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adidastain · 1 year ago

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down the hatch

90s matt stone x fem reader

warnings: oral sex (M receiving), alcohol use, nausea

notes: first person perspective (I, me, my, etc.)

word count: 3564

—

“Matt.”

My voice carried softly as I approached my roommate in our dimly lit kitchen. The hour was late and what a night it was for him.

“I know you’re upset. C’mon,” I continued, opening my arms. I was in my pajamas, having stayed up late to watch the Oscars ceremony and see my best friend’s best friend lose the award to Phil Collins for Tarzan. Matt had gone to a party afterward to come down from the acid he’d been on all night and was still in his wine-red dress shirt, the buttons halfway undone.

“I’m not upset,” he said calmly. His gaze remained fixed on the shot of tequila he was pouring for himself. The lack of eye contact was a dead giveaway.

“You are,” I insisted. I didn’t like seeing him upset. In a way, I was afraid of it; sure he always had an attitude, but when Matt was really upset about something, he’d rain ash and sulfur on whoever or whatever it was that upset him. “C’mere.”

I tugged on the sleeve of his silky-soft shirt, pulling him towards me. Matt exhaled heavily, setting the bottle down and turning his broad body to face me, and he let me wrap my arms around his neck. I buried my face into his neck, his skin soft and warm. His curly hair tickled my nose as I moved.

Matt was always kind of weird about hugs. It took him a few seconds before he actually hugged me back, wrapping his arms tightly around my waist and holding me close. There was no doubt that he was exhausted.

“I know you both worked really hard,” I whispered. I wasn’t exactly sure what to say; I always sucked when it came to words.

“Mm,” Matt hummed unresponsively.

I leaned back so I could look him in the eyes.

“You may not have won the Oscar, but you did win my heart,” I said dramatically. I batted my eyelashes at him, watching as he scoffed and rolled his eyes.

“Shut up,” he said, letting go of me. He was grinning, shaking his head as he turned away to pour his tequila down the hatch.

As he swallowed, I carefully removed the small glass from his grasp, setting it down on the counter behind me. Matt cringed at the taste of the tequila, shaking his head.

I had to admit, he looked absolutely divine. His shirt was a gorgeous, deep red color that fit him absolutely perfectly. His broad chest and biceps practically bulged out of the silky fabric. The blazer he’d been wearing earlier in the night had been since discarded on the counter, alongside a small duffel bag containing the infamous pink dress he’d sported in the afternoon. Which, I have to say, looked just as amazing on him.

My hands snaked around his waist, hugging him again.

“Seriously, though. You know you can tell me anything,” I said, looking up at him. He didn’t hug me back, simply continuing to put the bottle of tequila back in the refrigerator next to us.

“I know. And I told you,” he sighed, looking down at me with tired, half-lidded eyes. “I’m not upset.”

“Anything you need, Matt,” I ignored him. “I’m always here for you.”

He chuckled slightly, taking a step back as he slid out of my arms. I looked at him with puppy eyes, carefully watching his body and muscles shift and flex each time he moved.

“Anything, huh?” he repeated, crossing his arms. This only made his chest and biceps look bigger and more muscular.

I nodded. “Anything,” I confirmed.

Matt raised his eyebrows and smirked, looking all around the room except at me. “Even…” he said, trailing off to let my mind fill in the blanks. He nodded downward to gesture to his crotch.

“You’re disgusting,” I rolled my eyes. Though, to be completely honest, I didn’t think it was the worst idea he could have had…

Once, many, many moons ago, after several rounds of drinks, I remember getting fingered by Matt in the back of a limo. I don’t remember where we were or why we were in a limo exactly, but we were definitely both completely drunk and undoubtedly sexually frustrated. We never brought it up to each other though. I just assumed it was a dream for a little while, until we received a letter from the limousine service stating that we wouldn’t be allowed to book from them again.

“But sure. Only for you,” I continued.

Matt’s head practically snapped up to attention, looking at me with shock as the color drained from his face. “What?”

“I’ll give you head. If that’s what you want,” I said, shrugging. I turned around so that my ass was facing him and he couldn’t see how flushed my cheeks were becoming.

“I was just joking,” he laughed, swallowing harshly.

“No you weren’t,” I scoffed, rolling my eyes. I poured myself a glass of water, turning back around to face him again. His jaw was tense, one hand rubbing the back of his neck while the other sat at his side. “You? Joking about getting head? Not a chance.”

I took a sip of water, not-so-accidentally letting it spill onto my chin and neck. Matt’s eyes were fixed on my now soaking wet collarbone. I watched his throat shift beneath his skin as he swallowed harshly.

“You really… You’d do it?” he asked.

“Do what?” I responded. Play dumb.

“Suck me off?”

“Oh. Mhm,” I smiled. “If it’ll make you feel better.”

Matt chuckled, looking down at his hands. I took another sip of water, wiping my mouth on the back of my wrist.

“Go sit down,” I told him, topping off the glass with more water. Matt did as I said, hesitant at first. However, it didn’t take long for him to somewhat frantically scramble to get his ass onto the sofa before I could follow him.

I thought about getting to put his hot, throbbing, aching length into my mouth and taking it down my throat. Using my tongue to pay extra attention to little spots along his shaft in order to earn soft sounds of pleasure from deep inside him. My hands roaming every inch of his body, feeling his muscles flex under my touch. I wanted nothing more than to make him feel like no one else has ever made him feel.

My eyes rolled back in my head slightly as I pictured his hand tangled in my hair, pushing my head down further along his length while his tip bruised the back of my throat.

“Are you coming?” he said. I think he was trying to sound irritated, but was too nervous to pull it off.

With that, I joined him in the living room, anxious to see him sprawled out and ready on our sofa. And he was; he had his arms resting up on the back of the couch, all cocky, with his legs spread and his body slouching. Dickhead.

He was, without a doubt, pitching a sizable tent beneath those snug black pants of his. The reality of what I was about to do to my best friend hit me like a train. Sure, we’d messed around before, like I said. But this was different. We were sober. I was sober, at least.

The entire house was silent, so much so that my ears were practically ringing. It was dark except for the light in the kitchen, which shone from behind, giving his crown of curls a glowing halo. He looked up at me, his chest rising and falling rapidly as I positioned myself to lean over him.

A breathy, soft groan left his lips as I carefully placed my knee on his crotch, applying the smallest amount of pressure so as to not hurt him. Not long after, I kissed him, one of my hands digging into the couch cushions behind him to prop myself up. I kept my kiss gentle, almost ghostlike, barely touching his lips at all.

Matt looked to be in shambles as I backed away from him again, sinking down onto my knees in front of the sofa. He stared at me, looking both tense and nervous, while also completely dumbfounded and almost awestruck.

“Hurry up and take your belt off, douchey. I’m tired,” I teased him, running my hands over his clothed thighs.

Matt scoffed and rolled his eyes, raising his hips so he could start undoing his belt, freeing his hips from the snug confines of the leather strap. He set it off to the side and shimmied out of his dress pants, which pooled down to his ankles, rendering him bare-legged in a skimpy pair of boxers.

I didn’t waste much more time before trailing wet kisses up the inside of his thigh, massaging the other with my hand. I pulled his boxers down, slowly, running my fingers along the waistband until they sat at his ankles atop his discarded dress pants. There, standing tall and dripping with impatience, was the real star of the show.

I swallowed. It wasn’t so much the length I was concerned about as far as size went, but the sheer girth and thickness of his cock. My hand wrapped around the base of it and my fingertips were nowhere near touching my thumb.

“You okay?” Matt asked me, his tone low and cold. I could see concern in his face, however.

I nodded, adjusting my position and pulling all of my hair to rest on one shoulder. Matt reached down to tuck one stray strand behind my ear, gently running his thumb along my cheek in the process.

My eyes veered away from his, shame bubbling up inside me. Maybe not shame so much as humiliation. I took a moment to build up the spit in my mouth, feeling shy under his gaze.

“Don’t look at me,” I mumbled with a mouthful of spit. Matt chuckled softly, letting his head rest on the back of the couch. I stared at his neck and throat as he swallowed and ran a hand through his hair.

I leaned over his cock and let a dribble of spit fall from my lips, before subsequently beginning to place soft kisses all over his tip, the skin smooth and warm. I held the base of his length with one hand, using the other to massage his thigh. Matt’s body shivered slightly as I trailed kisses up and down his shaft.

I looked up at him one last time. His bottom lip was trapped under his teeth, eyebrows furrowed, hands gripping the back of the sofa. I’d barely even started and he was already struggling. Must’ve been a while for him.

From then on, my kisses were wet, sloppy and open-mouthed. Up until I flattened my tongue and the tip of his cock slid into my mouth.

Matt sharply gasped through his nose, his body shuddering from the shock. He moaned softly with his mouth closed and I felt his hand caress the back of my head, fingers running through my hair as he grabbed a fistful of it.

“Mmn… Good,” he exhaled. I opened my eyes to look up at him, seeing his face and body scrunched up and tense. Matt adjusted his position, and now the top of my head was grazing his stomach as I moved up and down.

The sounds he made, combined with the feeling of his warm flesh moving in and out of my sore mouth had me subconsciously squeezing my thighs together. I slipped my free hand underneath my shorts in order to start rubbing slow circles into my clit, before taking a deep breath and lowering my head, letting his cock slide into my throat.

“Oh fuck,” he whined, pushing my head down further. His body crashed into the back of the couch, his back arching and thighs beginning to squeeze my head. “Fuck me, I needed this so bad…”

I let out an exaggerated moan for the sake of giving him a little bit of vibrational stimulation. It wasn’t entirely fake though.

“Yeah?” he panted. Matt chucked slightly. “I bet you like that… good girl…”

I rolled my eyes and pulled off of him, removing my hand from inside my pants. “I’m never letting you live that down,” I said.

“Shut up,” he said lightheartedly. Matt gripped my hair more harshly, almost forcing his cock back into my mouth without warning.

My gag reflex immediately pushed back and my eyes started watering. I winced slightly, pinching the skin of his thigh hard.

“Ow!” he hissed. I looked up at him with furrowed eyebrows, wiping the tears away from my eyes. “Sorry,” he said softly.

“So mean,” I mumbled with his cock in my mouth. Matt scratched my scalp a little, making a small effort to soothe my discomfort.

“I was close,” he told me, before I started moving again. He took a moment to gently brush all of my hair out of my face and wipe the tears from my eyes. I loved when he’d let his soft side out. That’s how I knew he wasn’t really upset anymore.

A few minutes went by, most of which I spent teasing him. Swirling my tongue around his tip over and over, hesitant to take him down my throat again out of anxiety. I’d had many catastrophic experiences giving head before. Now that I’d gagged already, I really wasn’t trying to let that happen again.

“Did I hurt you?” he asked me amidst rapid, heaving breaths.

I nodded, humming into his cock. Matt stroked the back of my scalp and took a deep breath. “I’m sorry,” he said, swallowing harshly.

I shook my head, looking up at him. He was looking down at me, with a loving, yet lust-filled gaze.

Seeing his face flushed a scarlet pink color, his chest rising and falling rapidly, and feeling his hand tangled in my hair gave me a little more confidence. I took a deep breath, exhaling as I let his cock slide into my throat once again.

A deep, guttural moan left his body as his tip pressed against the back of my throat. His back arched and he hissed as I began sucking slightly with each movement. I let one of my hands travel up underneath his shirt so I could feel the muscles in his stomach tighten every other second. His fingers dug deeper into the back of my head, pushing me further and further down.

“Y/N…” he moaned quietly. My stomach flipped and my immediate response was to laugh. Matt laughed slightly as well, until it quickly faded and he was back to grunting and whimpering.

“Mmn… perfect,” he hummed, almost as if he were growling, his voice so deep. “I’m so close…”

I let out a small, slightly higher-pitched moan as I adjusted my neck to take him deeper down my throat. It didn’t take long for him to start squeezing my head between his thighs while his hips bucked upward into my face, fucking my mouth. Part of me really wished he was fucking me for real.

Suddenly, I gagged again, but didn’t let go. He was close and I, very selfishly, was dying to feel his hot cum shoot down my throat.

“Keep going,” he whimpered, relaxing the grip he held on my head. I felt tears welling in my eyes as I opened them to look up at him. He was looking down at me, face flushed, temples glistening with sweat, lips parted and eyebrows furrowed in desperation. He looked absolutely pitiful.

I paused for a moment to force the tears out from between my eyelids, trying my hardest to avoid triggering the reflex again. I must’ve been subconsciously holding my breath for a minute or two, because I was practically gasping for air through my nostrils.

That was my least favorite part about giving head. But in the end, it was all worth it.

I kept bobbing my head, moaning slightly each time I felt his tip press into the back of my throat. I was getting pretty sore at this point, but he was right; he was definitely close to the edge. Only a few more seconds and he’d be done for.

I shifted slightly in order to caress his balls, but before I could even take them in my hand, Matt’s entire body tensed up. His soft, strangled moans echoed through the entire house as his hips shuddered and trembled, until I felt the hot sensation of his cum hitting the back of my throat and dripping downward. After a second or two, Matt’s hand slid off my head to rest at his side.

“Fuck,” he exhaled, panting. He let out another whine or two as I carefully pulled away from him, swallowing what was in my throat. My tongue ran over his tip as his cock slid out of my mouth, coating the muscle in the last few strings of his cum. It was warm and my eyes practically rolled back in my head as I tasted it. Once I was off of him, I sort of collapsed, letting my head fall and crash into his knee, and I started to cry.

