Just.. relax, okay?” He sighs.

“Why are you being like this?” You ask, “You’re..” You struggle to find the words as he buckles his pants, ignoring your gaze. There’s something inside him that’s stopping him from being affectionate towards you, that reminds him that you’ll be heading back off to school in a day or two and his heart will break all over again.

“Go back upstairs, Honey,” he says, but you shake your head.

“No, stop ignoring me—”

“Now.” He says firmly, ignoring the nauseating feeling as the saltiness of your tears fill his senses.

“Fuck. You.” you spit out, and he’s not angry with you for your reaction. It’s valid, of course. He knows why you’re angry, he just fucked you lovelessly, in the basement of the church where you first met.

He doesn’t say anything.

But he listens to the angry sniffles and foot stomps as you make your way back upstairs.

Matt’s neglect made you turn a new corner, and as soon as you get back to school, you find yourself constantly working and studying. You can’t possibly think about the intensity of his thrusts, the sternness of his voice.

You can’t talk about it, you can’t talk to any of your friends about the way you fell in love with a married man, you can’t talk to your parents about how you developed such intense feelings for the man who lives down the street..

So, you study.

On Halloween, you get a little too fucked up.

You drink an intense amount, needing to wash away the anger you have for Matt. At some point, you’re sitting in your bathroom floor, leaning against your wall.

Matt does not answer your call.

But you listen to his voicemail like it’s a sermon.

Winter

After Halloween, you begin to drink water every day, you eat more balanced meals, and you cut back on your substances. Truly, you know you need to make a change. And you do—school work becomes less of a coping mechanism and more of your job again. You mostly focus on enjoying your senior year.

But as the winter creeps in, you shop around for a gift for Lucas, fondly remembering your time with the young boy, despite your interaction with his father back in October. You store the gift away and focus on your finals. By the time you make it home, you’re exhausted.

You sleep most of the day on the 22nd, and then on the 23rd, you spend your day unpacking and helping your mom get ready for Christmas. Before you go to bed, you wrap Lucas’ present, and store it away, not caring much to deliver it any time soon.

You tell yourself you’ll drop it off tomorrow, and you aren’t sure if you’d rather come face to face with Matt, or his wife. The walk takes seemingly forever, and you feel anxious the whole way there.

You knock on the door, and wait with baited breath.. When Matt opens the door, your breath catches. He looks really good—A grey button up and dark jeans. You just smile at him.

“Hey,” You breath, “Uhm, I was just.. I wanted to give this to Lucas.. Is he here?” You question, not knowing where else he’d be on Christmas Eve.

“Oh, he’s actually staying at his moms today,” And your head darts up.

“Wait, what?”

“Yeah,” Matt says somewhat sheepishly, “We’re.. Separated. In the process of getting divorced.” He confesses.

“Oh.”

“Yeah. Oh,” He chuckles, “I guess It was inevitable.”

“Well.. Then I guess you’re not doing anything tonight, huh?” You wonder, and he nodded.

“Yeah, I’ll probably just have a drink and listen to Christmas music.” He chuckles. You ache for him to invite you over. But you don’t get to tell him that before he says, “I’m so sorry about.. October.” He sighs gently, rubbing his eyes. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay,” You say gently,

“No. It’s not. I was a dick, and you didn’t deserve that. I really am sorry.”

“I got over it,” You shrug.

“So.. We’re okay?” He offers.

You smile.

“Yeah. We’re okay.”

“Good. Because I’d really like to take you out sometime. Like, a real date.” He offers, and your face flushes.

“Yeah, that would be really nice..” You grin.

“No more sneaking around?”

“Well.. Maybe from my parents.. And it is kind of sexy,” You grin, taking a step up further onto his porch.

“Yeah?” He laughs, his hand coming down to rest on his waist. “Maybe that could be arranged.” He hums.

“Good,” You hum, and then you open your mouth to add, but he cuts you off.

“Do you want to stay for dinner? Tell your parents you’re keeping your old man company?” He hums, and your face flushes.

“I’d really like that.”

“That’s my baby,” He hums, leaning in to kiss your forehead.

#matt murdock x reader #daredevil #matt murdock x y/n #daredevil fic #matt murdock fic #matt murdock #daredevil fanfiction #danny speaks to the void #matt murdock fluff #matt murdock x you #matt murdock angst #matt murdock fanfic #matt murdock x fem!reader

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g3z0 · 3 months

Text

Exes

Summary: Nick and y/n had a messy break up. 7 years pass and they finally meet again at Matt’s wedding, both being more mature but the bitterness from that separation stays. They should’ve known that meeting each other, both drunk from the open bar and the love permeating the air, would lead to messy consequences and finally discussing their breakup

Warning: Smut, drinking

I cringed writing this, but ig that’s my apology to y’all because I haven’t posted anything in a while!!

@ohmtoff idea!!

-gezo

I can’t say I was not surprised when I opened my mail one day and found myself holding a fancy wedding invitation in my hand.

I stood in the kitchen, just got home from work. My mind was completely somewhere else and I was not prepared for the skip of beat my heart made as I read it.

Matthew Sturniolo.

The same Matthew who just happened to be the brother of my ex.

It was childish that I have considered not going. Just because my stomach turned uncomfortably only at the thought of running into Nick.

But me and Matt were far too good of friends to turn down the invitation.

Even after I moved away and the contact got less and less, we were best friends in high school.

And who am I to say no if your old best friend invites you to his wedding?

So now I'm standing here, watching my old best friend marry the love of his life while I'm afraid of running into his brother.

Somehow it brought me comfort to see Matt being so in love, so happy.

And it was a fucking beautiful wedding.

I didn’t plan on staying long. Although the open bar seemed like a perfect solution to sooth my nerves a little.

I made my way to the open bar, drinking glass after glass and observing the wedding guests.

Chris couldn’t look prouder of his brother. I think he almost shed more tears than Matt did.

„Beautiful Wedding, huh?“ a Voice appeared next to me.

I tilted my head to the Man next to me, blinking a few times before the realization sat in.

He was a little taller than I remembered, his face features more rough and sharp.

The familiarity of his nose ring and brown locks made my heart skip a beat. The same brown locks I ran my hand through so many nights.

„Beautiful Wedding.“ I repeated with a nod, pulling my gaze away from him and bringing the drink I was holding up to my lips.

Im too sober for this.

„Ava is beautiful tonight.“ Nick said, occasionally taking a sip from his drink.

My eyebrows knitted together lightly and I glared back at him. „Ava?“

Nick hold my gaze for a moment. „Matt’s wife?“ he said, tilting his head.

„Right, yeah.“ I nodded a little, my eyes lingering on him longer than intended.

The sight of him stirred up a mix of emotions - anger, hurt, maybe still a glimmer of attraction.

He took a long sip from his drink, the atmosphere between us still uncomfortable and palpable.

„It’s been a while, hasn’t it? Didn’t expect you to see you here.“ he said after some time, eyes flickering over me.

I blinked at him.

Was he checking me out?

„Yeah, didn’t expect it either..“ I mumbled, looking away and taking another sip.

Im delusional.

Nick nursed his own drink, the silence heavy between us.

He finally broke it. "How have you been?" he asked, his voice betraying a hint of genuine concern.

„Good.“ I breathed with a shrug, trying to foreign disinterest.

Even after my attempt to act nonchalant, I was painfully aware that my heart was hammering fast against my chest and I still found him terribly attractive.

And it was harder and harder to ignore the way my stomach clenched at the sight of him.

Nick let out a huff „just good? That’s everything you’re gonna give me?“ he tilted his head.

I licked my lips as I started to get a little annoyed. „Well, what the fuck do you want me to say?“ I locked eyes with him again.

Nick glared at me before rolling his eyes and shaking his head a little „you haven’t changed in the slightest.“ he mumbled, bringing his drink back up to his lips.

I clenched my jaw „'cause you know me so well.“ I mumbled under my breath, looking away.

„You’re still not capable of having a normal conversation, like an adult.“ he snapped, his voice low.

„You’re still not capable of not pressing people.“ I snapped back.

Nick bristled at the response, his old frustration bubbling to the surface.

"I'm just trying to make conversation. Is it really so hard to say more than two words to me?"

I held his gaze for a moment before looking away „yes. Yes it is actually.“ I breathed, drowning my drink down my throat.

Nick rolled his eyes in response. "You always have to be difficult.“ he sighed, signaling the bartender for two more drinks.

I placed my empty glass back on the countertop, resting my forearms on it „and you always have to be an asshole.“ I mumbled under my breath.

Nick shook his head slightly, pulling his gaze away from me as the bartender walked up to us.

„one Moscow mule and one whiskey sour.“ he said to the bartender, turning back to me after.

I blinked at him with slightly raised eyebrows.

„What?“ he scoffed.

„Nothin.“ I shrugged „just surprised you still remember my favorite drink.“

Nick looked away, what seemed like he was trying to hide a hint of warmth in his expression.

"Hard to forget when you ordered it every time we went out." he muttered.

I couldn’t help but to smile a little, mumbling a quick thank you to the bartender as he brought our drinks.

Nick took his drink, his eyes lingering on my smile for a moment before he looked away again.

He took a small sip "so..." he began, "no significant other at this wedding?" he asked casually, trying to keep the question seemingly innocent.

I took a sip myself, the whiskey burning into my throat which brought up a sudden hint of comfort.

„Nah.“ I shrugged, locking eyes with him. „Guess you don’t too, you wouldn’t stick to my ass if you had one.“

Nick scoffed, a small smirk tugging on the corner of his lips „couldn’t find someone who would put up with your charming personality?“ he resorted, his gaze not leaving mine.

„Couldn’t find someone who could put up with your attitude?“ I grinned, the familiarity between our teasing coming back to surface.

„Please.“ he let out a laugh „last I remembered you loved my attitude.“

I rolled my eyes in response, taking another sip.

„What about hookups then? No one can tolerate you long enough for anything serious“ he remarked.

I licked my lips, the burning sensation of the whiskey still lingering on them „are you asking about my sex life, Nicolas?“

Nick rolled his eyes, pretending that the blush creeping up his neck wasn’t there.

"I'm just making conversation. It's a valid question to ask an ex." he deflected, his voice betraying a hint of defensiveness.

„what helps you sleep at night.“ I smirked, looking down at my drink.

His eyes narrowed at my smirk, a mixture of frustration and something else sparking in his gaze.

"You always did enjoy getting under my skin," he muttered, finishing off his current drink. "Another round." he called out to the bartender.

„Jesus, You’re trying to kill me?“ I breathed, finishing my drink in one gulp.

Nick shrugged nonchalantly "You always held your alcohol pretty well. Besides, I think I need a few more drinks to deal with you tonight."

I let out a scoff „im not nineteen anymore.“ I protested, grabbing my fresh drink as the bartender brought it.

Nick laughed wryly, the sound tinged with a hint of nostalgia.

"Trust me, I'm painfully aware of that," he replied “You've grown an inch taller, and somehow, you're even more unbearable."

I hummed in response „im flattered, Nicolas.“ I mumbled, taking a sip of my drink.

He rolled his eyes again, though his expression betrayed a hint of amusement.

"You should be," he breathed, looking down at his glass for a moment and let silence fill the air between us.

"You've...filled out" he added after some time, his gaze darting back to me.

I raised my eyebrows at him „filled out?“ I repeated.

Nick smirked a little, licking his tounge over his teeth „you’re not as scrawny as you used to be.“ he pointed out, taking another sip.

This motherfucker.

I scoffed, composing myself a little „I was never scrawny.“

Nick laughed, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "You weren't scrawny, you were toothpick thin. Your bones literally dug into my skin every time you were on top of me." he retorted.

„You didn’t seemed to mind back then.“ I shrugged nonchalantly, taking another sip.

Nick's smirk faded slightly "Yeah, well, a lot of things were different back then." he breathed, swirling the ice in his glass.

"We were younger, more stupid." he added, a hint of resentment in his voice.

„More Horny.“ I added.

"That too," he admitted , his voice hoarse. "But it was more than just sex, you know.." he added his voice trailing off.

I licked my lips and looked down at my glass „yeah.“ I breathed.

„Yeah.“ he echoed, his voice barely above a whisper. „We were each other‘s first everything.“ he said quietly, bringing his drink back up to his lips.

I looked back at him, my eyes lingering on his lips for a moment. „Yeah..“

I felt my heart clench.

The tension thickened between us, the air heavy with unspoken words and unresolved feelings.

He looked back at me, his gaze intense. "and then we fucked it up.“

„We were young.“ I sighed a little „dumb.“ I added. „We didn’t knew better.“ I shrugged.

Nick laughed bitterly "That's a convenient excuse, isn't it?" he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

"We were old enough to know better. We just didn't care. We were too selfish, too caught up in our own bullshit.” He shook his head.

„We had our own problems, our own stuff to deal with.“ I resorted, finishing my drink.

Nick huffed "Problems and stuff that you didn't bother to share with me." he mumbled, a hint of hurt mingling with the frustration.

„You left me in the dark, and when I tried to talk to you about it, you shut me out - You always shut me out." He sighed.

I stared at him for a moment, taking a deep breath „yeah, I did..“ i admitted.

„I can’t change the past nick. I was dumb, too scared.“ I shook my head.

His expression softened slightly. He took a deep breath, running a hand through his hair.

"I don't expect you to change the past, y/n. But I also can't just forget how it felt. How you made me feel.“ he let out a sigh.

„You hurt me, deeply.“

I closed my eyes for a moment, my heart clenching.

„I know I did.. you hurt me too.“ I mumbled, looking down at my empty glass.

It was first time either of us has acknowledged the pain we caused each other.

"I know I did," he said quietly, his voice heavy with regret. "But god, y/n, the way you pushed me away, you made me feel so worthless." he paused, the pain clear in his voice.

"It took me a long time to get over you - not that I am over you."

I blinked at him for a moment, surprised my his sudden admission.

Nick clenched his jaw, eyes trained on the counter top like he just realized what he said.

„Yeah, shocker, huh?“ he chuckled dryly „the whole time I tried to convince myself that I hated you. But here I am seven years later and one look from you send me straight to the beginning.“

My throat went dry. My heart hammered against my chest.

Nick sighed and chugged his drink.

I licked my lips slowly, trying to gather my hazy thoughts.

„I would lie if I said it isn’t the same with me.“ I mumbled under my breath.

Nick locked eyes with me again, a hint of vulnerability behind his blue eyes I always loved so much.

„I mean.. you never forget about your first love.“ I gave him a crocked smile.

Nick gave me a little smile. „No, I guess you don’t..“ he agreed quietly.

We just stared at each other.

I moaned against his lips as nick pressed me against the hotel room door.

I couldn’t care less that the door handle stung into my back - i was too focused on nicks lips against my own.

The kiss was messy and desperate. Nicks hands grasped my hips, my hands tangled into his brown locks.

The taste of his lips, his body against my own, after all these years it was all so overwhelming yet so familiar at the same time.

Nick groaned against my lips, his fingers digging into my hips.

Fuck- how I missed this sound.

His tongue delved into my mouth in slow, greedy strokes.

I let out a shaky breath, pulling back for a moment.

Nick also pulled back, his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath. His eyes locked with mine, his pupils dilated.

He immediately pressed his lips back against mine.

I kissed him back, moving my lips desperately against his, our tongues tangling.

I moved my hands to nicks tie, loosening it before pulling it off. I started to unbutton his black shirt with shaky hands, craving the skin to skin contact.

Nick mirrored my movements, his hands working on my shirt. Once mine was opened, he leaned down to trail his lips over my familiar skin.

He started grinding his hips against mine, gaining a shaky breath from me.

He groaned a little against my neck, making me shiver slightly. His hands came down to the waistband of my pants, fumbling with shaky hands.

My hands came around nicks waist, guiding him backwards before pushing him into the bed.

Nick lands on his back with a soft thump, propping himself up on his elbows and grinning at me „bossy now, are we?“

I stripped my shirt off, getting on top of him „even seven years later you still haven’t got rid of that fucking attitude.“

He hummed, grabbing the back of my neck pulling me closer to capture my lips in another messy kiss.

His hands roamed over my bicep, my back, everywhere they could reach.

His hips bucked up slightly, desperate for some kind of friction.

I let out a shaky breath against his lips, grinding my hips down against his, our clothes bulge‘s rubbing together.

Nick lets out a small whimper at the friction, wrapping his arms around my neck and holding me thightly against him.

„Fuck, I missed this.“ he mumbled breathless between kisses.

I pulled back slightly before diving down to kiss his neck „I missed you.“ I breathed, biting down on his neck.

„God..“ Nick breathed shakily, biting his lip, his hand tangling in my hair.

I continued to press wet, open mouthed kisses along his neck before pulling back and sliding his shirt off his body.

He stared at me for a moment before cupping my cheek with his hand, locking eyes with me.

„my pretty boy..“ he hummed, pressing a kiss on my cheek before kissing my neck.

I closed my eyes at the familiar nickname, feeling my heart throb.

A shaky sigh escaped my lips and I tilted my head for him.

His lips moved downwards over the slope of my shoulder. His hand found its way down my body, palming my clothes bulge.

I took a sharp breath, immediately pressing down against his hand, seeking more. Needing more.

Nick smirked against my skin, his thumb traced the outline of my length through my pants. „Fuck, you‘ve gotten bigger.“ he breathed.

I felt dick twitch at his words, letting out a shaky exhale „you can’t say shit like that..“

Nick hummed, looking up at me „you always had a praise kink.“

I let out a breathless chuckle „fucking tease.“ I mumbled, kissing him again.

„You love it.“ he mumbled between kisses, opening my pants before pulling them down „always did.“

I let a soft sigh slip „yeah.“ I kicked my pants and shoes off, sitting up to get rid of nicks clothes.

He lifted his hips, helping me to pull them off.

Once he was finally completely bare in front of me, I couldn’t help to let my hand slowly wander over his side and waist.

The sight of his familiar yet so slightly changed body, the feeling of his skin under my fingers, it all felt so right and wrong at the same time.

He pulled me back on top of him, we both craving the skin to skin contact.

I captured his lips in a much softer and deeper kiss, taking my boxers off.

He smiled against my lips, wrapping his legs around my waist.

I breathed into the kiss „fuck, I need you so bad.“ I mumbled between kisses, feeling myself already throbbing.

„You have me.“ Nick assured me softly, deepening the kiss.

I couldn’t help but to smile against his lips, moving my hand down to myself to line me up.

I broke the kiss and pressed my lips against the side of his face before slowly pushing in.

I had to bite back a moan, burying my face into his neck.

Nicks breath stuttered, taking a sharp breath in after. He grabbed onto my shoulders, closing his eyes.

He clenched around me as he adjusted, letting out a shaky breath „fuck..“

I bit my lip, lifting my head to look at him „you okay?“ I asked.

Nick nodded, opening his eyes and meeting my gaze. „Yeah- yeah.. keep moving.“ he urged, capturing my lips in another messy kiss.

I groaned against his lips, kissing him desperately back before starting to move my hip slowly, creating a rhythm.

He matched my movements, his body arched up to meet each slow thrust. He whimpered against my lips, wrapping his arms around my neck.

„Shit- You’re so thight.“ I breathed between kisses, thrusting a little faster.

A moan escaped his lips, fingernails digging slightly into my shoulder blade „I didn’t- fuck.. remember you being so big.“ he gasped between breathes.

I groaned at his words, twitching inside of him „fuck, Nick..“ I moved faster.

He clinger onto me, moaning and whimpering repeatedly.

I buried my face into his neck, breathing ragged. I already felt myself getting close but I tried to hold it, thrusting deeper, hitting against his G-spot.

His back arched and he let out a moan, scratching into my shoulders „fuck.“ he cursed, squeezing his eyes shut.

„Right there- Right there- fuck.“ he whimpered, holding thightly on to me.

I groaned at the sight, continuing my pace.

His body withered underneath me, broken moans and curses escaping his plump lips.

„Im close- y/n f-fuck..“ he moaned, grabbing onto my hair.

I hisses softly at the slight pain, thrusting faster to chase my own pleasure.

„Me too..“ I mumbled between pants, capturing his lips in another deep kiss.

His body started to twitch „gonna cum-" he gasps against my lips, his body growing tense.

I clenched my jaw, trying my best to make him cum first as I thrusted deeper.

His body jerked, a strangled cry escaped his lips as his orgasm crashed over him, fingernails digging into my shoulder.

„Oh- oh f-fuck, y/n..“ he groaned, leaving a hot, messy release between our stomachs.

I let out a sharp exhale, finally allowing myself to let go.

I thrusted one more time deep inside of him as my own orgasm crashed over me, filling him up.

Nicks body sagged back into the bed, breathing heavily.

I collapsed on top of him, trying to catch my breath.

We laid there in silence for a moment, both just enjoying the closeness of the other.

„Jesus Christ.“ Nick breathed after a moment, running a hand through his hair.

I laughed weakly, slowly pulling out.

He smacked me a little on my arm „bastard.“ he muttered „I won’t be able to walk straight tomorrow.“

I grinned down at him, shrugging casually „you wanted it.“ I hummed.

He rolled his eyes slightly.

I smiled and cupped his cheek, pressing my lips against his in a soft way.

He smiled against my lips, moving his hand to the back of my neck.

I slowly broke the kiss, leaning my forehead against his.

„Lets try again..“ I whispered, closing my eyes.

„Yeah.. I’d like that..“ he breathed, nuzzling his nose against mine.

Tags! @udotnknowme @sturnclouds @patscorner @miloisdone1 @thenickgirl @freshloveforthefit @nathandoesgf @m0r94n @sturniolo0ntop

#sturniolo triplets #nick sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo #nick sturniolo x reader #nick sturniolo x you #nick x reader #sturniolo triplets x reader #nicksturniolosmut

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sspookyspoonss · 10 months

Text

I know nothing about Doctor Who except what friends occasionally excitedly tell me. I am also bored. Here is an undoubtably factual explanation of each of the ‘new?’ Doctors:

Doctor…. Who??????:

I know nothing about this guy. Nobody I know talks about Christopher Eccleston nor have I caught wind of any internet discussion. My conclusion is there is a conspiracy to not talk about him for no reason other than the fandom got bored and thought it would be funny. I think this Doctor would like to go to football matches and would get very upset if the team he likes doesn’t win. You would probably randomly meet him at a pub and would have a nice chat with him, however, he’d take you back to the Tardis and you would most likely die via Dalek plunger (a thing I am informed they can kill you with). I also think he would like watching reality TV, he gives of that vibe.

Tumblr Doctor:

The internet likes this guy. David Tennant is cool, so I understand. I think this is ‘wibbly wobbly timey wimey’ guy so I am inclined to think that he also says things like ‘milkys’ and ‘dindins’ to his friends. Even if he is not ‘timey wimey’ guy I still think he still would say ‘milkys’ and the like, gives off that vibe.

He has some angst to do with a woman. I’m not sure why but I’m guessing it’s to do with Thomas Edison. The Doctor knows he stole most of his inventions because he can time travel and saw it happen, not stopping him is one of the Doctor’s greatest failures, however, his lady friend is a victim of the British Education system and thinks otherwise. They break up over it, angst ensues, Thomas Edison has ruined someone else’s life even after he’s dead.

‘I don’t like this guy’ Doctor:

I do not like this Doctor, worst one. Nothing against Matt Smith or his performance, I’m sure it was brilliant, I’ve seen that Van Gough clip and it made me cry 10/10. More importantly than that however, my supposed childhood best friend who was actually just bullying and manipulating me said he was her favourite so I look at him and remember I wasted my childhood with her. He can make it up to me if he time travels and gets child me a better friend. Then he will be the best Doctor.

He or Tumblr Doctor has a wife????? I think???? I’m not sure but which one it is but because of my bias I’m saying it’s this guy. I know it’s dodgy because of time travel so he needs to go to space jail (or as Tumblr Doctor probably calls it, the ‘Naughty Step’). I’m assuming they also have a child, making every reincarnation of the Doctor from here on out a deadbeat who needs to pay A LOT of child support. That is why he regenerated, so he could avoid paying it, ‘Court can’t prove I’m the Dad if I don’t have his face.’ Arsehole.

Screwdriver scandal TM Doctor:

He looks like a nice guy. This Doctor would sit you down and give you a therapy session after you nearly get killed by a Weeping Angel. I would like having a talk with him, it would be nice. I feel like he is the most well adjusted Doctor, although that could just be Peter Capaldi’s immaculate vibes. This Doctor pays his taxes. He doesn’t like Paddington Bear for some reason. Due to his well adjustedness, I am lead to believe the twist in Paddington 3 is that Paddington is The Master (who I think is a villain) and will go on a rampage across London, turning people into Marmalade. It will be up to the Doctor and the family I’ve forgotten the name of, to stop him. This would also provide an explanation for why the Mum’s actor has changed, to fix Paddingtons mess they had to time travel which led to the Dad marrying a different woman.

He threw away the Sonic Screwdriver apparently. Previously mentioned childhood best friend complained to no end about it to me. Knowing fanbases other people were also likely very upset, I’m guessing it felt like it did to me when Luke Skywalker chucked his lightsaber over his shoulder in The Last Jedi. I also think Screwdrivergate is a tragedy because they didn’t take the opportunity to replace the Screwdriver with another, even sillier, Sonic _______. I suggest either a Sonic Scented Candle or a Sonic Keyring. Alas, it was not to be.

‘WOMAN AAAAAAAAAAAAA’ Doctor:

People don’t like her because woman. People also don’t like her because of bad writing. Last time I checked, neither of these are Jodie Whittaker’s fault. I don’t have much to say about her except my new, (actually great this time) friend who likes Doctor Who has an emotional reaction every time she is brought up. Genuine sadness and disappointment in my friends eyes. I suggest that this means this is a fantastic Doctor, to the point it is art. A sign of good art is something that garners a strong emotional reaction. Despair at the state of the franchise and societies misogyny may not have been the intention, but a strong reaction is incurred nonetheless, so success, this is art now.

‘Guess Who’s back!’ Doctor:

Erm, not sure how in canon this works but David Tennant seems to be having a nice time so it’s good. The alternative name for this Doctor is ‘Production Budget Doctor’ because from the ends of episodes I’ve seen (I watch Strictly Come Dancing because ooo pretty dresses and it’s on after) the Tardis looks very fancy and like it’s from a big budget film. Coffee also got spilled on it which is funny because it messed the Tardis up, meaning not even the technology of a near God can withstand dumbass humans with liquids. Hilarious. Also, an apt metaphor for many things.

In conclusion: I’m sorry for any brain damage caused to the good members of the Doctor Who fanbase who read this. Have a nice day.

#apologies #doctor who #bbc #david tennant #matt smith #jodie whittaker #peter capaldi #christopher eccleston #ninth doctor #tenth doctor #eleventh doctor #twelfth doctor #thirteenth doctor #fourteenth doctor

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s-sturn · 6 months

Text

𖥔 OPEN ARMS!

part 2

summary: where Chris begins to keep Y/N away from his life after thinking he no longer wanted Y/N, then the girl decides to leave him after getting so tired of the relationship, making Chris realize that he was totally wrong.

warnings: angst, little fight, SADDDDD!!, swearing, regret, crying!!

masterlist!

Y/N’s POV

Chris was going to go out once again with his friends, leaving me aside as he has been doing these last few weeks.

He has been taking me away from his life for days, sometimes messing with his phone while telling something interesting about my day, he seemed much more interested in sending torpedoes to his friends than in hearing me speak.

All that was tiring, I see Chris finishing fixing his hair and sending a message to a friend of his who would be with him at this party, he left the room not even making a point of saying goodbye.

My mind was surrounded by thoughts, I felt that it was no longer important in the brunette's life, and that he didn't love me anymore and that he could even be with another girl.

Tears began to wet my pink cheeks, while I felt empty and alone, thinking that I lost the love of my life, and that now I would have to leave it.

I fell asleep in the middle of my thoughts, waking up the next day without feeling the presence of Chris by my side, leaving me so hurt.

I got up from the boy's bed, sitting on the edge, taking a deep breath and cleaning my face as I always did.

I leave my boyfriend's room going up the stairs of the house, reaching the kitchen, meeting the triplets.

I give a kind smile when I see Nick and Matt saying good morning, I would expect something from Chris, but he is as usual, on his phone.

━━━ How about we go out to eat? After all, none of us have anything to do. ━━━ Nick asked everyone at the table, while Matt and I agreed with our heads and I soon turn to Chris

━━━ I have things to do today, Nate invited me to another party and I'll go. ━━━ The brunette said arrogant getting up from the table and leaving for his room, where he would stay there, for a long time.

I get upset and irritated, making me get up from the table and go down the stairs to the door of Chris' room, I hit that piece of wood several times, soon coming away with Chris' angry expression.

━━━ Stop! That's fucking annoying! What do you want? ━━━ He said angry and rude, making me incredulous about the way he talked to me.

━━━ What the fuck is that, Chris?! You keep going out to parties, ignoring your brothers and me, who am your girlfriend! ━━━ My tone was angry, very angry.

━━━ What a drama, Y/N! I'm just having fun! ━━━ He rolled his eyes slightly as he crossed his arms

━━━ But to have fun, you need to kick me out of your life so much?! ━━━ After my question he was quiet for a few seconds, thinking about what to say.

━━━ Maybe. ━━━ My mouth fell, I couldn't speak or say anything, tears threaten to fall, but I didn't let them fall. ━━━ Maybe I don't even love you anymore. ━━━ His tone was arrogant and cold, I didn't recognize him anymore, the tears that threatened to fall finally wet my face, flashbacks come to my mind, reminding me of my first date with Chris, our first kiss, our first "I love you", our first look.

I didn't believe that the man who said he loved me so much, gave up the love he had on me, I sighed closing my eyes, while he took his attention to my person and returned to the phone.

━━━ So, I'll let you go, we're done. ━━━ My tone was crying, I left the bedroom door going up the stairs without looking back, my vision was blurred by so many tears accumulated on my face.

Nick and Matt asked what happened and I just replied that we had finished what made the two brothers go into shock.

They knew that Chris was the love of my life, that I wanted to marry him, have children.

I quickly said goodbye to the two of them leaving the house quickly, getting into my car and going back to my apartment.

I felt an inexplicable emptiness in my chest, an emptiness that Chris filled, my heart was broken, I didn't feel like doing anything else, just lying in my bed and sleeping for days and days, and when I woke up all this was just a horrible nightmare.