I swallowed again, and I became aware of a dry, aching feeling in my throat. My neck was stiff and my head started pounding. I pressed my face against his leg, trying to suppress the discomfort and nausea.

Matt took a few seconds to catch his breath and give me small praises like, “That was incredible,” and “I really needed that.” I responded with nothing but a small laugh. Then he pulled his boxers back up, and noticed me crying.

“Y/N,” he squeaked, his own voice slightly dry and raspy. I looked up at him, still drawing deep breaths in and out through my nose. He pulled his boxers on and grabbed my hands to help me up onto the couch.

“Are you okay?” he asked, giggling softly. I nodded, no words coming to mind.

Matt swallowed and wiped a tear away from my cheek. “You look really pale,” he whispered, furrowing his eyebrows.

Again, I nodded, closing my eyes and letting my forehead rest against his. “Just need a minute,” I said, barely whispering.

He tucked my hair behind my ear and pushed it behind my shoulders, running his fingers through all the knots he might have made from balling his fist into it several times. It felt nice.

His lips softly grazed against mine, creating a small clicking sound when he pulled away. I let out a heavy exhale and looked at him, exhaustion ever present in both my body and my mind. Matt pulled me closer, whispering in my ear.

“I’m not upset anymore,” he said, smiling. “I’m sorry for hurting you.”

“It’s okay,” I whispered, burying my face into his neck. “I’m okay.”

“Do you want some water?” he asked me, taking my hand in his.

“I’ll get it in a sec,” I sighed, swallowing. “I still feel nauseous.”

“Okay,” he breathed. “I’m sorry.”

“Say ‘I’m sorry’ one more time,” I laughed dryly. Matt chuckled, kissing my neck while carefully intertwining his soft fingers with mine.

We sat for another minute or two and I was eventually able to get up and get some water. The lateness of the hour hit me hard once I came back from my fatigued, post-head state. Matt was practically merciless when it came to the aftercare, asking to do all these things like massage my neck and play with my hair. It was endearing, but I couldn’t tell if he was doing it to make me feel better or to keep his mind off of the stupid Oscars. Both were very likely.

Matt didn’t bother to shower or anything, quickly changing into a large tee and a clean pair of boxers for bed. He lingered in the bathroom doorway, watching me move like a sloth as I brushed my teeth and washed my face.

“Can I help you?” I asked with a mouthful of toothpaste. My eyes made contact with the reflection of his through the mirror and he smiled at my teasing.

He took a few steps closer to me as I spat out the toothpaste, wiping my mouth on the back of my wrist. Before I could even turn to face him, he placed his warm hands on either side of my waist and kissed me deeply.

My first response was to push back slightly, but the kiss was so warm that I couldn’t even protest and immediately melted into him, my hands pressed against his torso. I got the most intense chills; my heart was beating so fast that I was worried I’d faint right there in his arms.

“Mm. Minty,” he hummed with a shit-eating grin plastered across his face. I rolled my eyes and pushed his body away from me.

“Give a man head one time, and suddenly he wants to be your boyfriend,” I sighed.

“Oh, I’ve always wanted to be your boyfriend,” he grinned, making himself comfortable with his arms wrapped around my waist from behind, beginning to place soft kisses along my neck. “The head was just a bonus.”

I rolled my eyes again, unable to smother the grin that was overtaking my face. “Typical.”

#i cooked #possibly my best smut #banger #matt stone #baseketball #fanfiction #fluff #x reader #cannibal the musical #fem reader #mattrey #smut #matt stone x reader #trey parker #angst

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h3ll0k1ttyl0v3rrr · 5 months ago

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Hey guys, this is my first post on here so allow me to introduce myself!!

My name is Dallas, I go by he/him pronouns and I’m obsessed with Metallica!

Writing has been a huge hobby of mine for years and instead of coming up with my own ideas and writing them down for no one to see, I decided to come on here so people can send requests for me to write!!

Like I said, I’m obsessed with Metallica and I mainly write for them most of the time.

I’m comfortable writing any Metallica ship basically, which would include:

James x Cliff (HUGE fan of them)

Kirk x Lars

Jason x James

Cliff x Kirk

Kirk x James

Dave x James

I’m not a big fan of the following pairings:

Jason x Lars

Cliff x Lars

Anything with Robert or Ron (sorry!!)

I’ll also write for Alice in Chains. I’ll write almost anything from the grunge era, like Soundgarden, Pearl jam, etc. But I’m unfortunately not a fan of writing for Nirvana.

I will not write x reader, sorry if that’s a let down!

I will write smut!! That’s one of the main things I write to be honest, along with fluff and comfort/hurt.

I’m open to any kind of kinks and fetishes, and there are very few things that cross my boundaries. If you’re curious about if I would write about a certain kink or fetish, don’t be afraid to ask me. No kink shaming here!! (UNLESS it’s scat, feet or vomit, sorry!)

I’ll be looking forward to some requests!!

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90sintruder · 2 years ago

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No title - Orgazmo fanfic

Summary: Joe is just stressed, dude. Luckily, Dave's there to cheer him up.

No pairing, but Dave is really fucking gay for Joe X3.

Swearing, mentions of NSFW (obvi), nothing smutty happens tho

Short fic- 1007 word count

Joe felt like his head was spinning, he wasn't sure whether it was anger or nervousness. Most of his scenes had never been like this before. "Mr. Orbison, I can't do this!" Joe said as he looked up from his script. "Sure you can, Hung," Orbison waved a dismissal hand as he continued to write notes at his desk. "No I mean," Joe cleared his throat and stood from the chair opposite the sleazy man, "I won't do this! This is blasphemous!" Joe felt his hands shake as he gripped the pages. Joe couldn't even believe that Mr. Orbison would make him do something that would portray any biblical event in such an obscene way made his face hot with anger. Orbison looked up from his notebook with a quirk to his brow that made Joe swallow down his fear, "Oh really? You won't?" He gave a loud laugh before slamming his fist against the heavy wood desk, "You're under contract, boy! It's one scene and I own you until it's done!"

Joe's hands were bound to a bed as his new nemesis, a demon of sorts poorly acted his lines. He silently prayed to himself and hoped that they wouldn't have to do more than one take but he knew that wasn't going to happen.

He had been in this position for some time but had completely zoned out of the situation until he was actually doing something, but that something made his cheeks redden as Saffi touched his, his-

"Stunt cock!"

Dave yelled as they cut and startled Joe. Dave took a picture of Saffi who was not completely exposed on top of Joe as she untied him, Joe could see the technician looking down at his nether regions, a look that he didn't quite understand, most everything painfully in sight by the tight pink suit he was wearing. Saffi patted Joe's leg and smiled up at him, "Good work today, Joe."

Joe let out a choked noise that had shame rip through him. He quickly stood up and ran to his dressing room, nearly knocking over a light that was on the set.

He needed to calm his nerves- he needed to pray. Just the thought of prayer was relaxing. He kept asking why he kept doing this to himself, but he knew why: Lisa. Every time he called her she was so excited for him and, well, he loved hearing her so happy for him. At the same time, she had no clue what he was doing. He felt that feeling he had the day before, the churn and heat suddenly rising in him. He leaned against the wall of his dressing room as he searched for his book in the pocket of the jacket he had been wearing before changing into his costume "Oh heavenly father, what should I do?" His voice waivered as he felt his eyes well with tears.

The curtain of the dressing room opened suddenly, "Hey, Orgazmo!" Dave smiled wide and held Joe's small book in his hand, "I found your, uh," Dave examined the book and furrowed a brow as he continued, "Your bible, man!"

Joe blinked and tried to shoo all those pesky negative feelings away. He turned a smile on and grabbed the book, "Thank you, Dave."

Dave pursed his lips and gave a short nod, "Sure, sure, no problem!"

Dave stood there for a moment and studied Joe again, "You doing okay, Orgazmo" He said quietly and raised a curious brow, "If you gotta talk, I got your back, man."

Joe straightened his back and stood form the wall, "Oh no, I'm okay really, but thank you!" The doubtful look Dave gave was a little eery. The mood had shifted between the two, they both knew Joe was obviously lying…

He looked down at himself, the ridiculous pink costume still on. He was lying. He was committing sin after sin. He let out a frustrated sigh, "I'm just committing an act of sin just being here…" Dave stepped in further and closed the curtain. Joe explained why he was here, he let all of his emotions out; every feeling of doubt, guilt, and frustration oozing out in every word. And Dave listened. In earnest too, something that came as a shock to Joe, Dave was not quiet. Quite the opposite, he always interrupted scenes with an outburst of energy, but now he just stood quietly and watched Joe with soft eyes and pursed lips.

After everything he had to say was said, Dave let out a soft "Woah." He fidgeted with his camera before taking it off from around his neck, "That's pretty deep, dude." Joe let his finger slide against the pages of the holy book. It's pages made him feel safe to tell these things, like he was being guided. It did feel nice to tell someone everything that he was feeling. It was like a heavy plate lifted off of his chest.

"You know what," Dave put his hand on Joe's shoulder, "You're a pretty sweet dude, Orgazmo, and if you think you're going to hell just for trying to do what's best for you and your girl, well then, man, there's no luck for the rest of us." Dave gave him that enthusiastic wide-eyed stare Joe was used to.

"Hung!" Orbison called through the megaphone from the other room.

Dave patted Joe's shoulder firmly before putting his camera back around his neck and screwing up his lips, "Now take your fine ass out there!" Dave yelled and pushed Joe out of the dressing room. Joe was a bit stunned still from the conversation that just occurred. He walked lighter now, it was actually a helpful realization. Maybe he wasn't a bad Mormon. Maybe the heavenly father chose this path for him. Joe dropped his book on the couch and adjusted his costume as he stepped back onto the set…

Wait, did Dave call him fine?

#joe young #dave the lighting guy #orgazmo #orgazmo fanfic #matt and trey #matt stone #trey parker #give me some feedback #fanfic #fluff #joe x dave #dave is so obviously gay for joe #I love dave sm #south park #baseketball #sorry this is kind of bad #hope you enjoy

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telekineticseance · 2 years ago

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writing a matt pov is making me giggle and kick my feet back and forth

#it’s all fluff because i’m DIGGING into his feelings #matt stone #matt stone x reader

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matt-murdockk · 26 days ago

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Stealth

pairing: matt murdock x Black Widow!fem!reader

words: 3.5k

summary: Retired from your old life, you had comfortably settled down at Hell's Kitchen running a bookstore next to Nelson & Murdock. When your past comes knocking at your door again, you pray to god it doesn't affect your relationship with Matt.

warnings: cussing, lack of proofreading (rip), canon typical violence, it’s mostly action, fluff, and comedy

a/n: going through the matt drafts like my life depends on it lmaooooo enjoy <3

——————————————————————————————————

Blood dripped from your busted lip as you looked up from your knees, another blow snapping your head to the side. Your assailant loomed above you, fists still clenched, breathing heavy. You laughed at him, knowing that even after his efforts and all that he's putting you through, he is either going to walk away without the information he's in search of, or he's not going to be able to walk away at all.

"I'm asking you one last time, bitch. Where is she?"

"Go to hell," you sneered, your voice dripping with malice.

Before he could react, you surged upward, slamming your shoulder into his gut. He stumbled back with a grunt— off balance just long enough for you to twist, swing your leg out, and sweep his feet from under him. He hit the ground hard, and you didn’t give him time to recover. You dropped your weight on his chest, drove your knee into his ribs, then slammed your forehead into his nose with a sickening crack.

He yelled, tried to shove you off, but you were faster— rolled to your side, hooked your tied wrists under his chin, and yanked back with everything you had. His head snapped back. The struggle was short. One last jerk, and he slumped beneath you, out cold.

You sat there for a moment, breathing hard, blood on your tongue and your pulse roaring in your ears. You managed to free your hands, the binds falling away. Instinctively, you brought one hand up to rub at the angry, red mark circling your opposite wrist— thumb pressing into the sore skin as you exhaled through your nose, steadying yourself.

Slowly but carefully, you staggered towards the dresser and pulled out the burner phone you had stashed away, to be used only in case of emergencies. You called the only other number on the phone, your voice strained but low.

"Yelena. We have a problem."

——————————————————————————————————

"Mac and cheese? I make really good mac and cheese."

"No, Yelena. I'm good."

"Suit yourself."

You sat at the counter of your kitchen, icing your split lip. Yelena rummaged through the pantry, letting out a satisfied 'a-ha' when she found a box of Kraft mac and cheese tucked all the way at the back. You know, the usual routine after you get rid of a body with your colleague from ages ago.

"So, is now a good time for you to tell me why a guy broke into my apartment asking for you, or..."

"You sure you don't want my mac and cheese? Trust me, it's really—"

"Yelena."

"Alright, fine. I may be on the run from the Ranskahov brothers."

You exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down your face, jaw tight and eyes closing in defeat. "You're what?"

"It is no big deal, I can deal with it."

"No big deal? Yelena, a man broke into my apartment at midnight and we just got rid of his unconscious body."

"Your point being?"

"Wh— This is a big deal!" you exclaimed, unable to comprehend how she was so relaxed about it.

"Relax, Sunshine. I got this under control, I promise."