I thought at what moment he stopped loving me, at what moment I stopped being his girl, my head exploded, while my eyes looked like a waterfall.

CHRIS’ POV

It's been exactly 2 months since I last saw Y/N.

She cried so much, and I didn't comfort her as I always did, I caused her the pain and I never noticed it.

As soon as I heard the words she had left me, I bitterly regretted what I had said, I just wanted to run after her, hug her, kiss her, and beg for her forgiveness while saying how much I loved her, even if for a stupid reason I had hidden and denied these feelings.

For some point in my life, I felt that my relationship with Y/N was too good, which made me scared of everything ending and I ended up hurting myself again, so I pushed her away and denied my feelings, causing an inexplicable pain in both of us, which for some reason I had never noticed, I went out to parties and came back a lot in the afternoon, I always saw her lying on my bed, sleeping peacefully, it made me feel so guilty, for thinking that I really didn't have any feelings for her anymore, and that morning when I said those words I regretted it in the same second.

I felt so much guilt to the point that I didn't feel like doing anything else, I didn't want to eat or talk, I just grabbed the only blouse there was of Y/N in which there was her smell, I slept calmly, thinking she was there, and when I woke up and returned to my reality, I cried like a baby.

I can't stand the way she is missed anymore, her touch, her smell, her kiss, I miss everything about her.

I regret so much that I let her go.

I hated this thing sm, omfg 😭😭😭 And i’m so sorry if this post has spelling mistakes!

taglist.

answer this post if u want to be in my taglist!

#chris sturniolo #chris sturniolo x reader #sturniolo triplets #sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo x you #chris sturniolo angst #matt sturniolo #matt sturniolo x reader #matt sturniolo x you #nick sturniolo #nick sturniolo x reader #nick sturniolo x you #s-sturn

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goldsainz · 2 years

Text

MASTERLIST.

A/N: this is based on a request @ateliefloresdaprimavera sent me!! so thank you sm for requesting, hope you all enjoy [gif cred: @colewald]

WORD COUNT: 1,1k

──────────

Y/N Smith and Matt Smith React To Your Tweets About “House of the Dragon”

You were excited to do an Interview with Matt after such a long time. You’d done a couple talk shows spontaneously over the years, but this was formally about a project you were both so enthralled by.

In a way, the mood was different. You were now a married couple who had two beautiful kids, and had been friends for over ten years. Time really flew by.

As the interview began you were sitting next to your husband, a bowl full of papers in front of you.

“I am Matt Smith,” You started, looking at Matt expectantly.

“And I’m Y/N Smith.” He continues, a victorious smile on both of your faces. The multiple failed takes definitely made its way into both of your minds.

“And we’re here to react to your tweets about ‘House of the Dragon’!” You both say in unison, high fiving each other as you let out a laugh.

━━━━━━

“We were told you guys many things to say about the show when it's not even out!” Your voice was amused, while Matt looked at you with a small smile.

“The internet is truly surprising” Matt lets out, making you shake your head.

“Okay, so here’s the deal. We’ll both be reading some things you’ve posted, and we’ll react on the spot.”

“No judgment on our side.” You shot Matt a look, “Maybe just a little.”

“Can I go first, please?” You ask, slightly pouting so he would say yes. You knew he could never truly refuse you if you made that face.

“Of course, my love.” The grin on your face at his words was all Matt would ever need in return.

You reach for the bowl and shake it, “So nobody can say we cheated!” You tell the camera, pointing your finger like you would when warning your children about something.

“Nobody’s going to say that now, Y/N.” Your husband says amusedly, finding it adorable that your tendencies as a mother made its way into other moments.

“@/ynmywife says “Whoever casted Y/N as a Targaryen in the show, will have my therapy bills delivered to their house😭” and then there’s a crying emoji.” You then roll the paper and throw it in a basket below the table.

“First off, I’m her husband so she’s not your wife,” Matt points out, jokingly placing his arm around your shoulder to show off his ‘dominance’, “Secondly, I agree with that statement.”

“You don’t even go to therapy!” You exclaim, looking bewildered by his words.

“The point still stands, but seriously, how did being cast feel?” He turns the conversation around, trying to bring back some seriousness, his arms still placed around you.

“It was surreal. I actually hadn’t auditioned to be a Targaryen, but I guess my vibes were those.” You started your answer, “My agent called and said I got the role of Valenya Targaryen, I remember being so shocked but I accepted instantly because I knew the experience would be amazing, and it was!”

“My story for being cast is much more boring compared to yours.” Matt murmurs, a small laugh leaving his lips as he reaches for the next paper in the bowl.

“I’m sure it's not.” You tell him, kissing his cheek.

“@/valyrianbiatch says “Are we gonna talk about how hot Daemon and Valenya look in those teaser pics???” with three question marks, it seems like they really want some answers.”

“We should talk about it more, tell us Matt, how does it feel to be married to such a hot person?” You teasingly say.

“It feels amazing.” Matt responds, as you make an “aw” sound that some of the crew backstage copies. He just places his hands in a way that is supposed to show you off, like he doesn’t need to further explain his answer.

“I think Daemon and Valenya exude this badass energy, which instantly makes them attractive to the eye.” Your words are slightly more serious, trying to actually get the interview somewhat correctly done. But you’re sure the fans will only concentrate on the more unserious bits.

“Plus they’re interpreted by stunning people, what’s not to like about that?”

“Exactly!” You exclaim, taking another paper from the bowl.

“@/dracaryss_ says “It feels illegal to watch HOTD knowing Matt and Y/N were casted as siblings!!” with two exclamation marks at the end.” You read out the paper, playing with it while thinking of a good answer.

“It’s definitely less weird now, the Targaryen family tree really is a circle of incestous people.” Matt answers jokingly.

“I feel like we’ve been in this job long enough to separate our actual lives from fiction, which I feel everyone should be able to do.” You say, looking at Matt after.

“That’s also very vital to the process, and they don’t really behave like siblings so most of the time it wasn’t as awkward.” He ends with a laugh, as you smile in return.

“The show may not be to everyone’s taste, so please be cautious while watching!” While you speak Matt reaches for another paper.

“Let 's see… @/lannisterlions says “And when I faint from the beauty of the Targaryens? Then what?””

“I would recommend some water, some ibuprofen even.” You were being sarcastic, but your voice had a motherly edge to it which made Matt almost melt in his seat.

“I fear they’ll be fainting a lot, they’re the stars of the show.”

“That too.” You agree, chuckling slightly.

━━━━━━

You’ve already responded to a couple of tweets, some responses more serious than others in which you’ve just taken the piss out of their silly comments.

“I feel like I’ve answered tweets for a lifetime now.” You let out, your head resting on the shoulder of your husband, his arm wrapped around your waist.

“I know I have.” Matt tells the camera, nodding slightly at his own words.

“It was very fun, though.” You add while smiling.

“We had a blast, thank you for all of the amazing tweets.”

“And don’t forget to tune in every sunday for a new episode of ‘House of the Dragon’ available on HBO.” You end, blowing some kisses to the camera as Matt waves his hand.

The video ends with Matt whispering something inaudible to your ears, making you throw your head back in laughter as the video fades to black.

━━━━━━

COMMENTS 29k

username1: oh to be in a healthy loving relationship like theirs…

👍 72k

username2: hbo is sick and twisted… i’m making a subscription as we speak btw

👍 26k

username3: can they adopt me?????

👍 44k

137 REPLIES

username4: me too pls

username5: they look so caring😭

username7: i’m so excited to see them in action, the trailers already look amazing

👍 10k

username8: my favourite milf and dilf

👍 35k

username9: stop i hate that i know the ending to their characters’ story

👍 19k

56 REPLIES

username10: shh i wanna see them slay without wanting to cry

taglist: @paprikabadger @edtomh @ateliefloresdaprimavera

#*ੈ✩༄ my works !#harryspugh #house of the dragon #matt smith #matt fanfic #matt smith fic #matt smith blurb #matt smith fanfiction #daemon targaryen #hotd

1K notes · View notes

sunnyy3d · 9 months

Note

Hi again

Ok so I am currently obsessed with Matt smith and Alex Kingston so I wanted to know if you would write a 11th/river/reader fanfic where the reader is a companion that just started travelling with them but for some reason she is immortal and always finds them but she doesn’t totally understand how the meeting keeps happening between them all so she just jumped from a new tune where she was happily married to the doctor and river but now she meets river/melody who doesn’t know her yet and she gets jealous bc she over heard them talking about another girl(her just younger) and it leads to the doctor having to explain to her that they aren’t at that time yet and river gifts her a journal so she can write down where and how they keep meeting hopefully this makes enough sense and you would want to write it I just want some fluff/cuteness along with confusion on time travel

Timeless Love| 11th Doctor x River x Reader

A/N: Requests open! (Obviously)

God, I'm so nauseous. Will I ever get used to that? I really wish that I had my own TARDIS; it'd be so much better than a vortex manipulator. The Doctor calls it "cheap and nasty time travel," and he's not wrong. Of course, I'll never let him know that, though.

I let the dizziness subside before opening my eyes. I'm facing a wall? I've gotta go through the checklist. Okay, first is smell. It smells... old? Like antiques and dust. Why is smell first anyway? The second is hearing. I hear sirens, which leads to the next part: sight. To go with the sirens, I see a red flashing light coming from a bulb farther up the wall. That's always a good sign! Last but not least, the 360. Well, it's more like a 180, but that's beside the point. I spin only to find a gun pointed at my head. My smile immediately drops, the excitement of being in a new environment being replaced with dread. What have I gotten myself into this time?

"Oi, don't touch the fez! Wait, no, don't take it," I hear from behind the brute holding the gun.

"Don't listen to him. Please take the fez," I'd recognize those voices from anywhere. Especially the sarcasm... It only makes sense that they're around when I find myself in trouble. I can't let myself get distracted; this is a life-or-death situation. Just do what The Doctor taught you. Be rational and observe.

Peering past the gun, I see a creature I've never seen before in my time with The Doctor. This thing is enormous, at least a foot or two taller than me. They (it?) have on a suit of armor--similar to what would be found back on Earth-- that obscures its face. Maybe it's a security guard? It would make sense, considering that behind it are glass cases that hold artifacts.

Regardless, this creature's sheer size means I can't fight it. At least not successfully. That throws all of the self-defense skills River taught me out of the window. I really wish she was here. Oh wait... she is. I'll just have to play the innocent card. It shouldn't be hard, considering that I am innocent. I put my hands up beside my head as a sign of surrender, careful to go at a speed that's not threatening. "I just got here, I swear. I have no idea what's going on," I reason. I have a feeling that it's not gonna work well.

"Oh, look who it is! Where have you been?" Looking past the guard, I spot The Doctor and River being led in by another guard.

I sigh, "It's not what it looks like."

"It's exactly what it looks like!" The Doctor interrupts with his stupid smile.

"Honey, can you shut please? I kinda have a gun in my face right now," I plead.

"Oh right..."

"Excuse me, sir?" River distracts the guard in front of me.

"We're going to have to ask you to put that gun down. Darling, you might want to duck." Without even thinking, I follow her instructions. I trust River and The Doctor with my life. What kind of wife would I be otherwise? Being stuck between the wall and the fight, I have no choice but to crawl away.

I'm hiding behind one of the cases when The Doctor comes around the corner, disheveled and panting. It's a good look at him. His hair is messy before he runs a hand through it and flashes his signature smile. God, I could kiss him. But now's not the time. We're in the middle of a fight. I say we, but I really mean River. "What are you doing?" I yell.

"I could ask you the same thing!" Loud shots hit the walls around us. I peek around the corner and see two more guards have shown up as reinforcement.

A bullet flies past my head, and I quickly take my retreat behind the case. "Look! We'll have to save this conversation for after we get out of whatever situation you got us into this time. River needs help." The Doctor gives me an offended look.

"River does NOT need help, no thanks to you guys," she says sarcastically.

The Doctor and I come out from behind the case. "What are you guys even doing here?" I ask with my hands on my hips.

"Uhh... we're picking something up," The Doctor answers nervously. I nod, my lips drawing into a thin line as I give him a skeptical hum. It's probably not worth questioning, and I probably won't get a straight answer.

"And you are?" River questions, looking me up and down. Even after being with her for a while, I still get butterflies when she looks at me like that.

But the butterflies are scooped up by my confusion. "What do you mean, River? We've been-"

"SPOILERS," The Doctor interjects. "If you'll just give us a moment, please?" I nod as he drags River away. They huddle together with their backs facing me. Clearly, I'm not supposed to hear this conversation, but it doesn't stop me from trying. Unfortunately, they're just out of earshot, so I can only hear a few words.

Focusing on their conversation, I piece together some parts. "She's... beautiful... amazing... younger... she's like..." The Doctor explains with expressive hands. Occasionally, River glances back at me with a smile.

Who are they talking about like that? It has to be someone special. Why else would they keep it a secret from me? More importantly, why is River saying she doesn't know me? Has she had her memory wiped? Clearly, The Doctor knows who I am, but he's also acting weird. What has happened to our marriage? Did all of the intimate moments that we shared go down the drain? All the adventures forgotten?

I'm so lost in thought that it takes me a second to realize that they've finished their conversation and have started walking back towards me. I quickly stand straight, suddenly incredibly self conscious. I cross my arms and frown, "So, who's this mystery woman and why did you have to talk about her in secret?" I know my words reek of jealousy, but I can't help it. We've been married for so long, and yet here they are talking about some other woman.

The Doctor sighs, thinking about how he should respond. "We were talking about you. I know it might not make too much sense right now, but River and I aren't in the same timeline as you."

"This is actually my first time meeting you, I'm afraid. Though I'm sure it won't be the last," River looks me up and down with a smirk. I blush and look away. Even if this is her first time meeting me, she still has to flirt.

Everything is starting to make sense now. All of the times when The Doctor or River thought that they had done something with me but hadn't. Or when they'd forget simple things. It's not that they forgot; it just hadn't happened to them yet. Why didn't I think of this before? And why hadn't they explained this to me earlier? Why does time have to be so complicated?

"This happens all of the time with me and River. It's honestly quite annoying to figure out," The Doctor chuckles.

"You know, that actually makes a lot of sense. Things are starting to come together now. That explains why you guys are so confusing sometimes. Sorry, extra confusing sometimes." The couple laughs before River holds up her finger, saying hold on and grabbing her bag off her back. She rummages through it momentarily before letting out a small 'aha.' I look at The Doctor with my eyebrows scrunched in confusion. He only shrugs. River pulls out what she was looking for. I see a look of recognition flash across The Doctor's face before I can tell what it is.

"Here," she holds out a book. It's a royal blue and has squares on it like the TARDIS. It looks naturally worn, its deckled pages ready to hold a story. "I have a smiliar journal. I use it to keep track of my encounters with this idiot. Maybe you can do the same?" She suggests with a warm smile.

From this distance, I can see how young she is. Though she doesn't look much different, her eyes tell a different story. They have more youth to them, more innocence. Let's be honest: River has never truly been innocent. But she is more innocent than the River that I know best. I smile as I take the journal in my hands. It's perfect. It'll be easy to carry around, and it is absolutely gorgeous.

So much has yet to come for The Doctor and River, both terrible and happy. And even though I have lived through things that they haven't, they have lived through things that I haven't. This book will hold stories that cannot be shared with the ones I love the most. If I were to share it, it could ruin everyone's timeline. Time is a delicate balance of... wibbly, wobbly, timey, wimey... stuff. Okay, I'll admit that wasn't the most eloquent I have been, but it'll have to do.

With a smile, I look up at my husband and wife (well, future for them), "Thank you. I have a feeling that I'll be using this a lot."

#x reader #fanfic #11th doctor x reader #11th doctor #river song x reader #river song #melody pond #doctor who #the doctor x reader #the doctor x river song #the doctor x river x reader #the doctor x you #river song x the doctor

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luvangelbreak · 7 months

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you should do a dad matt one !! 💘

First time

matthew sturniolo x layla sturniolo (female!oc) summary: matt and layla have been married for 2 years and their daughter's first day at school is harder than expected. warnings: purely fluff word count: 2k a/n: tysm for this request!! i am yet to write pure fluff so I'm very excited abt this <3

not proofread!

From the moment Matt found out Layla was pregnant, he was overjoyed with the blessing of having a child. When he found out they were having a girl, it made him only love her more. Since the day she was born, he has been nothing short of an amazing father. He gave her everything she wanted, no matter the price or time. Layla had become the bad cop, quickly realising her husband would fold at the slight pout of their daughter, let alone a cry emitting from her mouth.

Holly was a daddy's girl through and through and Matt loved everything about it. He loved it when he painted her nails a pretty purple or when she wanted to steal mommy's makeup and put it on his face messily. He flaunted his daughter everywhere he went, proud of everything she was and who she would become well before she even started having a personality.

When the first day of school rolled around, Matt was an emotional wreck and so was Holly, Layla having to keep the house together as well as everyone's emotions.

"Babe, can you please do her hair? We need to leave in 25 minutes and I'm making her lunch!" Layla called from the kitchen as Matt slid Holly's white dress over her small shoulders.

"Let me finish getting her dressed!" he called back, his daughter giggling to herself making him look down at her, "What are you laughing at missy?"

"Nothin'" Holly mumbled as she held her hands over her mouth while she giggled, a habit she picked up from her mother. Matt shook his head, spinning her around as he knelt down on one knee to do the button up on the back of her dress.

"Alright Hol," he said standing up and walking to her drawers, pulling out two pairs of socks and holding them up, "White socks and pink shoes or pink socks and white shoes?"

"Hmmm," his daughter hummed, tapping her tiny finger on her chin dramatically, "Pink shoes!"

"White socks and pink shoes coming right!" he announced making her giggle once again as he threw the light pink socks back in her drawers before closing it. He picked up her little bright pink pick flats before walking back over to her, kneeling back down on the floor.

Holly placed her hand on his shoulder, steadying herself as she lifted her left foot up so Matt could slide the sock onto her foot. In a swift motion, he slid the sock on and then the shoe before tapping the top of her other foot. She repeated her actions of holding onto her dad's shoulders as he slid the other sock and shoe on before he tapped the tops of both of her feet. That was her cue to jump up and down to test if her feet felt good in the shoes and when she nodded, Matt nodded back.

He picked her up, despite being much bigger now and a lot more fidgety. He walked to the bathroom, sitting her down on the bench as she crossed her legs and look at him in the mirror.

"How do you want your hair, bunny?" the nickname sticking since she was 2 and loved to hop around like a bunny, still continuing to do so to this day 3 years later.

"Up!" she grinned and he nodded in approval, grabbing the small gentle brush used for her hair only. He quickly sprayed her hair with the detangling mist his wife bought since she had her mother's curls that tangled easily. After some struggling and sounds of disapproval from Holly, he managed to get all of the knots out of her hair.

"You want it all the way up or half?" he asked her, grabbing one of the many small hair ties laying on the bench.

"Half," his daughter stated and he hummed in agreement, pushing half of her hair upwards. She had the same colour hair as Matt and also thickness which was an unfortunate combination with Layla's curls. He managed to separate her hair into two halves, tying the top half up as gently as he could. He pulled the small ponytail lighter before opening one of the drawers under the bathroom sink.

"You want a bow?" he asked and he nodded rapidly making him smile as he pulled out the white bow. He clipped it into her ponytail, making sure it was secure before he looked at her in the mirror, "You look very pretty, bunny."

"So do you, Daddy," she smiled at him making his heart swell, placing a kiss on top of her head.

"Thank you, baby," he lifted her up from the bench, placing her feet on the ground before tapping her back, "Let's go see if mommy is ready."

She skipped down the hallway to the kitchen where Layla was finishing packing up their daughters lunch box.

"Well, don't you look cute!" Layla smiled at her daughter who ran up to her, hugging her side as she placed her lunchbox and water bottle in her daughter's blue backpack, "Do you wanna go put your backpack in the car, baby? We'll be in the car in a second."

"Okay!" Holly cheered happily, her infectious joy rubbing off on anyone around her but mostly her parents. Layla handed her the backpack, sliding it onto her back and Holly jogged down the hallway to the garage door, swinging it open.

"You okay, my love?" Layla asked Matt as she grabbed her handbag, making sure she had everything she needed for Matt to drop her off at work after they dropped Holly at school.

"I can't believe she's going to school already," Matt answered, a sad smile on his lips as Layla tilted her head, giving him a sweet smile that always calmed him, "She's just growing up so fast."

"So are we," she pointed out, walking over to him and wrapping her arms around his shoulders, "It's our 8-year anniversary this year."

"I still can't believe it took us 3 years to start dating," he shook his head, placing a quick peck on his wife's lips before he heard a fake gagging behind him.

They pulled apart to see their daughter frowning at them dramatically, "Ew."

"I thought I said we'll see you at the car, bunny," Layla raised her eyebrows and Holly's eyes widened before running back into the garage making Matt chuckle at her, "She got her bad attitude from you."

+++

It took 15 minutes to drive to Holly's new school and Matt pulled up, letting out a heavy breath as he hopped out of the car. He rounded the car, opening the back door and Holly practically leapt out of the car.

"Bunny, don't forget your backpack!" he called as she ran to her mom who was standing in front of the car. He shook his head, picking up her backpack from the floor before closing the door and locking the car. He approached his wife and daughter, his emotions getting the best of him as he looked down at their little girl.

"Holly, you gotta carry your backpack. Me and Daddy can't come into the classroom with you," Layla said as she smoothed out her daughter's hair.

"You're not coming with me?" Holly frowned at her parents, her mood suddenly shifting and Layla could already tell she would have to handle this since Matt would just want to take her home and homeschool her.

"No baby," Layla squatted down to be at eye level with her daughter, "Remember when we were looking around the school? The teacher said you will make lots of friends and you get to play lots of fun games."

"But you and daddy came to the class," her daughter stuck out her bottom lip, her eyes watering slightly.

"I know but remember how we said that on your first day, we would have to wait outside for you? This is where you get to be a big girl," Layla explained as she tucked Holly's dark brown hair behind her ear. Matt stood there feeling hopeless, looking down at his daughters saddened face and feeling his heartbreak a little bit.

"Holly," he called his daughter and she looked up at her dad with a big pout. He squatted down beside his wife as he held the little girl's small hand in his, "We will walk you to the classroom but once the teacher says to go inside, we have to wait for you out here. We'll be right here when your done but I promise you will have so much fun, okay?"

"You'll be here when I finish?" she asked, her voice wavering and Matt nodded.

"Of course, baby," Matt held his ground, knowing that the little devil on his shoulder telling him to just take her back home wouldn't help either of them.

"You promise?" she asked, holding her little pinky out and Mat locked the tip of his own pinky with hers before kissing his thumb, something he did every time he made a promise to her.

"I promise, bunny," he smiled at her, smothering his own sadness and his daughter sighed, hanging her head before nodding.

"Okay," she said sadly and both her parents stood up. She immediately grabbed both their hands as they started walking into the school and towards her classroom.

Once they arrived, the teacher was standing by the open door and greeted the three of them with a smile.

"Hi Holly!," the young teacher beamed and Matt immediately felt better now that he had met her teacher. He hadn't had the opportunity to meet her teacher yet since he was working the day Layla and Holly visited the school.

"Lovely to see you again," the teacher smiled at Layla and Layla kindly smiled back.

"This is my husband, Matt. Matt this is Ellie," Layla introduced the two and they both said their greetings as Holly hid behind her dad's leg.

"Are you ready to come inside, Holly?" Ellie asked the little girl who seemed very nervous, another habit she picked up from her father.

"She's a little worried about going inside without us," Layla explained and Ellie nodded, squatting down to meet Holly's eye level.

"Holly, do you like painting?" Ellie asked with a soft smile and Holly nodded shyly, "Well I have set up some painting inside for you and everyone in our class to do. Does that sound fun?"

"Yeah," Holly mumbled, pulling away from her dad nervously.

"We have a lot of colours for you to paint with. We can make something for you to give to Mommy and Daddy when you finish today!" Ellie encouraged Holly further and Holly seemed a little less nervous making Matt feel at ease.

"Baby," Matt said looking down at his daughter who was still by his side and she looked up at him, "Why don't you go inside with Ellie and paint a butterfly for Mommy?"

"Okay," Holly fiddled with her fingers, not moving from beside her parents yet.

"You want a hug?" he smiled down at her and she nodded. Matt, of course, immediately picked her up and pulled her into a tight hug. She hugged him back to the best of her ability before she leaned back.

"Have fun, bunny," Layla leaned over, giving Holly a kiss on the cheek making her giggle before Matt followed his wife's actions, placing a kiss on Holly's other cheek before placing her on the ground.

"We'll see you when you're done!" he smiled down at her as Holly grabbed Ellie's hand, waving to her parents as they walked inside the classroom.

Matt let out a heavy breath and Layla grabbed his hand, dragging him away from the classroom and back to the car. They paused in front of the car as Layla wrapped her arms around Matt's shoulders again.

"I'm proud of you," she whispered, placing a small kiss on his lips and he smiled at her, "You did a lot better than I expected."

"I feel worse than I expected," he raised his eyebrows and Layla shook her head. She placed another kiss on his lips before pulling away from him.

"Come on tough guy. I gotta get to work. You can have a meltdown in the car," she jumped in the car once Matt had unlocked it and they drove down the street, proud of their little girl for going to her first day at school.

#matt sturniolo #matthew sturniolo #matthew bernard sturniolo #matt sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo triplets #sturniolo #the sturniolo triplets #sturniolo imagine #sturniolo edit #sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo smut #christopher sturniolo #chris sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo #nick sturniolo #christopher owen sturniolo #matt sturniolo smut #sturniolo x reader

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bitchinbarzal · 1 year

Note

Hey! Can you write something about being Matthews date to bradys wedding and just thinking about your own wedding in the future 🤍

you’d flown into jersey late the night before the wedding, having to miss the rehearsal dinner due to a work commitment your boss sprung on you last minute.

Both Brady and Emma understood, they were more than understanding of the circumstances.

So when the morning came and you’d finally made your way to Natirar for the ceremony you were so tight on time you hadn’t even gotten the opportunity to see Matthew.

You’d run into Brady in the hallway but not your boyfriend, wishing him luck and fixing his tie when he gave you a “thanks sis!”

you’d texted Matthew that you’d arrived and we’re with the rest of the bridesmaids. Matthew’s mom gasped when she saw you in your dress, making you do a little twirl

“You look so beautiful! He’s going to just die-“

“This isn’t about myself and Matt”

She rolls her eyes playfully “i wish that boy would just ask you to marry him already! I want more daughters than I have sons and legally I am equal now”

When the ceremony started, Matthew was by the alter with his brother, who was rightfully in tears waiting for his bride but Matt couldn’t console him as soon as he saw you.

Matthew’s chest tightened and he couldn’t help the smile that grew on his face when he saw you. You were clutching the flowers so tightly he knew you were nervous.

When you reached the alter and took your space you finally caught his eyes and he watched as your entire demeanour relaxed.

After pictures, greeting guests among everything else at the reception you finally found one another, all but jumping into his arms

“Oh I missed you!”

“Hey pretty girl, you’re hard to track down” he jokes, kissing your forehead

“Tell me about it, i saw Mark, your brother, Jack Hughes, Quinn and your dad all this morning but not you”

“You’ve got me now”

You nod “That i do, dance with me?”

He led you out onto the dance floor, your head on his shoulder as you swayed to the music

“Ever think about it?” Matt mumbles and you lift your head, frowning at him softly

“Think about what, baby?”

“Our wedding”

You crack a soft smile “all the time”

He looks surprised “really?”

You hum, hand trailing to his chest and say “I wanna get married in Calgary”

“Calgary? Really?”

Nodding you respond “Calgary gave me you, it made us. If the team gave you nothing, the city gave you everything. It gave me my everything” he smiles softly at your fondness “Calgary taught us love, it taught us forgiveness, it’s where we had our first major fight, where we did long distance for that short time, it’s where we bought our first home together”

Matthew is in awe that you’ve thought so much into this “Calgary it is then”

“No argument?”

“If my wife wants it, she gets it”

You push away from him playfully “Not your wife yet Tkachuk”

He groans “Not yet, just you wait”

At the end of the night, with sore feet and dizzy heads you were back in your room and taking off your makeup while Matthew opened his bag and stared at the black ring box that he’d taken everywhere with him for the past year.

His moment of reflection was interrupted by your drunken shouts of “hey matty did I ever say how much I love you?!”

#matthew tkachuk x reader #matthew tkachuk imagine

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at-wicks-end · 11 months

Text

burnout ; jw

john wick / reader 672 words ; angst other tags: mutual pining, right person wrong time, john and reader are in their 30s <3 pls do not repost!!

It shouldn’t be like this, John thinks to himself, feeling sick to the stomach. Still, he keeps his expression pleasant. He is your friend. He should be happy. He should be supportive. You look radiant.

“He proposed last Friday,” you grin, holding your hand out to show him the ring. It’s not ugly, but John would’ve chosen something different. It just doesn’t capture your personality, but he keeps his thoughts to himself. “I wanted to tell you sooner, but I didn’t want to do it over the phone since it’s pretty big news.”

You stare at the ring with a small smile in your face, but John can tell that you’re lost in thought. The unreadable look in your eyes is the only thing that pushes him to ask. “Are you happy?” He says carefully. You blink in surprise, the strange look in your eyes giving way to confusion.

“Are you happy?” John repeats, and the smile in your face falters.

“What do you mean?” You laugh lightly, but he doesn’t buy it. “I’ve just gotten engaged, John. Of course I am.”

The noise from the rest of the coffee shop seems to disappear as he looks into your eyes, searching. You look put-together, like you always are, but there is a weariness in your posture. You alternate between fidgeting with your mug and your ring, and your smile doesn’t reach your eyes. Suddenly, that look in your eyes isn’t as unreadable as he thought.

“You look unsure,” he says softly.

“I look tired,” you correct. “I couldn’t sleep last night. I was working through some stuff.”

Another lie. John decides to let it slide this once. “So when’s the wedding?” He changes the topic, and your posture relaxes marginally.

“Matt wants it to be a summer wedding, somewhere with a beach, maybe?” You say brightly, and John already knows you’re overcompensating. “I wanted it to be in either spring or—”

“Fall,” John finishes, taking a sip of his coffee. “I thought you hated the idea of a summer wedding, much less one at a beach. What changed?”