You stared at her, slack-jawed. “Clearly, you don’t. I just took a punch to the face in my own apartment because of your mess.”

She shrugged, unfazed as she stirred the mac and cheese with a wooden spoon. “Well, technically he was already in your apartment. You were just... surprised to see him.”

You set the ice pack down with a thud. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Oh, come on,” she said, grinning. “What happened to that sharp reflexes, stone-cold killer, don’t-mess-with-me energy? Getting soft?”

You narrowed your eyes. “You think I’m out of touch?”

Yelena tilted her head, weighing it. “You’ve been... domesticated.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Try me.”

She considered you for a beat, then gave a small, amused nod. “Alright. Point taken.”

You leaned back, arms folded. “Let’s end this. You and me. Whatever's left of the Ranskahov crew— we shut it down.”

Yelena raised her hands in mock surrender. “Your words, not mine. I’m just here for emotional support and cheese.”

Then, a beat passed. She stirred the pot idly, quieter now. “You sure you're up for this?”

You gave her a look.

“No, I mean really,” she said. “You're not worried about the lawyer finding out?”

You froze, just for a second.

“It’s been, what— five, six months?” Yelena added, not unkindly. “You think he’s gonna notice if you disappear for a day or two?”

You glanced down at the counter. “It’s not about him noticing.”

Yelena shrugged. “So what is it?”

You didn’t answer right away. The silence between you filled with the soft bubbling of the stovetop and your pulse in your ears.

“It’s just... different now,” you said finally.

Yelena gave you a knowing look. “I mean, no one’s gonna know. It’s what we do, isn’t it?”

You looked up at her.

“Ghost in, ghost out. We finish what we started.”

“Let the record show,” you said, getting to your feet, “I’m helping because you nearly got me killed. Again.”

“Let the record also show,” she said, sliding a bowl across the counter to you, “I did not ask for help.”

You took the bowl, a smile tugging at your lips despite yourself— soft, almost reminiscent. There was something familiar about the moment. The crappy mac and cheese. The bruises. The adrenaline still fading from your bloodstream. For a second, it felt like the old days. Like the good parts in between the hell you went through.

Yelena caught the look immediately. “Aha,” she said, pointing the spoon at you. “You missed this.”

“Shut up.”

——————————————————————————————————

The next afternoon, your shop smelled like cinnamon and dust— paperbacks piled on mismatched shelves, the old ceiling fan overhead rattling faintly in protest. In complete contrast to your past, you had made quite a home for yourselves at a cosy little corner of hell's kitchen, snuggled right next to the Nelson & Murdock office.

Matt sat across from you at the little table in the back corner, his cane resting against the chair, his jacket draped on the back of it.

The two of you had made a habit of lunching here once or twice a week— sometimes with food, sometimes with nothing but stubborn cases and terrible coffee. Today it was takeout from the Thai place around the block.

You pushed your noodles around with your fork, watching him sip his tea like it wasn’t hot enough to melt steel.

“So,” Matt said casually, “about tonight— I was going to ask if we could rain check.”

You blinked. “Oh— yeah. I was going to say the same thing. I’ve got some errands to run."

He nodded. “Foggy dropped a mountain of files on my desk this morning. I’ll be chained to the office most of the night.”

He said it too neatly. No stammer. No sigh. No frustration about the files. Just a clean, compact sentence, tied with a bow.

Your eyes narrowed— just barely. There it was. That was his tell. You almost knew it by heart now. He didn’t fidget, didn’t shift in his seat. He stilled. Too polished. Too calm.

He was lying.

You smiled like you believed him.

“That’s a shame,” you said lightly, taking a sip of your water. “I was kind of looking forward to it.”

“I was too,” he said, and he meant it— just not the way he said.

You nodded and changed the subject, let it drop between you like nothing had happened. If he noticed anything off in your tone, he didn’t show it. Eventually, he gathered his things and stood.

“I’ll call you later?” he offered.

“Yeah,” you said, standing with him. “We’ll pick a better night.”

He reached for his jacket, adjusted the fold of his cane, and turned to leave— when the bell above the door jingled.

Yelena stepped inside, sunglasses perched in her hair, a paper bag in one hand and a too-innocent smile on her face.

“Aw, look at this. My two favorite nerds.”

Matt paused mid-step. “Yelena.”

“Mr. Murdock,” she said brightly. “Fancy seeing you here. Hope I’m not interrupting any... legal bonding.”

You deadpanned. “You are. But don’t let that stop you.”

Matt chuckled under his breath. “I’ll leave you to it.”

You watched him leave— pausing just long enough to lean in and press a soft kiss to your lips, quick and warm, like punctuation at the end of a long sentence. Then he was gone.

Yelena waited a full beat after the door shut before turning to you with a look.

“You lied to him, didn’t you?”

You picked up your half-finished drink and took a long sip. “Only because he lied first.”

Yelena looked thrilled. “Ohhh, this is gonna be fun.”

——————————————————————————————————

The docks reeked of salt and rust, the fog rolling in heavy over the water like it had something to hide. Yelena crouched beside you behind a stack of shipping containers, her braid pulled tight, her knives already slick with someone else's blood.

"Four more on the upper level," she said, voice low and steady.

"Two by the crates, one pacing by the boat," you added. "Third’s probably on lookout.”

Yelena grinned. “Just like Budapest.”

“I’m not reminiscing with you while hiding and smelling like fish.”

You were already moving— silent, efficient. Two guards down in under a minute. A third turned, startled, just in time to catch Yelena’s elbow in the face.

You were halfway to the second stack when a thud hit the ground behind you. A figure in red.

You turned, ready to strike.

"Easy," came the familiar voice.

Your heart skipped once. Just once.

Daredevil.

Yelena straightened beside you, blade still in hand. “Dude. What the hell.”

“I’m not here to get in the way, I swear,” Daredevil said, tone even, unreadable. “We could work together.”

You exchanged a look with Yelena. Her brows lifted, daring you to call the shots.

"Fine," you said. “Just, don’t slow us down.”

He nodded once, readying himself— then tilted his head slightly in Yelena’s direction.

“She's new. Who’s your friend?”

Yelena smirked, stepping past him with a gleam in her eye. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

And then you moved— no time for anything else.

The fight was fast, chaotic— muffled grunts, broken bones, steel against skin. You worked like you'd never left the field. Knife, fist, elbow. Yelena at your side. And Daredevil... flanking, striking, always just in the right place at the right time.

But that was the problem.

He was too good.

He moved like he didn’t even need to look at the layout. God knows if he can even see anything through that mask. Dodged a swing from behind without looking. Tilted his head slightly every time someone approached, like he heard them coming—

And when you shouted, “Duck!” mid-sweep, he reacted a beat faster than sight could manage.

Your chest went cold.

Blind. Bruises. Lies. His voice. Your eyes locked on his masked face mid-spin and suddenly, everything clicked.

Holy shit.

Holy. Shit.

Matt.

You didn’t miss a beat— kept fighting, didn’t let it show. But you knew. And he didn’t know you knew.

And Matt? He was noticing things too.

The precision in your hits. The way you landed without sound. Your balance. Your calm. The way your heartbeat never spiked, even in the thick of blood and noise.

He’d heard it before— more than once, in quieter moments. In the space between conversations at your bookstore, when you handed him a cup of coffee and your fingers brushed his. In the office, when you laughed at something Foggy said and tried to hide it behind a file. He’d memorized your rhythm without ever meaning to.

And now, in the chaos, it was unmistakable. His chest clenched mid-fight.

You.

The realization hit him like a punch to the ribs, followed by an actual punch to the ribs. He quickly recovered and retaliated, still lost in his thoughts.

That was you moving beside him— calculated, silent, lethal.

You weren’t supposed to be here. You weren’t supposed to be like this. But you were. You moved like someone who didn’t just know violence— you had lived in it. Adapted to it. Survived it. He could hear it in the way you breathed, the way you anticipated hits like you'd studied the fight before it even started.

It clicked halfway through the second wave of men— when you threw your body in front of his and took a hit that should’ve been his. You winced, gritted your teeth, and kept moving like nothing happened.

He ducked under a pipe and drove his fist into a man’s gut, head spinning now for a different reason. You weren’t just the girl next door with the most cozy bookstore in the world.

You were trained. Conditioned. Deadly.

Widow, he thought. Of course. Of course, you’re a Widow.

The realization didn’t slow him down— if anything, it made him faster. He pivoted to cover your blind side just as you lunged forward to disarm the final gunman. Back-to-back, two silent protectors tangled in a storm of fists and steel and fury.

The last guy went down hard. Silence followed. Heavy breathing, the clatter of a gun skidding across the dock. You turned to look at Daredevil—

But he was already gone. Just like that.

Yelena jogged up behind you, wiping blood off her knife with a rag. “Okay,” she panted. “That was not part of the plan, but it was less of a shit show than I expected."

You stared at the empty space where he’d vanished.

Your heart was still racing, but for a very different reason now.

“I… I think I know who that was,” you murmured.

Yelena raised an eyebrow. “Well? Don’t leave me hanging.”

You turned to her slowly, wide-eyed.

“Dude,” you said breathlessly. “You’re not gonna believe this.”

——————————————————————————————————

You slammed the door behind you, tossed your keys into the bowl by the entrance, and stood there for a second, wide-eyed and winded.

Matt. Murdock. Was. Daredevil.

You turned slowly to look at Yelena, who was flopped dramatically on your couch, one boot already off, the other halfway dangling.

"Okay," you said, pacing. "Okay. Okay."

Yelena raised a brow. “That’s a lot of okays.”

“He knows. He knows it’s me.”

"Did he say that?"

"No. But— he was there. Fighting next to me. You don’t just forget a person’s rhythm like that.”

“Alright, Mr Miyagi, calm down,” Yelena muttered. “Did he see your face?”

“No.”

“Then he doesn’t know,” she said with finality, grabbing a handful of popcorn from the bowl she'd found somehow. “But you know he’s Daredevil?”

“Oh yeah.”

“Well... that’s fun,” Yelena said. “Kinky. Do you guys roleplay in the suit?”

You threw a cushion at her.

She ducked it easily, grinning. “Relax, Sunshine. He doesn’t know. We’ll deal with it in the morning.”

The next morning

You woke up to a single text on your phone.

Matt: We need to talk.

Your stomach dropped.

You stared at the screen for a full minute, then looked at Yelena, who was eating cereal out of your favorite mug like it was her house.

“He knows,” you said, voice flat.

She peered over the rim of the mug. “About the Widowing or the lying or the whole knife ballet by the docks?”

“All of it.”

Yelena snorted. “You’re being dramatic. He’s a man. I promise you he noticed nothing.

——————————————————————————————————

He didn’t knock.

You looked up from the counter of your shop just in time to see Matt step through the door— coat slung over one arm, jaw tight, his whole presence coiled and deliberate like he’d been rehearsing this confrontation all the way over. Your chest tightened. Behind the mystery section, Yelena dropped into a crouch like she was on mission.

“Hey,” you said cautiously.

Matt held up his phone. “Got your message.”

You blinked. “I didn’t—”

He arched an eyebrow.

“Right. That message.”

He moved to the counter, leaning forward just slightly. Trying to keep it civil. It wasn’t working.

“You lied to me.”

You crossed your arms. “You’re gonna have to be more specific.”

“Fair enough,” he said flatly. “Last night. The ‘errands’ that somehow involved you taking out the entire Ranskahov crew with a very familiar blonde.”

Yelena’s voice drifted from behind the shelves: “Rude, I was extremely subtle.”

“You stabbed someone while humming Toxic, Yelena,” Matt said flatly.

“It’s called multi-tasking,” she shot back. "Wait, how'd you know I am blonde?"

Matt exhaled sharply through his nose, frustration leaking through his carefully even tone. “I thought I could trust you.”

You blinked, surprised by the weight behind the words.

“I don’t understand why you’d lie to me about something like this,” he went on. “You disappeared for a night, showed up in the middle of a takedown like it was routine, and didn’t think I’d figure it out?”

You crossed your arms, jaw tightening. “Pot, meet kettle.”

Matt’s brow creased. “Excuse me?”

“You’ve been lying to me for months, Matt,” you snapped, eyes narrowing. “So forgive me if I don’t feel guilty for keeping one thing to myself.”

Yelena’s voice chimed in helpfully from behind the shelf. “Technically two things. You also said you were allergic to cats and we both know that’s a lie.”

Matt didn’t even look in her direction. “This isn’t the same, (Y/n).”

“No?” you shot back. “Because I remember you brushing off every bruise, every night you vanished, every time I found blood on your shirt. But when I keep something close to the chest, suddenly it’s a betrayal?”

He looked away for a beat, jaw clenched. You stepped around the counter, folding your arms. “Yeah. So let’s not throw stones, Daredevil.”

Yelena raised a hand. “I’d like to throw one.”

“Shush,” you and Matt both said in unison.

“You really want to stand there and pretend like you’re on the moral high ground, Matt?”

Yelena popped her head up just long enough to say, “Oooh, he’s going to need ice for that burn,” then ducked back down.

Matt turned back toward you slowly, the fight draining from his posture, replaced by something quieter. Something closer to hurt.

“I’m not mad that you can handle yourself,” he said, softer now. “I’m mad that you didn’t let me in. That you didn’t think I could take it.”

You stared at him for a moment, then sighed. “Funny. I could say the same thing.”