“Well, Matt really likes the idea, so I guess it’s not that bad?” You shrug, and John can feel his free hand clench underneath the table.

“You don’t seem that excited,” he points out, and you grimace. It tells him what he needs to know.

He wants to grab your shoulders and shake you so you can come to your senses. He wants to tell you that it should be him instead. He wants.

Instead, John reminds himself of his reality: he is an assassin and you are a civilian. Being with him is a death sentence, and this is the best possible situation he could ask for. You are safe and away from him, with someone to care for you. John can keep tabs on you from afar, and everyone is happy.

That is the lie John must tell himself.

“For what it’s worth, congratulations,” he says sincerely. “I wish you two the best.”

For a moment, nothing is said. The two of you lock eyes, and his heart lurches at the way his own yearning is mirrored in your eyes. He toys with the idea of being the one to marry you instead—to be standing by the altar with you by his side, to exchange rings and vows with you, to spend the rest of his life with you. He considers confessing now, considers telling you how much he loves you so he can whisk you away from that idiot who can’t be bothered to learn what you like.

The moment passes.

“Thank you, John.” Your voice is warm but resolute. He knows—you know—that this is the end.

It should have been me, John thinks to himself. It could have been me.

The sunlight catches on your ring, and John rips out the seedling of hope you had planted in his heart. When the two of you part ways, he leaves his dreams of a quiet life with you.

hello!!! first jw fic here hehe hope you guys enjoy!! this is actually the alternate ending of a much larger fic i'm currently writing, so if you liked this, maybe keep an eye out for that one <3 i'll be crossposting this on ao3 as well.

#john wick x reader #john wick x y/n #john wick x you #john wick angst #john wick

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xcalciumx · 1 year

Text

Family | Mitsuri Kanroji x Reader x Obanai Iguro

Word Count | 5.5k

Warnings | we good.

Summary | Weeks after your near-death experience, you are slowly recovering when you run into Iguro and Mitsuri. Will you finally realise your true feelings? Or in which you stop being a goofy ass.

a/n | ya'll thought I wouldn't do it. but here i am. i posted it. I'M SO SORRY.

part one | part two

── ⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅ ──

“Come on, princesses. My grandma can run faster than that – and she’s dead!”

Shinobu shot you an amused glance from across the room as you sat in your wheelchair, watching as the three boys ran their seventy-fifth lap. You grinned, averting your gaze as the blondie ran past, wide circle eyes staring at you desperately.

“Pleaseee, I can’t take – “

“Agatsuma!” Shinobu barked, “Thirty more laps and you’re done for today. Now shut up and get running!”

You giggled behind your hand. Ever since the incident, you had become prone to spending your days either sitting aimlessly in your room or watching the younger members of the corps train. Clearly, with both of your legs in casts and your torso swallowed in bandages, there weren't a whole lot of options. Because of this, you had been begging Shinobu to give you a couple of wood crutches; that way you could at least get around the mansion a bit easier. Alas, she had refused your request every time.

The woman in question made her way across the training space towards you, lips quirked up mischievously. As she came to a stop beside you, one of her hands came down to clasp your shoulder .

“Honestly, do you have anything better to do than distract these three?” she said, watching the boys. You cast her a long look, eyes narrowing.

“Don’t know if you noticed, Kocho…but I'm kind of crippled here. Not much else I can do.”

The insect hashira laughed at that, waving you off.

“How many times have I told you that your legs will be healed and fine in no time, hm? Trust me, you’ll be off fighting upper moons again before you know it.”

You grumbled at that, reclining further back in the wooden wheelchair.

“No thanks.”

At your words, Shinobu quirked a brow, turning to face you fully. “No? You’re not thinking of retiring are you?” The both of you sat in silence for a moment, her brows furrowing further as you refused to answer. “Hey…I mean I know you nearly died and all that, but it’s just a little hiccup in the road – like I said, you’ll be fine in a couple of weeks; it’ll be like nothing ever happened.”

You let her assurance hang for a moment, a sigh leaving your lips as you thought about your reply.

“I’m tired, Shinobu. This life, this…” you struggled to voice your feelings. “Women our age are married. They have families. We’re out here cutting the heads off of demons and watching as ambitious teenagers are sent off to be killed on missions. And - and to what end, really?”

She pondered your words, a frown now tugging her lips downwards. When she finally spoke, she had averted her gaze to the jogging boys.

“Since the accident…sometimes you don’t sound like yourself.” she shot you a quick look, trying to gauge your reaction. “You know why we fight. You know why we lay down our lives. We save people. We work endlessly towards stopping Muzan. That’s the end goal and you know it.” Her words trailed off. On the other side of the matts, the trio began slowing down. “You know what Kanae told me, when she was still alive? She said that just because we’re demon slayers - just because we’re cursed with this miserable life, it doesn’t mean we can’t love. It doesn’t mean we can’t have a family.” A large crease appeared in her forehead. She turned her stare back to you, determination prominent in her eyes. “So, you need to stop acting sorry for yourself. People die, people get hurt. Tough luck, suck it up. I don’t know what happened that day or what went down between the three of you, but sitting here, acting like you’re gonna quit the corps? It’s dumb. You can be happy. You can be that woman who’s married and has a family - but you’re just choosing not to, you’re scared.”

A heavy feeling gurgled in your gut. You didn’t want to admit it, but Shinobu was right. You were scared, and you were acting pathetic because of it. The thought was confronting.

All the words that you had exchanged with Iguro and Mitsuri rushed back to you. The fear of death - the pain of never having lived a fulfilling, happy life…it had overwhelmed you. And as a result, you had pushed away some of the only people who truly cared for you. The people you loved.

It made you want to crawl into a dark cave and never come out.

Maybe that had been your last chance. Your only chance. Iguro and Mitsuri probably thought you were a big tantrum-throwing baby who couldn’t handle her emotions. They probably thought you hated them. And if there was one thing you knew for sure in this terrible world - it was that you definitely did not hate them. Not a single piece of your broken, banged up body hated them. Lord, even when Iguro had made you turn red from anger - you didn’t hate him. And Mitsuri, who could ever hate her? She was the sweetest, love stricken person you had ever had the pleasure of laying your eyes on. Now though…now they probably hate you, if anything.

The thought had you clenching your fists tightly on the arms of your chair.

Shinobu looked at you with a knowing smile, opening her mouth to speak. Before she could, three panting boys stumbled up to the pair of you, tongues lolling out of mouths and sweat sticking their hair to their heads like a second skin.

Quickly, you righted the frown on your face.

“Done for today?” you asked. It was Tanjiro who answered, a beaming grin on his face despite the harrowing breaths leaving his lips.

“Yup, all done! Thank you for today's training, Kocho-Sama!” he directed his next words at you. “Would you like to go back to your room? I can take you!”

You contemplated for a second, eyes glancing between the three demon slayers in front of you.

“Actually, I was going to go out to the garden for a while. Get some fresh air. Thank you though, Tanjiro.” The maroon-haired boy smiled in response. On his left, Inosuke was rocking impatiently on his feet, whilst Zenitsu practically fell asleep standing up. Next to you, Shinobu shook her head at the younger boys with raised brows.

“Same time tomorrow, don’t be late.” Her command was met with instant agreement. Zenitsu even stopped blowing snot bubbles for a second to answer. Your laughter was cut short when she turned her gaze to you. “And you, we’re gonna have a real long chat tomorrow, so I better see your ass here as well.” she regarded you with a stern look. “Maybe I can even get you to start exercising your legs a little so you’re not so useless…”

Your offended look did not go unnoticed as she sauntered out of the room, waggling her fingers goodbye. You couldn’t help but mutter to yourself angrily.

“I’m still a Hashira too, y’know.”

A couple minutes later you found yourself being pushed down a long hallway. Despite your insistence to Tanjiro that you could make your way to the garden by yourself, he wouldn’t let up. So now, to your absolute chagrin, you were being accompanied by a boar who was jumping off the walls, a babbling baby who was trying to fall asleep in your lap and a kind, but obsessive boy who was pushing your wheelchair like his life depended on it.

For the eighth time, you pushed Zenitsu’s wobbling form away from you.

“You’re not sleeping on me, Agatsuma. Don’t even try.” He whined but backed off a little, stomping grumpily down the hall next to you. Behind you, Tanjiro was humming something to himself cheerily. A little ways ahead, Inosuke was trying to fight with a random Kakushi.

You had little doubt that the look on your face was pure exhaustion.

The Kakushi currently getting harassed began sprinting down the hall past the rest of you, Inosuke hot on his tail. You rolled your eyes, opening your mouth to say something but deciding against it. As they passed, at the last minute you decided to stick your arm out. The Kakushi bypassed it unscathed, but Inosuke, with no awareness of his surroundings, ran right into your protruding limb, the force of the impact sending him sprawling backwards. In an instant, the Kakushi disappeared around the corner. The edges of your lips tilted up. Before you could blink, Inosuke was back up on his feet; boar eyes seemingly piercing into your soul and nostrils flaring with misty breath. You rubbed at the fading pain in your arm and stared back at him blankly. The entrance to the garden was only ten or so metres away, but Tanjiro tastefully chose this time to stop pushing you.

“Why’d you do that?” The feral boy growled out behind his mask, slinking closer. It was almost as if he was…trying to intimidate you? Tanjiro’s voice came over the top of your head.

“Um, Inosuke…she was just trying to help.”

He ignored that, coming right up to your prone form and leaning down into your personal bubble. The ends of his mask tickled your face. You coughed in response, trying to hide the fact you were about to burst out laughing.

“Inosuke!” Tanjiro admonished like a mother.

Before you could make a snarky remark at the animal-esque boy, two scrawny arms were pulling Inosuke away from you. You watched in confusion as Zenitsu restrained the trembling boar for a moment, his chin wiggling in fear.

“Stop!” Zenitsu cried out. “She did nothing wrong, you crazy buffoon!” Inosuke roared, shoving an elbow into his friend's face and breaking free from his grip. Red instantly began to stream from the lightning user’s nose like a broken faucet.

“Eh!? The hell you think you’re doing, Monitsu?!”

You nearly smiled at the defiant look in Zenitsu’s eyes as Inosuke set his sights on him. Key word being nearly. What he said next diminished any admiration you held for him.

“You can’t hit a girl, you psycho! Especially not one of my future wives!” your gaze narrowed instantly. “You’ll marr her lovely skin!”

“You’re a literal child,” you grumbled to yourself, going unheard by the rest of the boys. As you watched them bicker, all you could do was groan, leaning your head back to look at Tanjiro. He seemed to read something on your face as he stepped out from behind you to interfere. As he did so, you slapped a hand to your head in exasperation. You had wanted him to get you out of there, not make you stay around to watch these two bicker and fight.

As Tanjiro began trying to deescalate the situation, the hallway somehow became louder with more shouting and arguing. Now, the hall was consumed by yelling teenage boys threatening to beat eachother up. And here you thought you were having a good day.

You peered at the three, wondering if you should stop them as they began to tussle.

It only took you a second to decide. Nah, not your problem.

Reaching for your wheels, you began trying to navigate around the boys to get to the door. The wood of your wheelchair groaned as it slowly made its way across the floor towards the threshold. You passed the fighting group without a glance, readjusting your uniform nonchalantly. Your feet were practically in the sun as you reached the outside door. A gentle draft was coming in from the patio and you let yourself smile a little, rearing to get across the door frame.

Right before you could pop a wheelie and haul yourself across the little cylinder trimming blocking the entrance, a low voice echoed down the hall behind you.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

Your spine instantly tensed, and you paused mid-action to whip your head around. Your heart freaked for a moment, thinking the voice was directed at you. Though when you assessed the sight behind you, you realised that - that wasn’t the case.

At the end of the hallway, where the four of you had come from, stood Iguro. His steely eyes were trained on Tanjiro, Inosuke and Zenitsu. At the Serpent Hashira’s question, the hall became deathly silent in a second.

You kept very quiet; he hadn’t noticed you there yet. Your eyes darted between the garden and the three boys who looked like they had been caught stealing. Breath caught in your throat, you were about to make a sneaky exit when Iguro began talking again.

“Seriously. How old are you? What’re your names? I’ll report you for insolence in a Hashira’s residence.” He scoffed, eyes roving the boys in boredom. You pursed your lips, looking once more at the boys who had grown extremely still. Reflexively, your gaze wandered back to Iguro.

When no one responded, the raven-haired male began stalking forward, his checkered haori swaying around him.

“Hm, so? Don’t wanna talk?” he cracked his knuckles creepily, Kabumararu coiling over his shoulders. “That’s fine. I'll make you talk.”

You had to forcibly stop yourself from rolling your eyes at his stupid threat. However, when you looked back to the boys, you realised they didn’t share quite the same amusement as you.

Zenitsu was sporting the typical deer-caught-in-headlights look, with big, wet tears starting to form. Instead of hitting Inosuke, he was now clutching onto him tightly, using him as a meatshield from the imposing Hashira. Inosuke himself had completely tensed up and you couldn’t quite tell if he was getting ready to try to fight Iguro or run away from him. Besides them, Tanjiro was looking awfully guilty. He, at least, seemed sort of alright with the confrontation.

You were now faced with a choice: slip out the door and leave these three to their possible demise or step in and tell Iguro to relax…One of the options was certainly looking better than the other.

Even so, you weren’t completely cruel and you were kind of the reason that this had happened in the first place.

You sighed, slowly pushing yourself backwards into the hall. The rolling of your wheelchair instantly caught everyone's attention and you cleared your throat awkwardly. As you came to a slow stop, you raised your gaze to meet Iguro’s. Before you could say anything, Zenitsu called out to you in what he must have thought was a quiet voice, his form trembling now.

“Hey, hey! Help us, please. Please!”

Now it was him everyone was looking at. His throat bobbed as he gulped deeply, shrinking under the scrutinising glare of the older man in the room. He shot one last desperate look in your direction.

You couldn’t help but sigh once again, cracking your neck and squaring your shoulders.

“Alright, Obanai. I think you’ve scared them enough.”

The boys sagged in relief. Iguro averted his stare back to you and you witnessed how his eyes seemed to soften as they took you in. Though it was totally a trick of the light, you told yourself. Surely you didn’t look very pretty, all dinged up and useless in a wheelchair. Despite this, Iguro changed his course of trajectory, walking towards you. The boys watched on fearfully, thinking you had pissed him off. You didn’t blame them, because you also thought you had pissed him off.

It wouldn’t be the first time.

As he came closer, you noticed the slight limp in his step and the numerous cuts torn across his face. There were some rips in his haori and a stain on his bandages that resembled blood. You raised an eyebrow. Before you could remark on it, he had stopped a few feet in front of you, eyes devoid of any emotion.

“You look better.”

There was an awkward silence. You glanced behind Iguro to where the trio seemed to contemplate their escape. Something that felt awfully similar to sweat pooled in your palms. You should say thanks, right? Right. What came out though was definitely not a thanks.

“You look like shit.” Instantly, you clapped a hand over your mouth, eyes widening. That was not what you meant to say. What the hell was wrong with you? Quickly, you held up your hands placatingly, “No, no - I didn’t mean. I mean - you look fine. You must have just got back from a mission? Yeah, you did…it’s uh. It’s fine. Wait, I mean - “ you tripped over your words, only to stop when a low chuckle reached your ears. You went completely silent when you looked up to see Iguro regarding you fondly, a warmness starting to blossom in your cheeks.

“Mitsuri and I just got done with a mission. We, “ he glanced back at the eavesdropping boys, “We were going after it. The upper moon.”

Your eyes widened slightly at his words, a heavy silence now basking the hall.

“Oh.”

Iguro laughed again, shoulders shrugging.

“It was a trap though. We barely made it out…” his words trailed off. Your heart hammered so hard, you thought it might re-break your ribs.

“But - but you’re okay, right? I mean, where’s Mitsuri? She’s alright?” It was hard to hide the nervousness in your voice. Iguro seemed surprised but he quickly hid it, nodding his head.

“She’s fine. A little battered up as well, but fine. She should - ”

As if she was summoned, Mitsuri pranced around the corner, her pink locks flying behind her. She came to a stop as she regarded the crowded hall curiously.

“Oh! Hi everybody?” If the boys weren’t relaxed before, they certainly were now. With two other Hashiras around, they were decidedly protected from Iguro’s wrath. It was Tanjiro who greeted her back, waving a hand. She smiled sweetly, eyes wandering towards Iguro and ultimately landing on you. Her smile flickered for a second, shoulders seeming to curl the slightest bit.

“Oh,” she whispered this time. “Hi.” Unsure of what her body language meant, you smiled hesitantly back at her.

“Hey, Suri’...”

At the nickname, something in her eyes flared and suddenly she was skipping down the hall towards you and Iguro. As she passed by the boys, one of her hands reached out to pat Zenitsu on the head. Lovehearts literally shone in his eyes.

“Honey!” she cooed as she reached you. It was as if nothing had happened between you two as she grabbed your face with one hand, angling it up and down. She hummed under her breath. “Well, you’ve certainly healed well!” she stared at you with a soft, simpering smile - almost as if begging you not to push her away again. You didn’t. Rather, you laughed quietly, cupping the hand that was now resting on your cheek.

“Yeah…we all know Shinobu’s medicine works wonders. Don’t tell her I said that, though.” Mitsuri grinned at that, taking a step back. As she did, your eyes were drawn to the bandages peeking out from beneath her uniform. “Are you alright?” you asked her without missing a beat. She followed your gaze, then looked at Iguro sceptically. He nodded back at her.

“I’m okay, it’s just a cut. Um…” she looked at Iguro a second time, displeasure now causing her nose to scrunch. When she looked back at you, it became glaringly obvious that she was nervous.

“What, Suri’?” you asked. Her cheeks grew a little bit pink.

“It’s just that…I’m sorry. We went on that mission to take down the upper moon and failed. I - I know it meant a lot to you.” The smile on your face quickly vanished, but not for the reason Mitsuri seemed to think. As she raised her hands to apologise again, you interrupted.

“You’re sorry? Mitsuri no, you don’t need to apologise to me. I know how I reacted a couple weeks ago but I don’t - y’know, I don’t actually care. I mean, you don’t owe me anything…”

Her head tilted to the side, a pout coming onto her face. Iguro spoke up.

“You don’t…care? We’ve been away for weeks hunting that demon for you because we thought…we - “ Iguro paused, looking over at the trio of boys still listening to your conversation. “Maybe we should go somewhere a little more private.” Mitsuri nodded her agreement.

“No.” You all paused, staring at Zenitsu as he announced himself in a meek voice. Iguro in particular, stared hauntingly at him. This was enough for the blonde to cower back, looking to his friends for help. Indeed, Tanjiro came to his aid.

“No, he’s right. We were taking her to the garden before you interrupted. You can’t just take her away when she doesn’t wanna go!”

You blinked at Tanjiro repeatedly, trying to process his words. When you did, you nearly cried in exasperation. These kids were crazy. You went to explain, but was stopped by Iguro as he took a step towards the boys.

“Are you trying to say we can’t talk to our girl in private?” he asked darkly. Tanjiro paled but didn’t back down. Zenitsu, on the other hand, completely hid himself behind Inosuke. (Though you were pretty sure that Inosuke had fallen asleep at some point in all of this).

Mitsuri and you exchanged a look.

“Stop it, Iguro.” you groaned. “And Zenitsu, Tanjiro - for god's sake, I am going on my own free will. No one is making me do anything. Just go back to your room or something!” you snapped at them. For the first time since you had met, the boys seemed to remember that you were a Hashira, which meant you could look after yourself. It also meant that you were undoubtedly capable of dismembering them if they got on your nerves…which they had, many times before this. Their eyes widened but they nodded, scurrying off down the hall. You watched them go, casting a look at the now snoring Inosuke still standing there.

“Should we wake him?” Mitsuri pondered.

“No.” Iguro retorted, reaching towards you.

“What’re you doin - Yah!” All of a sudden you had left the discomforts of your wheelchair and were dangling idly in the air. With your legs useless, you couldn’t do much but glare at the Serpent Hashira. He peered down at you, shrugging.

“Easier to move you around this way.” he said simply. Next to you, Mitsuri giggled.

You had no choice but to accept it, grumbling to yourself as you tried to hide the slight flush creeping up your neck.

Outside, the sun was high in the sky. The sound of birds and running water echoed from the forest beyond the garden walls.

Mitsuri had directed the three of you towards a large oak, where you now sat in the cool shade. You had propped yourself up against the trunk, Iguro to your right and Mitsuri laying on her tummy in front of you two.

You all sat in silence, watching the calm scenery pass you by. Iguro’s head flopped back against the bark, a quiet sigh leaving his lips. Mitsuri yawned, legs kicking up behind her as she stretched out her arms. You just sat and watched, eyebrows drawn as you thought about what to say. Were you supposed to ignore what had happened three weeks ago? Were you guys just hanging out as friends now? Iguro had started saying something back inside but maybe he didn’t want to talk about it…

Your lips pursed.

Before you could dive deeper into your lair of doubt and confusion, a loud chatter caught your attention. All of you watched as a small group of demon slayers stumbled through the garden gates and made their way toward the mansion. As they joked around with each other, your eyes caught on their nichirin blades, shimmering like glitter in the sun. Your finger twitched beside you.

Your katana was long gone. After it had snapped into two on the mountain, it served you no purpose. Because of this, you had been blade-less ever since you woke up. Though Shinobu promised you that your swordsmith would bring you a new blade any day now, you were beginning to think she was lying to you to keep your spirits high. If you had it your way, you would’ve gone to the swordsmith village by now and re-equipped yourself; but no, apparently that wasn’t an option according to the Insect Hashira. Despite your argument that you could heal fine at the village and not have to worry about demons, you were ‘not permitted to leave the butterfly mansion until approved by a senior doctor.’ AKA, until Shinobu Kocho stopped being the bane of your existence.

Mitsuri followed your gaze, looking back at you with a small smile.

“You must really wanna get back out there after being cooped up in here the last couple’a weeks, huh?”

You shrugged noncommittally, eyes falling away from the blade as the slayers made their way inside.

“I suppose so,” you hummed, fingers tugging at the grass absentmindedly. Iguro grumbled from your right.

“Well I don’t want to fight another demon for the next fifty years after that last fight. Fuckin’ hell.”

MItsuri laughed, swatting at his leg playfully. At the same time, she nodded her head.

“It was…” she chuckled softly. “It was a lot.”

As you observed her a bit closer, you saw the dark shadows under her eyes and the purplish-blue where a bruise was beginning to form on her cheek. The numerous cuts littering her face was giving way to the warm swelling beneath. Glancing besides you, you noted that the same could be said for Iguro. Hot glue stuck your throat closed as you shut your eyes briefly. This was your fault.

“I’m sorry.” You spoke quietly. “You didn’t have to…I mean, you didn’t need to go after the upper moon. I - I’m sorry.” You couldn’t think of what else to say but apologise. You were the reason they had come home looking like crap. You were the reason they were probably aching all over right now. You. It was you.

“Shuddup,” Iguro suddenly barked, peering over at you. You stopped yourself from jolting at his unexpected demand.

“I-”

“I don’t know what you’re thinking, but we went after that upper moon on Ubayashiki’s orders. It had nothin’ to do with you.”

Your eyes widened, lips opening and closing as you tried to find the words to respond.

“Iguro!” Mitsuri groaned, one hand slapping her forehead. Like you, she gaped for a second as she tried to find the right words to say.

“What? I’m just telling the truth.” He said calmly. Mitsuri glowered at him, one finger rising up to point at him menacingly.

“That is not the tru-” her eyes lit up with a sudden realisation. “You’re just grumpy because that demon called you ugly!” she accused.

“Huh?!”

“Huh?”

Both you and Iguro spoke at the time, although Iguro was sounding a little more outraged at her words.

“The demon what?” your question fell on deaf ears.

“I am not grumpy about that!” Iguro defended himself instantly. Mitsuri responded back with equal fervour.

“You totally are! I told you you’re not ugly! Why are you still mad?!”

“I’m not!”

“You are!”

It took you a second to process the words being exchanged but once you did you could do nothing but clasp a hand over your mouth and stifle your giggles. Kaburamaru slithers over from Iguro’s shaking shoulders to perch on you grumpily. You reached your free hand up to stroke along his head gently, watching the two bicker.

It was only when Mitsuri’s wild eyes turned to you, did you realise that you should say something.

“You’re not ugly, Iguro.” You said, nudging the hashira next to you. The stream of words falling from his lips paused as he turned to look at you. “The demon was probably just trying to rile you up. In fact, you’re the least ugly guy I know.” you grinned easily at him and he seemed stunned for words. Mitsuri sighed dramatically, plopping back down into the grass with a huff. You bit your tongue to stop from laughing.

“That’s not true,” Iguro mumbled, head turning away from you. As you lose sight of his face, your face falls flat. Who knew that the Snake Hashira of all people would be so vain? Seeing the expression you bore, Mitsuri shook her hands at you, urging you to continue. You stuck your tongue out at her.

“Oh, Iguro ~ “ you murmur, hair falling in your face as you shake your head conspiratorially. “Really, you’re the most handsome guy I know. Don’t be such a baby about it, okay? It almost takes away from how stunning you are.”

You grin like a vixen when his head whips back towards you. With his face right in front of you, you can see the light dusting of red covering his cheeks.

“But I -”

“Oh good lord, Iguro!” you snapped playfully. “What is this? One of those cheesy love stories Mitsuri likes to read?” you ignore the yelped ‘hey’ from the bubblegum haired girl. “Don’t give me that bullcrap! I’ve literally seen you without your bandages and I still love you so what's the problem!?”

Your breath leaves you in pants as you contain a laugh. Iguro continues to stare at you, his pupils dilating. It isn’t until you turn to look at Mitsuri that you realise something is wrong. She’s gone silent, mouth dropped open.

“What? What did I say?” you ask hesitantly, glancing back at Iguro.

The squeals are all the warning you get before a solid force smashes into you. Slightly disoriented, you barely register Mitsuri wrapping around you like a toddler.

“I knew it! I knew it! I knew it!”

You groan, peeking one eye open to look at the Love Hashira. She’s already beaming down at you, hands cupping your face.

“I knew you loved us!” She rotates to talk to Iguro. “I told you she was just overwhelmed! I did!”

He goes to say something back at her but ends up just shaking his head. His bandages shift slightly upwards.

Listening to Mitsuri, what you just said dawns on you. Your face pales, lips parting slightly. Mitsuri catches the look on your face and jumps, about to clamber off of you. Before she can, you wrap a hand around her arm softly. Her face flushes but she stays where she is.

You wet your lips, trying to make sense of all the thoughts in your head.

“Hey,” Mitsuri whispers. “You know it’s okay if you didn’t mean to say that…I’m not trying to force you to confess your undying love for us if you don’t actually love us, y’know?”

You shoot a surprised look at her. “Huh? No! No that’s not it. I just…how? Why?”

“You're gonna have to be a bit more specific than that,” she giggles. The hold you have on her loosens slightly, your eyes casting towards the ground.

“How can you still love me? After what I said? How I pushed you away?” Tears hide behind your eyelids. “I was a total bitch. I mean, I thought you would never even talk to me again! I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”

Mitsuri looks away and you realise that she’s mouthing something at Iguro. Suddenly, there’s a hand gripping onto yours tightly.

“Stop apologising,” Iguro’s gruff voice comes from beside you. You realise it’s his hand that you’re holding. “Suri’ kept saying that you were just overwhelmed, that you didn’t mean what you said. I realise now that she was right.” You can’t stop the tears that dribble down your cheeks. Mitsuri’s hold on you tightens. “I mean, you nearly died that day and here we were announcing our love for you? What the hell is up with that?”

You choke on a laugh, fingers curling into the palm of his hand.

“What I’m trying to say,” Iguro mutters, somewhat embarrassed. “Is that if anyone should be sorry, it’s us. We pushed you too far and didn’t stop to consider how you may have felt. So…we’re sorry.”

Everything goes quiet, your quiet sniffling slowing down. Mitsuri leans back to smile at you.

“Can we just stop all this sad shit?” she laughs. You echo her, reaching up to wipe away the remaining water in your eyes.

“Yeah. Yeah, I think so.” You.

“Please. No more of this emotional crap.” Iguro.

All three of you begin laughing in earnest now. All the drama and tears getting carried away by the gentle breeze that sweeps through the garden.

As you calm down, you notice the soft look on Mitsuri’s face. Her eyes dart down for a second, a pinkish hue colouring her cheeks.

Before you can question it, she’s pressing her lips to yours, hands gripping at your shirt tightly. It starts as quickly as it ends as she pulls back, eyes twinkling with stars.

“Too soon?” she giggles.

“Not soon enough,” you murmur, tugging her back towards you. Iguro’s firm grip on your hand keeps you safe and warm, reminding you that they were your family - your priority.

#demon slayer #kny fanfic #kimetsu no yaiba #obanai x reader #mitsuri x reader #poly!demon slayer #mitsuri x reader x obanai #x reader #mitsuri kanroji #obanai iguro #love hurts #fluff

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goldenlikedayl1ght · 11 months

Text

moon song - m. murdock

a/n: oh boy. uh. thanks for all the love on my last fic, so i decided to give you an incredibly angsty fic. this one is for all my male readers but honestly i want everyone to read it so. as always, reblogs, feedback and comments are always appreciated! warnings: internalized homophobia, cursing, infidelity, angst, hurt/no comfort, casual homophobia (teasing not anything insane) catholic guilt and symbolism, bisexual karen page, i'm not an elektra anti, making out, alcohol to cope, reader has a lot of coming out moments word count: 3.4k summary: you hate that elektra and matt are getting married. will you convince him not to go through with it? can you? pairing: matt murdock x male!reader now playing: moon song - phoebe bridgers "and if i could give you the moon/i would give you the moon/you are sick/ and you're married/and you might be dying/but you're holding me like water in your hands"

You’re in Josie’s when they realize. It’s like any other night, Foggy to your left, Karen to your right, as you watch Matt and Elektra play pool together. You take another swig of your whiskey, and tap your fingers on the glass, desperately attempting to try and listen to what Karen and Foggy were laughing about.

Two more weeks. That’s all you have to do.