Yelena coughed meaningfully. “Anyway, since we’re all being honest now, can I get a ruling on whether this is a breakup or foreplay?”

You and Matt both groaned.

Matt turned toward her. “Do you have to be here for this?”

“Yes,” you and Yelena said at the same time.

You exhaled through your nose, some of the tension bleeding out of your shoulders. “I didn’t keep it from you because I didn’t trust you,” you said, voice quieter now. “I kept it from you because I didn’t want to ruin this. Whatever this is.”

Matt nodded slowly, like he understood— because he did. “Yeah. I know the feeling.”

A beat passed.

“I just didn’t want you in this world,” Matt said after a moment. “Not this part of it.”

You sighed. “I know. And I didn’t want you to see that side of me, either. Not if I didn’t have to.”

A pause. Something gentler settled between you.

“So what now?” you asked. “We just… go back to pretending we’re two normal people who work too much and flirt in the office kitchen?”

Matt smiled faintly. “That wasn’t pretending.”

You mirrored it. “Fair.”

He shifted on his feet. “We’re both good at lying. Maybe too good. But I don’t want to lie to you anymore.”

“Me either.”

Another pause, not quite awkward. Just full.

From behind the shelf: “Boring. Now either make out or fuck. I need to know what genre this is.”

You and Matt turned to her in sync.

“Get out,” you both said.

Yelena grinned. “Love you too.”

She made for the door with a dramatic little bow. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

“I don’t even know what that means,” you muttered.

After the door shut behind her, the silence felt warmer. Softer. Matt was still observing you, his expression a little looser now, the storm behind his eyes finally settling. You stepped into his space without thinking. His arms slid around you like they’d been waiting for exactly this.

Your cheek pressed lightly against his chest. “Well,” you murmured, “now what?”

Matt’s hand traced a slow line up your spine. “She gave us options before she left.”

You glanced up at him. “Options? Sounded more like a to-do list to me.”

A small, crooked smile tugged at his lips. “In that case, I have some ideas.”

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comatosebunny09 · 4 months ago

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merry christmas, mr. sylus [ aftermath ]

— summary: maybe he doesn’t hate you as much as you thought. — cw: fluff, romance, jealousy, feelings of inadequacy, reader is not mc, ceo au, modern au, aged-up characters (sylus is in his mid-30s), mutual pining — notes: a happy ending for the holidays. happy holidays, all! [ part 1 | part 2 ] — now playing: some days - stella jang

It’s been nearly a week since you kissed your boss that fateful night.

Well, more like since he kissed you.

And it’s strange because even though he was the one to initiate it, he’s been avoiding you like a sickness. His curt good mornings have felt glacial, where they were once warm enough to light the torch of your day. Your daily briefs have felt rigid, and the car rides together have made you want to tuck and roll out the door. Worst off, he hasn’t maintained consistent eye contact with you since Christmas Eve, his gaze often fleeting away, studying the floor or the blurred space over your shoulder.

It really pisses you off. It’s bad enough that the night replays in your mind like a warped record, bringing with it warring feelings of relief and hurt. Relief because, maybe, he didn’t push you away as much as you initially thought. Hurt because the look on his face when he booked it to the elevator, leaving you to nurse bittersweet emotions and a broken smile, is permanently ingrained in your memory.

The pain overshadows all because he won’t even look at you now.

Were your lips chapped? Is it because you didn’t know what to do with your hands? Did you smell offensive? Were you just shit at kissing? Said thoughts hover in your mind like a nebulous cloud stretched across the galaxy, even as you sift through documents and folders, trying your best to distract yourself.

Mr. Sylus is tucked safe in his office behind you. Over the past few days, he’s made a point to arrive earlier than you—which is alarming considering you’re usually the night heron, showing up to fix his coffee, line up his daily schedule, and greet him with an unbridled smile.

You slam the folder you were working with shut, garnering a few perturbed looks from the staff scuttling about on the tenth floor. Sighing, you pitch yourself back in your chair, a pout inhabiting your features. If he wants to be childish about it, sure. But you’ve rarely been one to let sleeping dogs lie, and the awkwardness between you affects your at-home life as well.

Your gaze flits to the lower drawer of your desk. You scrutinize the lacquered cherry wood, contemplating barging into your boss’ office and giving him your makeup present. You figured maybe, just maybe, he was partially upset because he’d been expecting something more practical for Christmas. And perhaps that’s why he rushed out that night, all stone-faced and covering his lips with spindly fingers.

You still remember their taste—their feel. Your lips still tingle, and your face bleeds bashfulness whenever you recollect. They were slightly chapped but warm as they moved against yours. And, through the union, it felt like he poured something molten into the chasm of your belly. Something that set your heart rate into overdrive, the gears in your head whirring until steam billowed from your ears.

A swift hand covers where your heart thrums, and you shake your head to dispel your memories. Was kissing him really worth it if it meant your working relationship would suffer? Obviously not if you’re mulling over it so hard. But with determination bleeding over your countenance, you bend to throw open your bottom drawer. An oblong, matte black box peers back at you from within, intricately dressed with a scarlet bow. Scarlet, like the irises burned into your memory, looking at you with utter mortification.

Banishing your thoughts, you snatch the present from inside. Kick your drawer shut, standing so quickly that the front wheels of your chair bounce against the floor. You turn towards the heavy oakwood door of his office, the embossed letters of his name challenging you, and you steel your resolve.

But fate has been the most fickle bitch as of late, intervening when she sees fit, burning your efforts to mere soot.

A familiar, mellifluous voice calls you from behind. And just your luck, it would be her. You swivel, greeting Ms. Hunter with all the rehearsed ease of someone in your field.

She’s all bright-eyed and youthful with a thousand-watt smile. Gorgeous despite being in uniform, her hair windswept and cheeks mottled pink. A part of you would love to hate her, but you’ve truly no reason to. She’s never disrespected you, never called you out of your name. She’s been sickeningly cordial since you met her.

“Hey! Sylus in?” she asks, and your heart plummets into your stomach. Why else would she be here?

You nod rigidly, dropping back into your seat with the finesse of a bowling ball. And you take up the handset of your desk phone, dreading the familiar drawl of a particular voice on the other end.

“Speak,” he answers, the curl of his voice making your stomach do somersaults. Despite its flatness, this is perhaps the most emotion you’ve heard from him in the last few days.

“Ms. Hunter is here to see you, sir.”

A part of you hopes he turns her away–tells you he doesn’t want to see anyone, even if it’s his darling lady friend. And you feel you might get your wish when he’s silent for a beat, the crinkly static being your only company. Instead of answering your prayers, he simply answers, “Let her in.”

Your stomach freefalls to your feet. Your mask of a smile twitches, your disappointment sluggishly leaking through the fissures. “Of course, sir.” And you hang up, standing once more to lead Ms. Hunter into the place you haven’t been allowed into for days yourself.

She nods curtly, brushing past you, her hair wispy and the scent of stale Jasmine staining her clothes. When the door clicks shut behind her, you melt into your seat until your shoulders touch your ears, and you kick your excuse for a peace offering under the shadowy abyss of your desk.

And to think you’d worked so hard to muster the courage to confront your boss, too.

—

It’s nearing lunch, and you’re shoving things into your bag as your stomach reminds you that you skipped breakfast. You sling your pack over your shoulder, pushing your chair under your desk, preparing to hit the cafe in the city’s heart for something quick. You barely make it two steps before you’re summoned for the second time, though there is no high and light voice curling around your name this time.

This one is low and even, velvet-smooth, furling in your chest like smoke, sticking to your lungs like ash. You whip your head around to meet a familiar sheen of white hair.

He stands in his doorframe, a pensive look on his face, scarlet eyes smoldering with something you can’t quite place. Has his hands stuffed in his pockets, and he’s looking between you and your bag, wordlessly inquiring where you’re off to.

With a nervous laugh in your throat, you turn to face him fully. “Was just about to grab some lunch. You want anything, sir?”

He shakes his head, the barest cant to his lips. It’s gone before you’ve time to appreciate it.

You don’t know whether to laugh or scream as you fiddle with your fingers. At least he’s trying to approach you first, no matter how uncomfortable the exchange. You wonder if Ms. Hunter had something to do with this. Maybe he told her what happened six nights ago, and she gave him a pep talk to put him back into good spirits. But you know that’s just wishful thinking. In fact, she seemed uncharacteristically somber when she left his office earlier, barely acknowledging your goodbye.

“Can I speak to you before you leave?” he asks, brows slightly furrowed, head tilted, lips set in a stiff line.

Something cold drips through you. You grab the strap of your bag, grip white-knuckled, and the leather squeaks. Despite the dread turning your limbs to lead, you plaster on a smile and nod. He motions into his office, stepping aside to let you in. And you try to ignore how your heart threatens to leap from your rib cage because this is the part where he fires you, isn’t it?

Oh well. The job was good while it lasted—something to fatten up your résumé and harden your heart.

It’s warm inside his office. Of course, it always is. And you’ve missed this, not having been amid these softened, gray, accent molded walls all week. It smells of cracked cinnamon sticks and vanilla beans with something inherently Sylus snuck in between. The city stretches like a yawning beast against the horizon, peering through the ceiling-high windows behind his desk.

Strangling the strap of your pack, you ease into a red, tufted armchair, your legs bouncing and your throat growing dry. You jolt when the door shuts and admonish yourself for being so jittery. If Mr. Sylus intends to fire you, you’ll face it head-on with a smile on your face.

So you muster one as he moves to inhabit the space mere inches away from you, leaning against the edge of his heavy, cherry wood desk, arms crossing over a broad chest. He’s as devastating a sight as ever, his blazer slung over the back of his rolling chair, his forearms bleeding from cuffed sleeves. And the sight of his veins, branching like a roadmap beneath his skin, still makes your tongue feel heavy in your mouth.

You’re going to miss this.

He looks contemplative as you toy with your bag’s zipper. And your cheeks ache from smiling so hard. Wonder how long you’ll have to keep up this act before he drops a bomb on you.

“How are you doing today?” he queries. And you blink rapidly, not expecting him to open the floor with small talk. Regardless, you’re grateful he’s offering you more than curt grunts, even if it’ll be the last time you hear them.

“Um…I’m doing alright, I guess.”

Your stomach growls, disrupting the tension that brews between you. You rub your stomach placatingly, and Sylus snorts, perching virile hands on the edge of his desk, leaning back. He seems a little more open. A little lighter, and you find your lips twitching with a genuine smile this time.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to steal you away from your lunch break. I promise to be brief.”

You nod as a knot of nerves forms in your gut, warring with your hunger. Straightening your back, you cross your ankles, hands flattened in your lap. Here it comes—

“Do you…have any plans for New Year’s?”

You blink again, brows pinching. “Wh-wha?”

He sheepishly rubs the scruff of his neck, and you can’t recall a time you’ve ever seen him so at odds with himself. He reminds you of an adolescent, rallying the courage to ask out their crush.

“A friend of mine owns a cabin up in the woods.” He looks at you, wetting his lips. You nod, cautiously encouraging him to continue. “He usually hosts this whole weekend extravaganza there every New Year’s. Bringing a plus one is a bit of an unspoken rule. I was wondering if you didn’t already have plans—”

You unconsciously lean forward, brows lifting.

“—if you would like to accompany me?”

Well, that took a left turn. A hand placed over your heart, you laugh, the knot of your nerves slowly unraveling. So, does this mean your boss doesn’t hate you?

“I would love to!” you say with a little too much enthusiasm. And he smiles in turn, stuffing his hands in his pockets, chuckle infectious.

The load of the air a little lighter, you exchange small talk, and it feels as if nothing’s changed between you. Like that fateful Christmas Eve night, you didn’t make an ass of yourself, and he didn’t regret kissing you.

Sylus walks you to the door, twin smiles donning your faces. You turn to him on your way out, awkwardly running into the hardened planes of his chest. He steadies you with tender fingers wrapped around your arms, and the gleam in his eyes siphons the air from your lungs. You find your gaze falling to his lips, his mirroring yours. And had there not been people still milling about, you would’ve kissed him.

“W-would you like to grab lunch together, sir?” you ask instead, caught up in the alluring stir of his eyes—the wispy dance of darkened lashes, the tremor of pink lips.

“Of course,” he answers, his warm breath fanning over your mouth. He sweeps some errant hair behind your ear, the glide of his knuckle against your cheek reminiscent of pill bugs rolling over your skin.

You nod, pulling yourself from the spell the moment cast. And you lead the way, trying vainly to stifle the grin splitting your face in twain, Mr. Sylus a warm and homely presence at your back as the pair of you make your way to the elevator.

#sylus x reader #sylus x you #love and deepspace sylus #lads sylus #sylus qin #sylus #sylus fluff #sylus romance #holiday fic

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veephoenix · 2 months ago

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years of sleep — n.s. one shot

"She has always chalked up his teasing and looks to his naturally charming nature. Noah has always been boyfriend material—but never her boyfriend."

Noah and Reader have been drawn to each other for years, but have never dared to act on it—until a wedding and a one-night stand, in which their buried feelings are brought to the surface, along with some misunderstandings.

one shot ✨ noah sebastian x fem. reader words: 11.6k (it's a mini fic, let's be honest) reading time: about an hour it's divided in 2 parts so you can "bookmark it" at part 2 if you don't have time to read the whole thing in one go.

tags & trigger warnings: pure self-indulgence. two attractive idiots in love that don't know how to break the ice—until they do. misunderstandings. Noah has almost shoulder-length hair in this one. manbun!noah. angsty fluff, dirty talk, sexual content (implied masturbation, oral sex with both receiving, p in v protected). mentions of reader having a scar but no further explanation (implied past abuse but no more references to it). fluff, beach setting, noah applying sunscreen on reader, reader having a kink for noah's hair. let me know if sth else needs to be added. - Work inspired by this post by @defuckingthrone-dot-com - Honorable mention to @somebodyels3 for letting me use her butterflyclip-thoughts on this one 🦋

years of sleep — part 1 ☀︎⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

It’s not the first time they’ve seen each other, but it’s the first time they’ve looked at one another from opposite ends of the room as if nothing else exists.

They have known each other for two, maybe three years. Her friends are Noah’s friends, and by extension, they have become part of the same circle. Yet, despite the shared acquaintances, despite the countless gatherings and parties and concerts, they have never really spoken—never dared to exchange more than a handful of pleasantries, a few polite questions, and the passing comment about how great the show’d been before drifting away.

But there’s obviously something there. Something that’s always been.

And tonight, they can’t escape what it’s meant to be.

The wedding takes place at a seaside resort, where lush gardens stretch toward the shore, with palm trees everywhere swaying in the breeze, and a stone path that leads to an extensive beach.

She first sees Noah in the hotel lobby. The space is crowded, buzzing with conversation and laughter. The moment their eyes meet, the world shrinks. A pull—subtle but magnetic—draws them in. And then, as if fate conspires to close the distance, Nicholas the groom, appears beside her and steers her toward Noah.

Their greeting is brief, restrained. A formal hug. Fleeting contact. Her hello stays in his mind. Her voice is soft and sweet. Confident, too. And that smile? That pretty smile has him struggling for words.

He wants to tell her she looks beautiful. He doubts he’ll have eyes for anyone else that night, not even for the two getting married.

She wears a slate-gray dress, short and form-fitting, adorned with delicate rhinestones that catch the light. The thin straps expose her shoulders, her collarbone. There’s a necklace around her neck that could easily pass for a choker. The thought makes something in Noah twitch. Her earrings match the glimmer of it beneath the cascading waves of her hair. Her perfume, her scent… It unsettles him in a way he doesn’t fully understand. But, if he’s being honest, he doesn’t want to.

He could say all of this to her, or he could keep it simple: You look beautiful. But he says nothing. Instead, he pretends to be interested in whatever Nicholas is saying to Matt, though he’s acutely aware of her gaze on him.

She’s just as aware of him—because, for all his efforts, he’s terrible at being subtle.

Noah looks devastatingly handsome today. A black double-breasted suit accentuates his lean frame, and for the first time, his brunette hair is pulled back into a low bun. It’s the first time she’s seen him with his hair up and there’s something about it that’s very attractive. So attractive that she has to turn around to avoid Noah seeing her nibble on her lower lip.

As she looks away, so does he, letting Matt claim his attention. Alana claims hers, arriving in a stunning purple gown, effervescent with excitement. Her joy is infectious, so much so that, for a moment, she can pretend she hasn’t just spent the last few seconds lost in thoughts of Noah.

The venue is bathed in soft, ivory hues. Rows of elegantly arranged chairs line the aisle, their white cushions pristine beneath the glow of the sun. Sheer white drapery frames the altar, where tall glass vases filled with delicate baby’s breath and white orchids stand on either side.

Noah stands on one side of the venue, positioned between Matt and Jolly. She is on the opposite side of the main path, nestled among the bride’s family and friends. She’s never thought much about marriage, but for the first time, the idea doesn’t seem so distant. She wouldn’t mind standing where the bride is now, as long as the man beside her is N—

She doesn’t have time to shake herself from the absurdity of that thought because, at that moment, the bride and groom seal their promises with a kiss. The room erupts in applause and cheers.

She dares to glance to her right. And as if drawn by an invisible thread, Noah looks her way, catching her eyes.

He’s clapping, like everyone else, but he stands out. He’s taller than most, impossible to miss. And then, he winks at her—a wink accompanied by a smile so effortlessly confident, so devastatingly attractive, that her knees nearly give way beneath her.

She’s in deep trouble.

God, she just hopes the makeup conceals the flush creeping up her cheeks.

The celebration continues. The air is filled with laughter and clinking glasses. Music swells through the venue. The food is exquisite, the drinks abundant, and the guests are entertained.

Despite the social nature of his job, Noah isn’t someone particularly outgoing and social. Rather, he prefers to keep to himself.

But tonight is different. Tonight, he’s at ease, caught in the warmth of celebration, happy for his best friend. The air hums with good vibes, and for once, he isn’t the center of attention. He wouldn’t want to be anywhere else. Not just because his friend is getting married, but because this day has given him something he’d never had before—an entire day and night in her presence.

The hours slip by, and frustration coils inside him. She’s right there, close enough to touch, yet he can’t seem to break the fucking ice. It’s maddening. He’s trapped in a dance of restraint. He knows it must be obvious, the way he looks at her, the way his body betrays every thought he tries to suppress. She’s the girl he’s barely spoken to, the one he’s only seen in fleeting occasions—yet he’s consumed by her. He’s been thinking of her for weeks, months. Even years, for fuck’s sake. She’s in his dreams.

He’s dying to know her, to be near her, to hear the cadence of her voice as she talks about the things she loves and the ones she hates. He wants to learn her—her flaws, her habits, the little things.

But more than anything, he wants to know the taste of her lips, the sounds she makes when she’s touched in the right places, the way she will moan when his hands and lips press on her skin and when his cock is buried deep inside her.

He has to do something about it, and even though it’s been almost the whole day already, he’s willing to do it tonight.

As the others drink and the minutes slip away, Noah watches her. Discreetly. Intently.

The way she moves, so gracefully and entirely unselfconscious. The way she leans into her friends when she speaks. The dimple that appears in her left cheek each time she laughs, the way her shoulders shake, the way her hair ripples with her movements. She keeps tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, but it refuses to be tamed.

And he watches the way she blushes every time she catches him looking.

When the clock strikes midnight, the dance floor overflows with guests, lost in the music. Neckties have been loosened, hairpins discarded. Jolly has long since abandoned his suit jacket. Matt sits at the table with a girl on his lap, whispering something in her ear that’s making her laugh so hard that even Noah is tempted to walk over and find out what the hell he’s saying. Nicholas and his bride have disappeared, and Noah smiles at the realization, exhaling a quiet laugh as he finishes the last sip of his champagne. Then, he’s back to looking for her.

And he finds her.

This time near the exit that leads to the garden, which is so dark and only dimmed by beautifully decorated lampposts with vine and white flowers wrapping around them.

She stands at the threshold of the stone path, the soft glow from the lanterns casting a golden halo around her. The distance between them is vast—he’s at the other end of the room. But it doesn’t matter. They don’t need words to communicate.

She blinks. A glance over her shoulder.

And then she’s gone.

Noah sets down his glass without a thought as he rises from his seat. His jacket is left behind—he likely won’t see it again, much like Jolly’s.

He weaves through the throng of dancing bodies, mutters apologies, sidesteps laughter and swaying limbs, people kissing. The pulse of the music fades as he steps outside, swallowed by the stillness of the night and the back noise of waves crashing.

She’s out of sight.

But he can smell her.

Burberry. Vanilla, rich and warm, laced with something darker, something almost sinful.

He follows the scent.

The stone path leads to a fork—one trail winds toward the beach, the other into the garden.

He hesitates, pulse thrumming. Instinct takes over. He veers into the garden.

Minutes later, he moves parallel to a stretch of resort rooms, their arched balconies overlooking the grounds. Streetlamps line the pathway. A sea breeze stirs the palm fronds, the leaves whispering secrets into the night.

And somewhere ahead, she waits.

It has been almost five minutes since she slipped out of the wedding hall. She leans against the wall of one of the buildings closest to the beach, the stoney surface pressing against her bare shoulders. Noah still hasn’t appeared.

Maybe she misread everything—his looks, his winks, the tenderness of his smiles. Maybe she wasn’t obvious enough. Maybe the pull between them was only in her head, a trick of longing and circumstance. Or maybe it’s just the wedding, the romance in the air making her see things that aren’t really there.

Exhaling, she pushes off the wall and steps into the garden, rounding the corner of the small building.

And collides with a solid chest.

The impact is sudden, stealing her breath. Instinctively, her hands fly to the masculine chest for balance, fingers splaying over the firm muscle beneath the black shirt. His hands find her waist, steadying her, holding her in place.

For a moment, neither of them moves.

She looks up, and Noah’s almond-shaped eyes pierce trough her, dark but soft. The scent of his cologne—woodsy, expensive—wraps around her, muddling her thoughts.

Under her palms, she feels the taut ridges of his abdomen.

Under his hands, he feels the softness of her curves, the warmth of her body through the thin fabric of her dress.

It takes everything in him not to let his hands drift lower—to her ass.

Then, as if the absurdity of the moment catches up with them, they grin—two idiots completely and utterly lost in each other.

A second later, Noah lifts a hand to her cheek, fingers featherlight as he tilts her face up to his.

And he kisses her.

His lips capture hers, slow at first, testing, savoring. She melts instantly, arms winding around his neck, her fingers slipping into his hair. Even in heels, she must rise onto her toes to reach him properly. And this mouth—warm and insistent— tastes of champagne, a sweetness that only makes her hungrier for more.

She barely notices when he presses her against the wall, steading himself with a palm on the wall next to her head.

By the time she comes to, she’s breathless, her lips are swollen, and Noah’s body is caging hers, his hands cradling her face now, his thumb stroking her skin. He watches her for a moment before his mouth trails from her jawline to the sensitive column of her neck, and when his lips graze that one spot—that spot—heat coils deep in her belly.

She would have collapsed if not for the hand he slides to her waist, anchoring her, keeping her exactly where he wants her.

“Let me take you to my room,” he murmurs against her skin. His voice is husky and his breath hot.

He pauses just long enough, searching her eyes, making sure she knows that this is entirely up to her. Whatever she wants. Whatever she desires.

It’s the quiet patience in his expression, the almost tender way he waits, that has her putty in his hands. She knows she’ll always be safe with him. It doesn’t matter that they haven’t spent more than five minutes alone together. She feels it in her bones, in the space between them, in the way he looks at her like she’s the only thing that matters.

Her answer is effortless.

“Lead the way,” she says with a smile.

Noah’s grin widens. He steals another kiss—because he can’t help himself—before lacing his long, tattooed fingers through hers.

Without another word, he leads her away. Away from the music, away from the voices, from prying eyes.

The walk to the room is hurried. Adrenaline and hunger run through their veins. Noah grips her hand, glancing over his shoulder every few moments, his smile impossibly wide, as if he already knows that there’s nothing that’ll change how the night will end.

He barely makes it to the door without stopping midway to press her against the nearest wall, to claim her lips again, to let his hands roam freely over the curves he has only imagined.

By the time they reach the secluded corridor where their rooms are, they are almost running.

A strap of her dress has fallen, slipping down the smooth expanse of her shoulder, and just as Noah swipes his keycard against the door reader, he notices.

“Wait.”

Two fingers graze skin as he lifts the strap, restoring it to its place.

The mere brush of his fingers on her skin gives him such a sensation that goosebumps rise on his skin. Noah holds her gaze for a moment. As he gets ready to open the door, her hands curl into the collar of his shirt, pulling him down to her. Her mouth meets his in a kiss so deep, so hungry, that Noah nearly forgets himself, nearly forgets where they are, forgets that anyone could walk by and see him stripping her bare against the cool marble hallway floor and making love to her.

Somehow, through sheer willpower, he manages to open the door and push her inside, barely breaking contact with her lips.

Inside, he fumbles for the bedside lamp, bathing the room in a light cozy glow.

She’s already pulling the hairband from his hair, letting the strands fall loose around his face. She threads her fingers through them. She doesn’t know what shampoo he uses but his hair smells like paradise.

Everything is messy. Desperate. A little awkward.

And yet, within seconds, they are standing at the center of the room, facing the untouched bed.

She pauses, chest rising and falling, one hand at the nape of his neck, the other resting lightly on his chest.

She looks around. His belongings are neatly arranged, each item in its proper place. The small details confirm everything she already suspected about him—Noah is meticulous. Even in chaos, he is composed. He’s perfect, and the hand on his hip, delicate and supportive, adoring but never crossing the line, confirms it too.

He’s waiting for her to say something, so his heart almost skips a beat when she slides to her knees on the floor. Heels still on. Her hands on his belt.

Noah lets her unbuckle it. Fingers move with precision, making quick work of the button and zipper of his slacks. His shirt is next—he unbuttons it, but leaves it open, exposing tattooed skin, muscle, inked lines she clearly wasn’t prepared for.

She inhales sharply.

A near-moan escapes her lips at the sight of him, and Noah smirks.

He would have teased her for it—would have taken his time letting her explore—but then she tugs down his pants.

Her breath catches.

The outline straining against his black Calvin Klein boxers is… larger than she expected.

He watches the moment she processes it, sees the way her pupils dilate, the way her tongue peeks out to wet her lips.

She flicks her gaze up at him, seeking confirmation, blinking once—twice—before curling her fingers around the waistband of his boxers.

And when she pulls them down, Noah is the one exhaling sharply.