In two weeks, Matt and Elektra will be married, and that’ll be that. They’ll live forever in their New York penthouse, fighting criminals and having beautiful children. That is their fate, and you’ll give your best man speech at their wedding.

All will be well, and you can bury your feelings deep down under alcohol and other women. No one will ever know what you really think of the happy couple.

You’re happy when Matt beats her at pool and they head back over to your table, where they absolutely hang over each other.

“We’re gonna head out.” Elektra says, a slightly drunken smile on her face. Matt hums and presses a kiss to her cheek.

“Meeting with the florist tomorrow.” Matt tells you all.

“I’m going to grab another drink,” You announce, and look at them. “One for the road?” Matt smiles at you, and for a moment, you think he must know.

“I’ll come grab one with you.” He turns to Elektra to ask if she wants one, but she shakes her head.

“I have to finish this one.”

So, you and Matt head over to the bar, his hand on your arm. You wonder if he knows.

“You seem distracted,” he tells you, and you figure you’re caught.

“Just working on my best man speech. It’s all up here.” You tap your forehead. You order two shots for the pair of you and take them quickly with your best friend. “Getting excited?”

“Yeah, it’s just kind of crazy. I’m nervous, is all.. And she seems to be totally fine with the whole thing.”

You bite back a bitter comment about both of their commitment issues.

“I think she’s just as nervous as you are.”

“I can hear heartbeats. Trust me, she’s not.”

“But you’re in love with her, right?”

If you weren’t so drunk, maybe you would catch his moment of hesitation.

“Yeah.”

“Then what more do you need?”

“You’d marry someone just because you’re in love with her? That’s all you need?”

Not just someone. You know who you’d marry.

“That’s all I need, Matty. You think too much. Have another shot.” He laughs at this and pats your shoulder.

“I think you’ve had enough.”

“Says you, I’m a bachelor, still.”

“So am I—For the next two weeks.”

“And yet,” a voice says behind you, “You’re still accounted for.” Elektra says, approaching the pair of you at the bar.

You both turn to her. You’re drunk enough so you don’t tense.

She hands Matt his jacket, and they link arms. Jealousy fills your mouth, and it tastes like venom.

“Elektra.” You smile and nod to her.

She says your name before adding, “Have a goodnight.”

“Goodnight.. Get home safe, Matt.” You say, smiling at them as they leave.

You turn back to the bar, where your smile falters. You take a seat, resting your head in your hands. You’re not drunk. That’s not what this is. When you look up, Josie is there and hands you another whiskey on ice and sends you this knowing wink.

Your face burns, and you nurse your drink. What did she know about your life? You only spent every Friday and sometimes Saturdays here. You sit there in your pity for a while, thinking about it all. You’ll plan a vacation for when they get home from their honeymoon. You’ll fuck someone you’ll never see again and by the time you get back home, you’ll be over it.

You’ll be the godfather to their first child; Matt will be the best man at your own wedding. You’ll live the rest of your life with this deep dark secret that no one, not even your best friend, will ever know.

Except, you forget that Karen and Foggy are in the bar too. They slide into the seats next to you and just look at you for a while.

“I might be tipsy, and I might not have super senses, but I can tell you’re looking at me. What is it?” You finally pick your head up and look at them.

“I figured it out.” Karen says.

You’re too drunk for this.

“Figured what out, Miss Page?” You ask.

“Me too,” Foggy adds. “And to think, you almost had us.”

“What?”

“The bachelor life. The one-night stands. The constant rotating door of girlfriends because you can’t have the one you actually want.” She continues.

You feel sick. How did they know?

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” You say, as neutrally as possible but it comes out defensive.

Then Foggy says it.

“You’re in love with Elektra.”

And you stop. They think they have you. Then, you start laughing. Like a crazy person, like it’s the funniest thing you’ve ever heard. God, it’s so dumb. You’re just that good at hiding it.

“Nice try, guys.”

“We saw the way you were looking at her while they were playing pool! That’s why you’ve been acting so weird since they got engaged.” Foggy reasons. You know what it looks like.

You took another sip.

“That’s because I’m not in love with her,” Elektra is intelligent, beautiful, and funny. Anyone would be lucky to have her, you’re sure. But you hate that she’s happy for another reason. “It’s because I’m in love with Matt.”

• • •

You’re nineteen years old. You work at a pizza place between semesters, with Matt often coming to visit you. You’re best friends, and he likes to come in, grab a slice and a diet coke, have you take your break with him, and then leave.

One day, he’s late to do this routine and an older coworker says to you, “Where’s your boyfriend?”

Your face burns.

“He’s not my boyfriend, asshole! I’m not gay, I wouldn’t ever dream of it!” You had said, a story you’ve told others and yourself so many times that it doesn’t feel like a lie anymore.

Matt walks in a few minutes later.

The truth is, if you’re honest with yourself, you’ve had feelings for Matt for a long time. Ever since you met him at church one Sunday, you’ve felt this need to be closer to him, to be with him all the time.

You knew what it was then, just like you know now. And just like now, you hated yourself for it.

But it got worse over the years, in a way that you just couldn’t push down like you had done for so many other people.

You became a nurse and when Matt became Daredevil, he used this fact to his advantage. And for a long time before this, you were able to keep how you felt about him at bay. You were able to just be his best friend, and nothing more.

But he crawled into your window one night, drunk on pain and whimpered as he asked you to stitch him up. By the time you were done, he laid there half naked on your couch, and your hands were covered in his blood.

You felt guilty for wanting him while he lay there, wounded. But in another way, you felt baptized, relieved that you were allowing yourself to accept a truth that you had denied for so many years.

And it got worse from there.

After admitting to yourself that you had feelings for him, it became prevalent that there was no going back.

You stopped by the office for lunch this one time and you walked into his office to see him lounging casually at his desk, tie half undone, sleeves rolled up, and hair slightly disheveled. You scolded yourself for being so into him.

And then he got back together with Elektra.

For a while, you figured this was a good thing. A great thing, even. Matt would date Elektra and you could move on, maybe admit to yourself that you liked guys and start dating more of them.

And it worked, for a little bit. It was easier to not love him when he was around Elektra because of how obviously happy he was with her.

Then they got engaged.

You were so angry at yourself for letting it happen, so angry at yourself for not saying anything, angry at him for not noticing, angry at him for not wanting you.

So, you started to date other girls.

And this is how you lived for so long, dating women you didn’t like in favor of burying the immense love you felt for your best friend. Until last week, when you broke up with your girlfriend because you just couldn’t take it anymore.

There would be no telling Matt, sure, but there would be no telling anyone how in love with him you were, there would just be you, coming out and dating men that eased the longing for him.

Until that night at the bar, when Foggy and Karen catch you in this vulnerable state.

They walk you home from the bar that night, as you slip into a drunker and drunker mind. You won’t remember anything after that confession in the morning.

Karen hands you your pajamas and a glass of water. She helps you into bed and holds you as you cry.

“Will he ever know how much I love him?” You ask, drunk and in a different pain Matt was in that night you stitched him up.

Karen shushes you gently and tells you she’ll call you in the morning.

You don’t remember saying that in the morning. All you know is that you’ve made an immeasurably stupid mistake by telling them.

• • •

On Monday, you have off because you worked a 12-hour shift the night before.

Foggy sends you a text asking you to bring them dinner while they work on some cases.

You oblige, ready to push down your feelings until the next time you’re drunk.

But when you get there, you don’t see Matt. You assume he’s in another room, grabbing coffee. You hold up their dinner.

“Hey guys, I brought Chinese.” You tell them, sitting at the table after handing them the bag. You lean back in your seat, keeping your cool.

“Why didn’t you tell us you’re in love with Matt?”

You snap back up.

“I’m sorry, can you be a little more discrete, considering the man has super hearing?!”

Karen rolls her eyes.

“He’s not here. He left a little while ago to go pick up his tux.”

Your jaw clenches, jealousy sewing the hinges shut.

“I didn’t even realize you were into guys.” Foggy says.

“That was intentional. I never really.. developed feelings for any other guys. Matt is just..” You look down at the chopsticks you’ve been twirling in your fingers. “I just see him and there’s nothing I want more than to just have him, nothing more than to just beg him to want me.”

Karen and Foggy both know the feeling.

Because it’s no secret that Matt is this alluring force of nature especially when it comes to his charisma and determination. Everyone either wants him or wants to be him, and its why Elektra is so perfect for him. They’re similar people.

And who are you? Some nurse who can’t even admit when he’s got it bad for his friend.

“You should tell him before the wedding.”

You scoff at the idea.

“And ruin our friendship? Ruin his wedding day? I’d rather see him happy and oblivious than lose him completely.”

But Karen and Foggy know you well and can see how this is starting to wear on you. You’re losing yourself grieving something that could never have been.

“You owe it to him and to yourself.”

“I don’t. I know you guys’ care, and I appreciate it. But there isn’t anything to do. Matt and Elektra are going to get married because they love each other and that’ll be that.” You tell them. “Matt won’t ever know how I feel, and I’ve made peace with that. He wouldn’t want me and I don’t want to ruin what we have.”

“But how do you know—” Karen starts, but you cut her off.

“Matt’s never expressed any interest in men, and to my knowledge he’s never been with any.”

Then, Foggy says something that haunts you.

“That’s what we thought about you before Friday.”

And it rattles within you, all throughout your body and your brain.

It stays with you throughout the night, and into the next day.

You can’t get it out of your head.

Maybe you could tell him. Just tell him and add on if he doesn’t feel the same, to forget you ever said anything.

And for the first time in a long time, you let yourself hope.

You lay in bed that night and fall asleep thinking about it. About if he’ll say yes, if he’ll kiss you like you wanted him to.

You spend days with this thought, with it rattling around. One day you wake up and are greeted by your calendar and see that the wedding is the next day.

You’re sick with nausea at the thought and realize how horrible of an idea it would be to tell him.

You pretty much spend all day, sick, staring at your suit and thinking about how horrible it would be to watch Matt get married to someone who isn’t you. In the church where you met. Not even knowing how much you want him.

You contemplate your options.

You could go to Elektra, beg her to call off the wedding and let you have him.

You could fake being sick, leave the country and block his number.

You could tell Matt the truth.

You opt to call Karen.

“I don’t know what to do.” You say, this vulnerability in your voice that you wouldn’t show normally.

“Oh..” She says your name softly. “Do you love him?” She asks.

“Karen..”

“Do you?”

“Yeah. You know I do.”

“Then tell him that.”

“What if he wants nothing to do with that?”

“Then at least you know.”

And then you ask her the real question that terrifies you.

“What if he does?”

“What?”

“What if he wants me like I want him? What do I do then?”

She wants to ask you, who cares? If Matt wants you just as desperately as you want him, what matters after that? But she felt this way towards Matt Murdock once, so she knows how horrible it is. And she’s fallen in love with women she can’t have before, so she understands.

“Then let yourself be happy.” Is her answer.

• • •

The day of the wedding comes.

You think you might be more nervous than either of them.

You sit with Foggy and Matt in the basement of the church, sipping a whiskey. Matt has his scotch, and Foggy has his rum. The lot of you have rather distinguished tastes.

Matt looks so fucking good. Your heart races. Foggy sees your nervous look and finishes his drink, clearing his throat.

“I’m gonna go check in with Marci and see how everything’s going so far. We have to be up there in ten.” He reminds you. He turns and leaves.

You’re with Matt, alone in your feelings. He’s fixing his cuffs and tilts his head towards you.

“Why is your heart racing?” He grins. “I’m the one getting married.” You say nothing. You take another sip of your drink.

“You’re reading it all wrong.” You tell him. And that isn’t a lie. You’re on the verge of saying it.

“Whatever,” He chuckles. “Help me with my bowtie, please?” He hands you the untied bowtie and you take it. You take it and step towards him.

Your hands are shaking as you wrap the bowtie around his neck and tie it, with this gentleness reserved for only those who truly know you. You can feel his breath against your skin. It’s enough to make you lose your mind. Your fingers fumble with his bowtie, and when you’re done, you straighten it out a bit. He looks really good. He’s yet to close his suit jacket and put on his glasses, but he will soon.

“Matt..” You say softly. “You know I feel about you, right?”

He pauses.

“You’re my best friend.” He hums. “Of course, I do.”

Your hands rest on his shoulders. Your fingers twitch.

“No, It’s more than that.” You tell him. “I love yo—” You’re unable to finish your confession.

Because Matt is kissing you, his hands on your sides, and pushing you against the church basement wall. You melt into the kiss, your hands going up to cup his chin. You feel this swell inside of you, like your prayers have been answered.

Kissing this man you love; you’ve never felt closer to God.

He deepens the kiss, slipping his tongue between your lips and pressing his body against yours, ruining your perfectly unwrinkled suit.

He kisses you for a few moments more.

Then, he pulls away, but you bring him back for another one by his collar, and he happily obliges. Your hand goes up to the nape of his neck, playing with the ends of his hair. Then, he pulls away again.

“That was…”

He stands breathless before you.

“I know.” He finishes.

“What happens now?”

He has this confused look on his face.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, what do we do next?” To you, it’s so obvious. He should go find Elektra, call everything off, figure out what it would look like to be in a relationship with you. He should say I love you back.

“I’m going to go upstairs and get married.” He says, like it should be the obvious answer.

“What? But you just—”

“I know what I did, but… I can’t…”

“You can’t? You just did.” You defend.

He grabs his glasses where he set them on the coffee table earlier.

“I’m sorry, but we just.. We can’t.”

“No! Not we, there is no we, right now, You can’t! I have been waiting for that for years and you kiss me like that, and you decide you can’t?” You spit out.

He nods.

“You’re right.” For a moment, you live in a world where you’ve convinced him. “There is no we.” He says and turns to the door to leave. You follow him, and before he can open the door, you’re grabbing him, turning him around. Your lips are against his as if to beg him to change his mind. He lets you think you’ve convinced him.

When he pulls away from the kiss, you whisper it out.

“I love you.” You say. “Please, don’t…”

He wants you to ask him not to get married. You won’t. He’d say no anyways.

He steps away from you, buttons up his suit jacket, fixes his bowtie and puts on his glasses.

“Come on, we have to go.” He tells you. He turns and steps out, grabbing his cane on the way.

He leaves you longing for more.

He might not ever give it to you, you realize.

The ceremony is beautiful, and these two will be happy together. It kills you. You watch your best friend get married after kissing him, and something in you is breaking all the while. You were wrong. You should have told him earlier, you should have gotten over your fears, you should have kissed him so long ago.

You book a flight to the Bahamas for two weeks and take off work or as much time as you can. You just can’t watch the happy newlyweds. It’ll break you even more than it already is.

But at least you and Matt are still friends, right? That’s what this was all about? Keeping him in your life, even if it meant not having him in the way you wanted? You’re willing to give up your happiness if it means he’ll stay in your life.

You’re frustrated, too, especially because the kiss did nothing to deter your attraction, it just makes you want him in such a way that makes you sick.

You’re in love with Matt Murdock and he knows it.

It’s a shame his wife doesn’t.