She doesn’t break eye contact.

And when she finally moves forward, Noah knows—he’s done for.

She licks him from the base to the tip. She takes her time, savoring him and entertaining herself just enough to make him shudder. She revels in his reaction before enveloping him in the warm, wet heat of her mouth and taking him on the ride of his life.

For the first few moments, Noah doesn’t know what to do with himself. He throws his head back and lets out a guttural sound as she takes him deeper, the suction sending jolts of pleasure straight to his core. His muscles tense, his hands flex at his sides, his breath starts coming in in ragged gasps.

His fingers twitch before finding their way into her hair, threading through the silky strands as he cradles her head and looks down at her. Such a good girl.

She looks so focused. He strokes her scalp gently, then guides her back and forth, his control unraveling with every flick of her tongue, every hollow of her cheeks. That’s it. Keep going. A vein bulges at his neck as he struggles to keep himself in check.

“That’s... Yes. God, sweetheart.”

The sight of her, those lips stretched around him, eyes flickering up to watch his reaction…

With a sharp breath, he forces himself to pull away, already mourning the loss of her warmth. He runs a thumb over her lower lip, and she catches it between her teeth, nibbling at it. The action makes him laugh—a deep, throaty sound.

He offers his hand, and she takes it, rising to her feet. Without hesitation, she slides the straps of her dress down her shoulders, letting the fabric slip past her curves and pool at her feet.

She’s not wearing a bra, and the thong she wears is nothing more than a whisper of lace, a mere suggestion of modesty.

Noah eats her up with his eyes.

Before he can reach for her, she turns, climbing onto the bed, moving like a kitten. She pauses on all fours to look at him over her shoulder with a coy smile that makes his stomach clench.

Noah swallows hard. He’s about to lose it.

When she shifts to sit back, reaching for her heels, he stops her with a touch.

“Let me.”

He pulls his underwear and pants back up before kneeling at the edge of the bed. His grip tender as he slides her shoes off, pressing a kiss to the skin of her ankle. The care in his touch makes her pulse race. It’s so gentlemanly. She’s never felt so cherished. So lucky.

Her underwear comes off next. The weight of Noah’s eyes on her feels heavy, but it makes her feel safe anyway. She wants him.

She reclines against the pillows, stretching out languidly. She parts her legs. Noah stands there for a breath, taking her in. Her confidence only deepens his hunger.

He sheds his clothing and shoes and joins her, covering her body with his without yet touching. His fingers trail up her cheeks, his eyes searching hers.

“Where do you want me?” he murmurs.

“Anywhere you wish to be.”

He laughs and she trembles under him, loving the sound.

That’s easy, he thinks. I’m already in bed, with you.

Still, he takes his time, kissing his way down her body, savoring every inch. Loving how the necklace wraps around her neck. He spends needed time on her breasts, playing with her nipples, his tongue circling, lapping. He looks up to see her lips parted and her eyes intently on him. She still not making any sound. Not yet.

When his hand slides down her ribcage, he notices an old, ugly scar, just beneath her left breast. He also notices the way she stills. He takes one look at her, then kisses the scar without saying anything else and moves on.

He worships her belly, dips his tongue into her navel, nibbles at her hip bones.

He leaves the bed only to sit back on his heels on the carpeted floor. He searches for his hairband discarded earlier. When he finds it, he ties his hair up again, the sight alone enough to make wetness pool between her legs.

Without warning, he pulls her toward him by the ankles.

A gasp escapes her as he buries himself between her thighs.

There it is.

His tongue parts her, teasing. He tastes her like a man starved, and it’s the truth—he’s been starving for her for years. His hands grip her hips, holding her in place as she starts to writhe beneath him.

She makes another sound. A soft, breathy moan. Then another. And another.

It’s the sweetest, most erotic music he’s ever heard, and it only makes him more relentless. He keeps on sucking. He doesn’t stop, not until she’s trembling under him, clutching the sheets, her thighs quivering around his head.

“Beautiful,” he says.

She’s still catching her breath when she peeks up at him from beneath heavy lids, her cheeks flushed and lips dry and slightly parted. The sight makes him chuckle, the sound so laced with affection that it envelops her as if the sound of it alone was a comforting blanket.

“Condom?” she asks when she regains some stability in her breathing.

Noah blinks, nodding as he starts looking around and rummaging through his things.

“I’ve got one… just give me a—” He curses under his breath, shoving aside his clothes. She watches him move around the room naked, cock hard. “Fuck. I know I have one… somewhere.”

She laughs, watching his frantic search with amusement. She has no idea that, at this very moment, Noah is contemplating death if he doesn’t find it. But then he spots it. He tears open the packet and rolls it onto him. He exhales sharply, running a hand through his still tied hair but pushing a lose strand back. “Sorted,” he mutters, positioning himself over her on the bed.

She slides a hand behind his neck, drawing him closer.

“Come here,” she demands softly.

And God help him, he does.

She unties his hair, again, freeing the brunette strands to cascade over his forehead. Her fingers slide through the locks, and at the same moment, he pushes into her, slow and deep.

A gasp catches in her throat as she stretches around him, heat and wetness engulfing every inch of him.

He feels fuzzy. It’s unbearable, exquisite. His eyes are locked onto hers, and for a breathless second, they simply exist. A moan spills from his lips at the exact moment one escapes her, their voices melding in perfect synchrony.

It’s better than he ever imagined.

It’s better than she ever imagined.

He waits, letting her adjust. When she shifts, just the smallest tilt of her hips, it’s all the encouragement he needs. He moves, achingly slow, each stroke a deliberate act of worship, so careful it almost makes her go mad. A tight, desperate sensation builds in her chest, and for a moment, she thinks she might cry.

She has imagined herself under his body many times. Too many to admit. She has touched herself in the quiet of night, fingers slipping between her thighs, wondering what it would feel like to take him this way, to feel his hardness inside her, the delicious weight of him pressing her into the mattress. To experience the solid heat of his body, his pubic bone against hers, the muscles of his stomach flexing against her own, his breath coming in broken gasps against her lips as he steals kisses whenever he can.

Reality is nothing like she imagined.

It’s a thousand times better.

Noah is heavy and much bigger than she is, but instead of feeling smothered by his weight, she feels enveloped in a delicious embrace that promises to take her all the way to paradise, if she’s not already in it.

His pace is controlled. The way he moves over her, the way he looks at her, with a little wrinkle between his eyebrows that says he’s being a victim of this delicious torture too, the way his hands touch her body, cling to her...

His thrusts grow harder, faster. Her thighs cling to his hips. Her feet hoover just above the mattress. Her nails sink into the inked skin of his back as the pressure builds, and he hisses through his teeth. His reaction is instant. He catches her wrists, gathers them in one of his large hands, and pins them to the pillow above her head.

Her breath stutters.

Then, without warning, he thrusts deep.

Take me.

A strangled cry tears from her throat.

Noah’s rhythm shifts, urgency overtaking restraint. His movements become frantic, driven by something raw and insatiable, and she matches him, meeting every thrust, begging for more. A bead of sweat rolls down his temple. She can feel the heat of him everywhere—his sweaty skin against hers, his breath hot and labored against her lips, his body relentless in its pursuit of ecstasy.

If she thought he was handsome before, it’s clear she hadn’t seen him fucking her, covered in sweat and lost in the decadent dance his body is dancing with hers.

“I’m going to come,” he warns when he knows his release is imminent, voice rough and desperate.

She feels a rush of satisfaction so intense it nearly tips her over the edge. She wants to prolong this, stretch it into eternity, but she also wants to see him break. She wants to watch him fall apart. See his expression when it happens.

Noah is holding on by a thread. He thinks about how once he comes, he’s going to get her to follow him, and then he wants to hold her and have her fall asleep in his arms. In the morning, he wants to see her wake up, blink up at him through sleepy eyes, wants to see her make up-free, in the first light of dawn.

Fuck, he’s in so deep. And not just physically.

As he teeters at the edge, he refuses to go alone. He slides a hand between them, finding the swollen bundle of nerves that will send her spiraling with him. His fingers work, and within seconds, she is there, climbing, soaring, shattering. The orgasm is scorching. Noah practically roars against her shoulder, biting her without intending to, but she seems to like it, because the moment his teeth sink into her shoulder, she tenses around him. He is still spasming, releasing himself into the condom, when she trembles, arches, and suddenly moans loudly and prolonged.

She is coming and squeezing him, every last drop.

His arms hold her against him, crushing her to him as they both tremble through the aftershocks. She can feel the erratic thump of his heart against her chest. He can feel the sweat of her skin clinging to his.

They feel...at home.

Noah tilts his head to look at her, catching on the red marks he’s left on her skin. On her shoulder. Clavicle. Breasts. Suddenly, there’s uncertainty flickering behind his eyes.

He’s never done this—whatever this is. He knows it’s not just sex. It’s something more. Something that’s been brewing, growing beneath the surface for some time.

She opens her eyes, lips parted, still catching her breath. The sight of her like this, so flushed and disheveled, so swollen from his kisses, hair tangled in wild waves around her face… She could easily fall for a nymph, ethereal and untamed, as if she belongs to the wild.

“Are you okay?”

Noah is surprised, for it is not him asking the question, but her. He almost laughs.

“I’m fine,” he assures her.

Without thinking twice, he lifts a hand and brushes his fingers along the curve of her cheek, soft and reverent in his touch. This moment—the after—, this touch, it feels like a greater intimacy than anything they have just done.

Her lips touch the line of his jaw, nuzzling against the faint stubble that has already begun to shadow his skin. He shaved that morning, but the roughness is there, and she loves it.

His kisses are different now—ghostly, soft and quiet. They make her heart grow wings and flutter.

Noah pulls away with obvious reluctance, murmuring something about taking care of them. She watches as he slips from the bed, and the moment he is gone, she feels the loss of him like a physical ache. Still, she gathers herself enough to ask him to open the sliding doors to the ground-floor balcony. Noah obliges, and when he does, the distant murmur of laughter and music drifts from the garden, a reminder that the rest of the world still exists beyond this room.

When he returns, he is utterly, shamelessly naked. He moves with the confidence of someone at home, still just as devastating and delicious as he was that morning, when he was wrapped in a tux and his hair was pulled into a perfect man bun.

She wants to keep Noah for herself. Forever.

He holds a damp hand towel, hesitating only a moment as he approaches the mattress and murmurs, “May I?”

She nods.

The first touch of warm cloth against her oversensitive skin makes her shudder. He is careful, tender in a way nobody has ever been with her. She holds her breath. She’s never been cared for like this.

Minutes later, he stands beside the bed, still naked, hesitating.

She watches him, her knees drawn up, an arm draped loosely over her chest. A cool breeze filters through the open door, rustling the curtains. Salt and water.

“Stay,” Noah says, his voice almost tentative. “Please? I promise I don’t snore.”

She has to laugh. He’s so adorable. She nods.

Relief floods his face as he climbs in beside her, tugging the sheets over them. She curls against him instinctively, pressing her face into the warm space between his shoulder and neck.

Noah smells of sex and that masculine stench that is every man’s own. If only she knew that he is inhaling her too... And that, deep inside, he wants to wake up with his nose in her hair and her naked body clinging to him all the mornings he has left.

They talk for a while in hushed voices, the adrenaline still pulsing through them. He asks about her favorite food and her favorite flowers. She asks about his hobbies. About his job—what’s the best and worst of it. He mentions martial arts, and she hums, intrigued, and not-so-subtly lets her hands explore his biceps, his thighs, all tattooed, confirming what she already knew. He is strong, but beneath all that muscle, there is softness too.

She falls asleep half on top of him.

Noah falls asleep with a hand resting on the small of her back, fingers curled over the curve of her ass, the other cradling the back of her neck, keeping her close as if afraid to let go, and his nose buried in her hair, just like he’s dreamed so many times.

When she wakes up, her cheek is pressed against something firm yet solid and comfortable. It takes a few seconds for reality to settle around her, her mind still tangled in the haze of sleep. The first thing she registers is the faint soreness between her legs. For a moment, her heart leaps in her chest in surprise, but then she becomes aware of the calm that envelops her, of the warmth and security she feels. Of the arm around her, pressing her tenderly against the male body lying on the bed.

She lifts her head, and there he is. Noah fast asleep. His breathing slow and steady, lips slightly parted revealing just a hint of his teeth. A stray lock of hair has fallen over his cheek, and before she can think better of it, she reaches out and brushes it aside.

Noah is a handsome man, but like this, with his guard down, his face relaxed, his body molded against her—he’s breathtakingly beautiful.

Surrendering to temptation again, she’s about to kiss him and wake him up, steal the first drowsy moments of his morning, when a vibration hums from the nightstand on his side.

The screen of his phone lights up, and her eyes are instinctively drawn to it. Half draped over his chest, she reaches out just to check the time, but the moment she picks it up, a notification banner flashes across the screen.

LILIPUTH 👶🏼 "Hey! Mom wants to know if you can pick me up Friday instead of Saturday. She’s busy Saturday morning, so she’d rather drop me at the airport Friday. She says to hurry up because we’re already late, and flights are super expensive! Also, she kinda thinks you should pay for them... but don’t tell her I said that! See you soon!

She frowns. She processes the message. What it means, or what it could mean.

“Mom says”?

Liliputh and a baby emoticon?

“Pick me up”?

He should’ve paid for flight tickets?

Her stomach twists.