#matt murdock #matt murdock angst #matt murdock fic #matt murdock x you #matt murdock x y/n #matt murdock fanfiction #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock hurt/no comfort #matt murdock imagine #matthew murdock #netflix daredevil #daredevil #karen page #elektra natchios #foggy nelson #male!reader #no use of y/n

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matttgirlies · 4 months

Text

Matt & Me🎀

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24

a story heavily based on Priscilla Presley’s Book “Elvis & Me” based in the 1950’s - 1970’s.

fem! reader x singer! matt

disclaimer!! - in no way am i saying matt would ever support or do these kind of things, for the sake of the book certain unethical things do happen at times.

warnings - mentions of an affair

y/nn = your nickname for any confusion🩷

Chapter 20

In my diary entry dated April 5, I wrote, “The baby’s getting more beautiful as each day goes by. Dr. Turman said she’s healthy and progressing well. Matt went with me to the pediatrician, waiting outside in the car. He also accompanied me to the obstetrician. He’s insisting I keep up with my regular checkups taking care of both of us like a doting father.

“But I’ve been lonely for him since the baby’s birth; he is still withdrawn. It’s been two months and he still hasn’t touched me. I’m getting concerned.”

The following day, I wrote, “I asked Matt if anything was wrong, if he’s lost his desire for me. I saw this made him a little uncomfortable. He told me he wants to make sure my system’s back to normal—that he doesn’t want to hurt me. That made me feel a little better.

“We brought Charlotte to our room, put her in the middle of the bed with us. She’s such a good baby—we can’t believe she’s ours.”

Matt and I started getting back into our regular routine. Since the baby was born, we were spending more time at Graceland, eventually moving all the horses back to the original stables, James selling much of the equipment and, later, the Circle G itself.

Matt accepted fatherhood with a great deal of joy, but the fact that I was a mother had a disquieting effect on him. I didn’t understand at the time, but later on I would learn more about men who are very close to their own mothers. I am no purveyor of Freudian theory. I believe when a man comes into the world, his first unconditional love is his mother. She cuddles him, gives him warmth, the breast for nourishment, and everything he needs to exist. None of those feelings has a sexual connotation. Later, when his own wife becomes a mother, this bank of memories is ripped open and his passion may dissipate.

When Matt’s mother was alive they had been unusually close. Matt even told her about his amatory adventures, and many nights when she was ill, he would sleep in her room with her. All the girls he took out seriously had to fulfill Mary Lou’s requirements of the ideal woman. And as with me, Matt then put the girl on a pedestal, “saving her” until the time was sacred and right. He had his wild times, his flings, but any girl he came home to he had to respect.

Now I was a mother and he was uncertain how to treat me. He had mentioned before we were married that he had never been able to make love to a woman who’d had a child. But throughout my pregnancy—until the last six weeks—we had made love passionately. He’d been very careful each time, afraid that he might hurt the baby or me, but he was always loving and sensitive to my needs. Now months had passed.

On April 20 I wrote in my diary: “I embarrassed myself last night. I wore a black negligee, laid as close to Matt as I could while he read. I guess it was because, I knew what I wanted and was making it obvious. I kissed his hand, then each finger, then his neck and face. But I waited too long. His sleeping pills had taken effect. Another lonely night.”

Finally, months later Matt made love to me. Before we made love, he told me I was a young mother now, that being the mother of his child is very special. But I wrote in my diary, “I am beginning to doubt my own sexuality as a woman. My physical and emotional needs were unfulfilled.”

We returned to Los Angeles, where Matt was filming Live a Little, Love a Little. He started getting into his old habits again. Frustrated, I started searching for dance classes to enroll in. I looked through the local Yellow Pages until one class caught my attention, a school for jazz and ballet not far from home.

The studio was small and unpretentious; the owner, Mark, was an extremely attractive and dynamic man of forty-five. He was an excellent dancer and a fine teacher, and by the time I left that afternoon, I had enrolled for private lessons.

Still too shy to dance in front of a group, I wanted to wait until I was sure I could keep up with the other dancers before taking a class. I began taking private lessons three times a week. Mark’s personal interest and attention were flattering, and I was soon doing lifts and jumps, things I’d never thought I could accomplish.

He said I had the potential to be a good dancer, and he pushed me to the limit. Out of frustration and pain I would want to quit. Demanding that I continue, he told me I was building character and forced me to repeat the same routine until it was nearly perfected. This made me realize that I could go further than I’d ever dreamed.

He believed in me, and I was accomplishing something. For the first time I was creating, feeling good about myself, and I couldn’t wait to get to class each day.

Mark was charismatic and I was particularly vulnerable. In lieu of a passionate marriage, dance was becoming my life; I was obsessed with it, taking all my frustrations and feelings into the studio. I found myself thinking about Mark even when I was home. I had only seen him a few times in my life and yet I was unable to get him out of my mind. I rationalized, telling myself it was because he was always there for me. He seemed to understand me, while the man I truly loved was involved in his own world. I began to relax, enjoying myself almost against my will. It had been a while since I’d spent some time with a man who validated my abilities and appreciated spending time with me alone. It was also the first time I was not competing for my own identity. This was a high I had not experienced recently. I had a brief affair and decided to end it.

I came out of it realizing I needed much more out of my relationship with Matt. Matt and I decided to get away to Hawaii.

This was the first time we’d gone on holiday, and I was hoping that it would be a second honeymoon, that my experience with Mark would be forgotten. We took along Charlotte, her nurse, Nate, Amber, Patsy and her husband, Gee Gee, Steven and his wife Nora, and Charlie. We checked into the Ilikai Hotel on Waikiki, but soon found that Matt couldn’t go to the beach without attracting a crowd. We decided to rent a house on a private beach and spent the rest of our vacation there.

We had a great time, and Matt and I were like two kids again, away from the pressures and the filming—and away from Mark, to whom my attention would occasionally wander.

It was there that we met Tom Jones, and Matt became very fond of him. He had always enjoyed Tom’s vocal style, especially in “Green, Green Grass of Home,” which Matt had first heard while traveling from L.A. to Boston. He’d called me when they’d stopped in Arizona, encouraging me to get the record.

Tom Jones and Matt enjoyed an instant rapport. After an appearance at the Ilikai, Tom invited us to his suite, along with our group. Within minutes the champagne exploded and the party was on. We laughed, drank, joked, drank some more (lots more), jammed—and reeled back to the Ilikai at dawn. Matt had had such a good time he personally invited Tom and his group to join us the next day at our beach house. A friendship was born, a friendship of mutual respect and admiration.

One of Matt’s outstanding attributes was his conviction that there was room for anyone with talent in the entertainment field. In my experience, only a few stars are this generous. Greed, insecurity, jealousy, ego usually keep celebrities from supporting one another.

Matt could spot talent instantly. In Las Vegas, we regularly took in lounge acts featuring various up-and-coming artists, and if Matt liked the show, he patronized the club, encouraging the entertainers to pursue their careers, infusing them with confidence and enthusiasm.

Some of his favorites were Ike and Tina Turner, Gary Puckett and the Union Gap, dancers Tybe and Bracia, and old-timers Fats Domino and the Ink Spots, all talented people deserving acknowledgment in their craft.

One night we visited Barbra Streisand backstage at the International Hotel, now the Hilton. It was a classic Streisand performance and Matt, after a few too many Bloody Marys, wanted to tell Barbra his impressions. We were ushered backstage to her dressing room and Matt’s first words upon meeting her were: “What did you ever see in Elliott Gould? I never could stand him.”

In typical Streisandese she retorted, “Whaddya mean? He’s the fah-tha of my child!”—leaving Matt speechless.

Matt had some other very special favorites—Arthur Prysock, John Gary, opera star Robert Merrill, Brook Benton, Roy Orbison, and Charles Boyer’s recording “Where Has Love Gone?”

He couldn’t abide singers who were, in his words, “all technique and no emotional feeling” and in this category he firmly placed Mel Torme and Robert Goulet. They were both responsible for two television sets being blown away with a.357 Magnum.

Matt’s five-year contract with MGM was up in 1968 and he was finally free to move on to new challenges. Even Colonel admitted that Matt’s career needed a shot in the arm. NBC made him an offer to do his own television special, with newcomer Steve Binder directing. There was no initial format, but the idea was tempting and the money was right. The fact that there was no script—that it was an “open development”—made Colonel hesitant to agree. Colonel demanded more control than that, but Matt wanted to meet Steve, make sure that they could get along, speak the same language.

It had been years since Matt had appeared on TV and he was nervous. To his surprise, Steve was much younger than he had anticipated, extremely perceptive, and soft-spoken, a startling contrast to the studio heads he’d worked with, men much older, with hardened, preconceived opinions on how Matt should be packaged and sold. For the first time in years he felt creative. Steve Binder gained Matt’s trust and had the sensitivity to let Matt just be Matt. Steve observed, took mental notes, learned Matt’s ways, discovered what made his star comfortable and what got him uptight.

During their meetings Steve sensed Matt’s fear that he hadn’t been before a live audience in years but he noticed that Matt came alive backstage in the dressing room jamming with the musicians.

Each day he grew more confident and excited about his new project, taking pride once again in his appearance, watching his weight, following his diet, and working closely with the show’s costume designer, Bill Belew, creating a look we hadn’t seen him sport in years—the black leather suit.

I was surprised when he said, “Sattnin, I feel a little silly in that outfit. You think it’s okay?”

Matt knew this special was a big step in his career. He could not fail. For two straight months he worked harder than on all his movies combined. It was the most important event in his life.

During this time I was discovering whole new worlds of music—Segovia; Blood, Sweat and Tears; Tchaikovsky; Santana; Mason Williams; Ravel; Sergio Mendes; Herb Alpert—and I was anxious to share my new enthusiasms, music and dance, with my husband. I wanted to bring energy to our relationship in the hope of strengthening our marriage. Discussions at the dinner table now included Leonard Bernstein and Carlos Montoya, but they held no appeal for Matt; the TV special was consuming all his thoughts.

He was away much of the time, and when we did see each other our level of communication was strictly superficial. Each absorbed in our own separate pursuits, we had little in common except our daughter. My approach with him was delicate: I was aware of the distance growing between us. But because of his preoccupation with the special, I realized that the last thing he needed from me was a statement that I feared we were drifting apart.

In his absence, I was taking care of Charlotte in addition to attending dance classes in the morning, ballet in the early evening, and two jazz classes at night, lasting often until one in the morning. I was now studying with a new dance instructor, who was using me to give demonstrations for the evening classes. Many of the students were professional dancers. I had diligently worked my way into the company, rehearsing four hours every day to master new steps, constantly pushing myself to new limits, and eventually I was to take a place in the dance company, anonymously performing shows on weekends at colleges in the L.A. area.

Matt’s Singer TV special was a huge success, the highest-rated special of the year, and his finale, “If I Can Dream,” was his first million-sell-ing record in years. We sat around the TV watching the show, nervously anticipating the response. Matt was quiet and tense through the whole program, but as soon as the calls started, we all knew he had a new triumph. He hadn’t lost his touch. He was still the King of Rock and Roll.

It was a blessing for both of us. The hours I devoted to dance released him from the strain of my dependence. My new interest didn’t pose a threat in the sense that taking up a profession would have. I was still there to tend to his needs, as he wanted his wife to be, while also creating my own world, no longer intimidated by the magnitude of his. I was growing, learning, and expanding as an individual.

This new freedom nearly came to an abrupt end when a newcomer to the clan decided to take it upon himself to investigate my comings and goings. He reported to Matt that I was seen coming out of a dance studio at a late hour and did Matt want him to carry it any further. Matt’s unpredictability in dealing with certain crises in life could be astounding.

Logically, such a volatile man would explode. Instead, he made no accusations. His only comment was, “Little One, there are some people who are insinuating you’ve been seen coming out of a dance studio at late hours.”

“It’s true. You know I’m part of the company. It’s not just me leaving. That’s the time we break.”

I pleaded with him to tell me who was starting trouble. All he would say was, “Let’s put it this way: He’s new and he’s treading on dangerous ground. If he knows what’s good for him, he better keep the fuck to his own business.”

After the success of his special, Matt devoted several weeks to a recording session, and again he was highly motivated. For the first time in fourteen years, he’d been persuaded to record in Memphis, at the American Sound Studios, a black company where major artists, including Aretha Franklin, had recorded their most recent hits. The studio musicians were young and Matt had a great rapport with them. More importantly, he made great music with them.

He’d be at the studio singing until the early-morning hours and then return the next evening, full of energy and ready to start again. His voice was in top form and his excitement was infectious. Each cut was more terrific than the one before. We’d listen to the songs over and over, Matt yelling, “All right, listen to that sound,” or “Goddamn, play it again.”

Colonel stayed away from this session. Matt was the artist, and he was on a roll. He ended up recording so many songs, it took RCA a year and a half to release them all, including hits like “In the Ghetto,” “Kentucky Rain,” and “Suspicious Minds.”

Watching Matt sing with confidence again, honing each word in his own style, filled us all with pride. What a contrast to sessions in the past that had been filled with anger, frustration, and disappointment, resulting in late arrivals or, on occasion, no-shows.

At one point he looked over at me, smiled, then casually started singing “From a Jack to a King.” He knew it was a favorite of mine. Later he sang “Do You Know Who I Am?” As I listened to the words, I couldn’t help but relate to them.

After four years of lackluster songs, he was back on the charts again, and RCA could no longer complain about him. They’d been threatening the Colonel that if Matt didn’t have a recording session soon, they were going to rerelease some of his old songs.

One success led to another. Since his TV special, he was eager to begin performing in front of a live audience again, to prove to everyone that he hadn’t lost his touch. Looking for the best source of immediate income, the Colonel made a deal with the nearly completed Las Vegas International for Matt to headline there for a month, at a salary of half a million dollars.

Vegas was the challenge he needed to demonstrate that he could still captivate a live audience. This was what he loved most and did best. But it was a major challenge.

He hadn’t made any real demands on his voice in years and now was locked into two shows a night for twenty-eight days straight. Anxious, he wondered whether he was up to the strain, whether he’d draw sellout crowds, whether he would be able to hold an audience for a full two hours. He wanted this new act to be accepted, feeling he now had more than his rock-and-roll gyrations to offer.

Not only was this a crucial time in his career, but there was the additional pressure of the unprecedented fee and the fact that Las Vegas was the only city where he’d bombed, thirteen years earlier, in 1956.

He wasn’t the kind of person who’d come out and say, “I’m scared.” Instead I’d see it in his actions, his left leg shaking, and his foot tapping. He held in his fears and emotions until at times he would explode, tearing into anyone who happened to be around. At dinner one evening Matt said that he was concerned about his hairstyle, and I mentioned I’d seen a billboard of Ricky Nelson on Sunset Boulevard. His hair was long with a slight wave, and I thought it was extremely appealing. I innocently suggested that Matt take a look at it. “Are you goddamn crazy?” he shouted. “After all these years, Ricky Nelson, Fabian, that whole group have more or less followed in my footsteps, and now I’m supposed to copy them? You’ve gotta be out of your mind, woman.”

He left the dinner table in a rage. He had always been hailed as an original and now he was afraid that in Vegas even that wouldn’t be enough. I knew I had injured his ego and for that I apologized.

In preparing his show for the International, Matt pulled out all the stops. He was in top form—on a natural high quite independent of pills. He was more trim and physically fit than he’d ever been.

Excerpt from: "Elvis and Me" by Priscilla Beaulieu Presley. Scribd. This material may be protected by copyright.

a/n - these next few chapters will be a little slower paced sorry!!🎀

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