The phone nearly slips from her grasp as the words sink in.

Fuck.

Is Noah married?

Divorced?

Does he have...a child? Because that sure as hell sounds like a whole lot of parental responsibilities.

She’s holding her breath. Her mind scrambles to piece together a puzzle she wasn’t expecting, one she wasn’t even aware existed.

And it’s not that he’s done anything wrong. It’s not that he’s lied.

But she hadn’t thought about Noah having a life before her. A life this big.

Panic swells in her throat. She realizes she’s laying on top of him sideways, her breasts pressing against his tatted chest. She’s panicking. She no longer feels comfortable or safe in his arms. The sheets feel more like a trap rather than a cocoon of safety. She needs air. She needs space. She needs to get out.

It takes her less than two minutes to slip out from his arms, gather her clothes, and make it to the door in last night’s dress, barefoot, heels in hand. She doesn’t look back. Her bare feet move silently against the floor. Once she reaches the hallway, she presses her back against the door, heart slamming wildly against her ribs.

She doesn’t want to leave.

She wants to stay.

To crawl back into bed, to wake up tangled in his limbs, to feel the weight of his body over hers, his scent. She wants to hear his voice in the morning—sleep-rough and drowsy, whispering the same sinful things he murmured to her in the dead of night when she had been sleeping with her head on his bicep and he’d made love to her again, slow and deep, from behind her. He had first teased her with the tip, kissing her shoulders and neck. A minute later, they were slowly making love, his hand entwining her fingers over her breasts, his hot breath on the back of her neck.

“Can’t tell you how many times I’ve touched myself thinking of you—of this.”

He’d been so attentive and hot the entire night, guiding her as he told her to fuck him, to rock herself against him, to use him… so tuned in with her as he talked her through her orgasm, encouraging her to make a mess on his cock…

She feels... confused and disoriented. In her head, she’s spent years with this perfect idea of Noah, of who he is, of how wonderful it would be to be with him... and suddenly, a simple message destroys all of that.

It’s not a message.

It’s reality.

The rest was her fantasy. Her fault.

The things he had said to her during the night echo in her head. The perfect Noah and the perfect life she had created around him was nothing but an illusion, and now it had shattered, and with it her heart.

years of sleep — part 2 ☀︎⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

Three hours later, late summer morning, the resort is buzzing with life. Most of the guests, primarily wedding attendees, have slept in, recovering from a celebration that lasted into the early hours. Others have been up since dawn, making the most of their vacation.

She sits at one of the poolside lounge tables, fingers idly tracing the rim of a half-empty glass of orange juice. Sunglasses shield her eyes, and though she’s showered and changed into a simple pastel blue sundress, she still feels the weight of the night lingering in her bones.

Nicholas and his new wife must already be enroute to their honeymoon destination. Meanwhile, she’s stranded at this oceanside resort, three hours from Los Angeles, until tomorrow.

And she has no idea how she’s going to spend the next twenty-four hours.

In her mind, last night should have led to something different—a different chain of events, a different morning, a different future. She had pictured waking up in Noah’s arms, spending the day tangled up in him, stealing kisses between lazy moments and sunlit swims, and ending the night with slow walks along the beach under the stars…

But now, it’s painfully clear that none of that is going to happen.

“And that long face on such a sunny morning?”

Davis’s voice cuts through her thoughts, drawing her attention to the walkway leading toward the parasol-covered tables.

She forces a smile, slouching slightly in her chair in an attempt to appear more relaxed. She doesn’t want to bring anyone else down. This is supposed to be a happy day. Everyone else is happy. She refuses to ruin that.

“Hungover?” Davis tilts his head, eyeing her.

The way he asks makes her laugh, though the sound feels hollow. He’s swapped last night’s suit for white Bermuda shorts and a floral short-sleeve button-up. He’s really embracing the beach resort vibes.

“Something like that,” she replies. Though the truth is that, despite sleeping late and being woken up at 4am for another round of sex, she slept soundly.

“That makes two of us,” another voice chimes in.

Folio drops into the chair beside her, a beer already in hand. She refrains from commenting on it. He’s dressed similarly to Davis, a backward cap covering his messy hair.

“Well, you don’t look like it,” Davis notes.

“That’s because I never hit the bed in the first place,” Folio grins.

“You didn’t sleep?” Davis guesses.

“Nope. Figured I’d just keep the party going. Took a swim at sunrise. Man, that’s an experience.”

The two launch into a conversation about his early-morning adventures and order some fruit and pancakes to be brought to the table. Eventually, they notice how quiet she is.

“What’s with you?” Davis asks through a mouthful of blueberries. “Haven’t slept either?”

Folio smirks. “Or did someone keep you up all night?” He wiggles his eyebrows, his gaze dropping pointedly to the red blotches on her skin. Noah’s lovebites.

She barely reacts. She simply lowers her sunglasses and shoots Folio a pointed look. His grin falters immediately.

“Oh, it’s definitely that. Who—?”

Before Folio can finish the question, Davis has already put the pieces together.

“You slept with Noah.”

Hearing someone say it aloud makes it even more real. Her mind floods with images—Noah’s touch, the sweet and filthy things he said to her, the way he held her, the way he felt. Honeyed and intense.

She wraps both hands around the glass, lips pressing together.

“Really?” Folio leans forward, elbows resting on the chair armrests. “And why do you look like that? Don’t tell me Noah isn’t well-equipped down there.”

She clicks her tongue, annoyed. “It’s not that.”

“So, he is. Is his performance not up to—”

“Nick,” Davis sighs.

“Okay, okay…” he puts his hands up. “Do we need to kick his ass?”

She hesitates, her fingers twitching, before finally voicing the question that has been gnawing at her insides since dawn.

“Noah has a daughter?”

Folio’s grin vanishes. His brows furrow in confusion, then lift in something close to horror.

“What?”

She looks between them. “Is he married? Divorced?”

Davis just stares at her, as if trying to understand where this is coming from.

“You know Noah is single.”

“No. Actually, I don’t. I don’t know anything about Noah. Not really,” she snaps. “I only know what everyone else knows—what you guys tell me. He’s always the quiet one. I don’t know more than what I’ve put together from—from the way he behaves around me and with you guys. And none of you ever mentioned a wife. Or a daughter. Or—”

“Because he’s not married. And he doesn’t have a daughter,” Folios interrupts with a laugh. “At least not that I know of. Can you even imagine Noah married and with a baby?” He looks over at Davis, but Davis just shoots him a warning glance.

Davis turns back to her with a soft expression. “Come on. You know exactly who Noah is. I know everyone acts like he’s this mysterious, unreadable guy just because he’s private, but the truth is, he’s exactly what you see. He’s quiet, yeah, but he doesn’t need to say much to show you who he is. He writes, he makes music, he lets go on stage… He’s the deep, poetic guy who likes to meditate in the morning and never really raises his voice. He’s thoughtful, maybe too much, and he appreciates life in that annoyingly profound way.” Davis huffs a small laugh. “Even if you haven’t spent much time with him, you know he’s single. The real question is how you two went so long without saying a word to each other when it’s obvious you’ve been pining for one another for years.”

Her heart stutters. “Years? What are you talking about?”

Folio rolls his eyes.

“What are you talking about? Everyone knows you and Noah have been into each other for ages, but because you’re both equally clueless or shy or whatever, you waited until Ruffilo’s wedding to finally do something about it. And now you’re coming in here all ‘Noah is a dad?!’ What the hell did you drink last night? Or more like, what did Noah do to you in bed?”

She groans. Before they can derail the conversation any further, she drops her eyes and mutters, “I saw a message on his phone.”

“A message?”

“From someone named Lily. Liliputh,” she specifies.

Folio and Davis exchange a glance, and she immediately realizes that yes, there are things about Noah she doesn’t know, and they do.

Folio cuts into his pancakes, spears a piece with his fork, and pops it into his mouth.

“Lily is Noah’s niece,” Davis explains. “His sister’s daughter. She’s twelve.”

She blinks.

Once.

Twice.

“Noah has a sister?”

Since when?

“Yeah. Older. She lives in New York. They only see each other a couple of times a year, that’s why he’s probably never mentioned her. He barely does to us, anyway. But they’re close, and I’m guessing Lily asked to come spend a few days in L.A. before school starts again, and Noah’s offered to take care of her.”

A wave of heat rushes to her cheeks. “Oh my God.”

Folio bursts out laughing, struggling to keep the food in his mouth. “You really thought Noah had a whole-ass daughter? And you thought he was divorced, too?”

She sinks in her seat. “It’s not funny.”

“No, but your reaction is. How many Hallmark movies have you watched?”

Davis, however, looks more thoughtful. “So… you freaked out.”

She sighs. “Yeah…”

“And Noah wasn’t awake when you saw the message, was he?”

“No.”

“So, you got up and left. Without saying a word.”

Her silence and the guilt written all over her face are answer enough.

After a beat, Folio deadpans, “You banged Noah,” he states. “And then you disappeared.”

She shoots him another glare, tempted to kick his shin under the table. “I didn’t disappear. I’m still here, aren’t I?”

“Yeah, but not in his bed,” Davis points out. “How would you feel if the roles were reversed? If you woke up after sleeping with him, and he was gone?

A knot tightens in her chest.

Terrible. Used. Heartbroken.

Guilt crashes over her, so heavy it makes her stomach churn. Good thing she hasn’t eaten anything… She bites her lip so hard she nearly draws blood. She needs to fix this.

“Will he… be mad?”

David considers the question at the same time he savors a piece of mango. “Knowing Noah and how much he’s into you… he’ll understand. You just need to talk to him. Tell him why you freaked out. He’ll have a good laugh and later he’ll probably get you back into his bed. Problem sorted.”

How much he’s into me? The way Davis talks about Noah’s feelings is unsettling, like he knows something she doesn’t. Has it always been there, in front of her, and she hasn’t been able to see it until last night?

For years, she has lived off stolen glances and fleeting moments—content with fantasies rather than the courage to actually approach Noah like a normal person would. She always chalked up his teasing and looks to his naturally charming nature. Noah has always been boyfriend material—but never her boyfriend.

Had she known earlier that Noah was pining for her, butterflies would have erupted in her stomach sooner. She might have finally gathered the nerve to walk up to him, to flirt back in a way that was more obvious to him about her feelings. But now, after abandoning him in that hotel room, she just feels awful. If she can’t fix this, she might as well walk straight into the ocean and let the waves take her.

“Hey,” Folio squeezed her shoulder, snapping her out of her spiraling thoughts. His voice is suddenly surprisingly gentle. “It’s okay. This is not some huge, unforgivable thing. Nothing a blowjob can’t fix. Knowing Noah…”

Davis makes a disgusted noise, pushing his plate away. “Jesus Christ, man. How well do you know Noah?”

Folio throws his hands up again. “It’s a figure of speech, for fuck’s sake. What I mean is, Noah’s not the type to hold a grudge. And if there’s someone who can sweeten him up, that’s you. Talk to him. And if talking doesn’t do the trick… well, give him the look, get down on your knees, and boom—problem solved.”

She debates whether to smack him, but the absurdity of it all makes her laugh instead. Did she really think Noah had a teenage daughter? That he was divorced? She laughs at herself and internally thanks Folio, who always has a way of dragging her out of her head, whether she wants him or not.

And much to her own frustration… she can’t stop thinking about what he said.

If talking doesn’t get Noah to forgive her, she’ll do it on her knees and blinking up at him with her big puppy eyes.

An hour later, after wandering alone by the sea for a while and going over the things she’ll say to Noah when she sees him again, she makes her way back to the hotel. Her sandals dangle from her fingers, her bare feet still damp from where the waves had lapped at her skin. She’s hungry, her body demanding a late breakfast or an early lunch.

But more than anything, it’s her heart which is demanding. Demanding Noah, to find him, talk to him and—

She sees him before he sees her.

He’s at the reception desk, leaning on the counter, dressed in black jeans—in this heat, seriously?— and a white t-shirt. His hair is pulled into the same bun as last night, and he’s wearing black sunglasses. He’s chatting with the receptionist, a woman who smiles at him as she listens intently to whatever he’s saying. Before jealousy can settle in, the receptionist nods and disappears into the back room.

That’s when Noah turns, reaching into his pocket for his phone, only to freeze the moment his eyes land on her.

She doesn’t know what to expect. A flicker of irritation? Confusion? Anger?

But not this.

Not the way his entire face lights up. Not the way his lips stretch into a slow, easy grin, like seeing her is the best thing that’s happened to him all day. All week.

“Hey,” he says.

Her stomach does that thing.

Hey?

She approaches cautiously, hyper-aware of his almond-shaped eyes sweeping over her behind those black sunglasses.

“Hi,” she greets.

Silence stretches between them. For her, it’s suffocating. But Noah? He seems completely at ease, looking at her like she’s the goddamn sun.

“Noah,” her voice betrays her a little. She fidgets with her fingers, taking a small step closer. “About this morning, I—”

The receptionist returns, holding a black tuxedo jacket.

“Here it is, sir.”

Noah turns to her.

“Oh, thank God.” He exhales, taking the jacket and shaking it out. “Thought I’d lost it for good. Or that someone walked off with it.”

“Not at all,” the female behind the counter replies with a polite smile. “Anything else I can help with?”

Her eyes flick between Noah and her before Noah tells her “no, thank you” and she heads back to her desk. Noah drapes the expensive jacket over his arm.

“Guess I shouldn’t be so careless next time,” he muses.

She frowns slightly.

“Got a little… distracted last night,” he continues, gesturing vaguely with his hand. “Saw this girl, and, well… just had to follow her. I suppose I got carried away inevitably.” His eyes darken slightly, teasing. “Prettiest girl I’ve ever seen. Can’t get her out of my head.”

She’s blushing, of course.

And that’s exactly what he wanted—to make her blush.

“Prettiest?”

“Prettiest,” he repeats. He takes his hand to his sunglasses and moves them up to his head. When his brown eyes fall on her, she feels that tingling sensation coursing through her again. “Sweetest. Couldn’t keep my hands off her,” he continues, knowing very well what he’s doing. “Guess everything else just… slipped my mind.”

Heat flares up her neck. Why isn’t he upset? Why isn’t he at least a little annoyed that she slipped out of his bed after hours of making love? Why does he have to be so charming to her when she deserves none of that?

“Do you… regret it?” she blurts.

His brows lift slightly. “Regret it?” he echoes. He glances down at the jacket draped over his arm. Then he smirks. “I’d lose ten of these if it meant spending another night like that with her.”

She bites her lip, grinning like an idiot. Like the idiot she is for assuming he was a divorced dad.Jesus Christ. She pinches the bridge of her nose, ducking her head to hide her flushed cheeks.

After a beat, he adds, “but preferably if she’s there in the morning.”

Oh.

“What about you?” he asks. “Anything you regret?”

She draws in a slow breath.

“One thing, yeah,” she admits.

“Yeah?”

By the way his face changes, she can tell he’s suddenly feeling uncertain. Does he think she regrets being with him? That she regrets letting him touch her, letting him fuck her?

“I… want to make up for it,” she says. “So that I don’t carry this regret with me any longer.”

He watches her carefully. “Sounds like one you’ve carried for quite some time.”

She scoffs. If only he knew…

“Long enough to make a fool of myself,” she says. “But I’d like to fix it.”

His lips twitch, fighting back a smile. “You would?”

She nods, pulse quickening. She gives him the sweetest, most disarming smile. “I think I could. If you let that pretty girl spend another night in your hotel bed…”

Noah exhales. With his free hand, he reaches for her, his fingers curling into the fabric of her dress, pulling her toward him. Close enough that when he lowers his head, his nose brushes against hers.

“I don’t think that’s going to be enough, sweetheart,” he murmurs. She presses a hand against his chest—not to push him away, but to steady herself, to feel the solid of him beneath her palm. And, if she’s being honest, just to touch him again. “She needs to stay till morning. Otherwise, no deal.”

She decides she’s going to seal the deal with a kiss. But just as she tilts her head and parts her lips—

“Hey, Sebastian! Say hi to your daughter!” Folio’s voice rings through the lobby.

They both freeze.

Noah blinks.

“What?”

She turns her head just in time to see Folio crossing the marble-floored lobby, a mojito in hand, looking far too pleased with himself before disappearing around the corner. Her face burns. Noah’s expression is one of utter confusion.

“Is he drunk?” he asks.

A small laugh escapes her as she drops her forehead against his chest. He still hasn’t let go of her dress. Her fingers grasp the fabric of his white t-shirt as her embarrassment melts into quiet amusement.

“I thought you were a divorced dad.”

Noah stills. Then he’s lifting her chin with the bend of his fingers. “A divorced—What are you talking about?”

“I accidentally saw a message on your phone this morning—Lily’s message,” she explains. “I was just checking the time, I swear. And when I saw the message, I immediately assumed... that you were divorced. And that you had a child.”

He stays still for another beat, just looking at her. Then, to her complete and utter relief, he throws his head back and laughs. The sound is so warm and rich that it dissolves the last of her tension.

“Thank God,” he says.

“Thank God?”

“That you left because of that and not because I snore.”

“You don’t snore,” she assures him.

He exhales through his grin, his thumb brushing her chin. “And you’re adorable.”

“Pretty sure I’m just stupid.”

“Stupidly adorable.”

“Thanks,” she rolls her eyes, only confirming what he just said.

Adorable.

Her stomach betrays her then, letting out a low rumble.

She groans. Seriously, can I catch a break?

Noah glances down at her middle with a grin, amusement dancing in his eyes.

“Perfect timing.”

“Huh?”

“Now that I’ve got my jacket back, and I found the pretty girl I was looking for…” he pauses and tilts his head, “I was wondering if you’d like to have lunch with me?”

Like he even needs to ask.

“I’d love to.”

“It’s a date, then.”

He offers his hand. She takes it, just like last night.

They share a light lunch at the seaside restaurant of the hotel, which is located beneath a shade of swaying palm trees and cottage-like roof. The ocean stretches before them, glistening under the midday sun, waves rolling lazily onto the shore. The air is charged with salt and the aroma of grilled seafood, mingling with the faint sweetness of tropical flowers.

Their table is a feast of colors—salad with citrusy vinaigrette, golden spring rolls, focaccia glistening with olive oil, and a selection of small plates. Conversation is effortless between them as the breeze rustles through the palm fronds and plays with her hair.

They talk about everything. Food. Music. Work. He asks about her studies, and she asks about the book he’s reading. He makes her smile. She makes him laugh. She even offers him a bite of her plate and feeds him with a fork. They never mention the fact that last night she had his cock in her mouth or that he mapped out every inch of her with his tongue until she was shaking under him.

After the plates are emptied and cleared, they stay, reclining in their chairs as the slow afternoon unfolds. The occasional lull in conversation is easy. It’s a silence that doesn’t demand to be filled.

They sip iced tea later, enjoying each other’s company as the engulf in the refreshing drink.

She watches the horizon, the endless stretch of blue where the sea meets the sky, and the way the light dances on the water. Noah watches her. Her profile is beautiful, so soft. A picture of tranquility as she takes in the view, lost in the beauty of the landscape. There’s something about the way she looks right now that makes everything else fade into the background.

Noah is in love, and he knows it. He’s been for a long time. He’s not letting her leave his bed the next morning, or any other for that matter.

“Want to go for a swim?”

His question shakes her out of her momentary haze where she was imagining herself in the water, wrapped around Noah’s torso, being kissed under the sun.

“What, in jeans and Adidas?” She jokes, giving his outfit a pointed once-over.

Noah glances down at himself. “Yeah, good point… I’ll go get changed.”

She hums, pushing back her chair at the same time. “I’ll grab the sunscreen.”

They leave together, strolling through the resort’s sun-drenched pathways, holding hands. In the hallway outside their rooms, Noah keeps their arms extended and hands together before reluctantly releasing her.

He should have kissed her. The though gnaws at him as she disappears three rooms down.

It’s fine. He’ll kiss her when he has her in his arms again in a matter of minutes.

They meet ten minutes after in the lobby. Noah has swapped his jeans for black swim trunks, his sneakers for flip-flops. His white T-shirt remains. a towel is slung over his shoulder. His eyes rack down the white bikini peeking through the airy fabric of her sundress. She catches the way his jaw ticks, how his Adam’s apple bobs when he swallows.

She shakes the sunscreen bottle in front of him. “Got it.”

Noah takes the tote bag from her with a quiet smile, ever the gentleman.

When they step onto the beach, they walk a little farther from the resort’s main area, the sand cool beneath their feet as they seek out a quiet spot all to themselves. The beach is tranquil, mostly deserted, with only a few scattered sunbathers, the low season keeping it peaceful. They lay out their towels side by side.

Of course, Noah suggests applying sunscreen on her. To her surprise, he’s again very gentlemanlike about it, asking for permission before he spreads the lotion across the curve of her ass. When she turns around and offers her chest to him, her nipples are visible through the fabric of her bikini top. He notices, obviously. But doesn’t say a word. When his fingers lightly access under the fabric and caress the curve of her breasts, she holds her breath. Then Noah pokes her nose, leaving a streak of cream on the tip and laughs, a boyish sound.

“Charming,” she says.

“I know,” he replies.

But even when he says that, it seems that his usual cocky grin is subdued. He seems more serious now, his gaze more intense and darker than it was the night before, like something in him has shifted. There’s a depth to his look, a quiet mindfulness that wasn’t exactly there before, the previous night when they were finally all brave and playful.

She tries to see what’s there, in his eyes, but before she can, he hands her the sunscreen bottle. “Your turn,” he says.

An hour under the sun and Noah’s freckles begin to appear more prominently across the bridge of his nose, like a constellation made of stars. He seems unaware of how they dot his face, of the beauty he carries with himself, as natural and unassuming as the rest of him.

Eventually, she pulls herself away from staring at him and buries her attention in a book, propped on her forearms, body stretched out on the towel. Noah takes a nap before shifting to lie on his side and starts kissing her shoulder. He inquiries about the book she’s reading. The Remains of the Day. Noah mentions he’s read something from Ishiguro before—Never Let Me Go, perhaps? He pretends to read the chapter she’s focused on, but his lips and fingers have other plans, distracting her with light touches, making her laugh and squirm when he starts tickling her.

The book eventually ends in Noah’s hands. He starts reading the novel, for real, and lets her explore the tattoos on his chest, stomach and arms, answering distractedly every question she has about them.

She rests for a while on the towel, gazing at the sky with her hands flat on her stomach. After a while, she gets up and walks toward the water.

The sun is beginning its slow descent, melting into the horizon, bleeding orange and pink across the sky. The beach is nearly empty except for the two of them and some tourists in the distance.

The waves lap gently at the shore as she steps into the cool, damp sand. The wind carries the scent of salt and something floral. The beauty of the moments feels surreal, and she wonders if she’s dreaming again.

Time slips away as she stands in the sand, waves crashing around her, her hair tousled by the wind. She’s unaware of the male gaze observing her from the towel. But an instant or two later, male arms are wrapped around her middle, and Noah’s cheek presses against hers.

She nuzzles into him, placing her hands over his and letting his movements guide her, swaying. She’s never felt so… at ease.

“It’s hard to believe in anything that’s not this moment, right now,” he murmurs into her hair.

She cradles his cheek and turns to face him. Their eyes meet, and there’s no pretense, no walls.

“Is this what I’ve been missing?” She asks, searching the depths of his brown eyes.

Yes, it is, but instead of answering her question, he says, “I should have said something earlier.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” she replies, a tender hand cupping his sun-kissed cheek face. “I should’ve understood earlier. The way you used to look at me… It was too dreamy to be real.”

He presses a kiss to the palm of her hand, his voice low. “I wish I could tell you…”

“Tell me what?”

“Everything. What this means to me. How I feel. How I’ve felt for years and how awful I feel for not having had the guts to—”

She places a finger on his lips.

“We’re here,” she presses her body against his for emphasis. “Whatever the reason, it doesn’t matter. What this means to you… it means the same to me, Noah. I dreamt of you. You were my every fantasy. For years.”

“Tell me your dreams,” he demands. “I’ll make them come true. Each and every single one.”

“You’re already doing that.”

Noah’s fingers brush against the damp skin of her back. The world around them hums with distant laughter and soft music, but here, in their little pocket of space, time feels suspended. His touch wanders. He shifts closer because he needs her.

Unintentionally, right before he’s about to kiss her, his fingers catch on one of the strings of her bikini top. A simple tug. The tension in the knot gives way too easily. He is barely aware of what he’s done before the fabric slackens.

A breath. A pause.

She stiffens, just slightly. Her shoulders tense, her body alert in the way someone instinctively braces for exposure. Noah realizes what he’s done in the same instant she glances around, eyes darting to the people farther up the shore. They’re too far to see, too lost in their own moments to notice. But still, she hesitates.

However, she doesn’t reach to fix it.

She doesn’t step away.

Instead, she turns her gaze back to him, eyes gleaming.

He understands.

His breath catches as he lifts his hands again, this time deliberate. His fingers find the second tie at the nape of her neck. The knot comes undone easily beneath his touch, the damp fabric slipping free. The bikini top flutters down, catching the breeze before landing softly at their feet in the sand.

Before she can move, Noah closes the space between them. His arms come around her, hands on her waist, pulling her against him, their bodies flush. His warmth envelops her, shielding her. Protecting her.

His thumb traces over the faint scar just beneath her breast. He lingers there, reverent, as if trying to read her past through it.

“That’s a story for another day,” she whispers.

His fingers flex against her skin. “I’ll take care of you.”

A soft exhale leaves her lips before she rises onto her toes, hands threading around his neck. Their mouths meet—slow at first, tasting the promise. Then deeper. Needier.

He doesn’t think before his arms tighten around her waist. He lifts her and he carries her forward, her legs around his hips, his feet greeted by water. Waves curl around them, rising to their waists as he holds her close.

She frees his hair from the bun.

“I’m not sure you love the bun or hate it,” Noah muses.

She grins against his wet lips. “I love how ridiculously hot it makes you look,” she admits, “but the urge to run my fingers through your hair is impossible to resist.”

He hums in satisfaction and kisses her with an open mouth, hungrier and greedier.

There’s only the press of their bodies, the rhythm of the tide, the quiet gasp of her breath against his mouth.

And the night, vast and endless, coming to swallow them whole.

Steam curls into the air as water cascades down their bodies. The salt is long gone from their skin, for they’ve been in the shower longer than they can track.

They move around each other in the small space, washing and rinsing, touching slowly, learning.

He washes her hair, fingers massaging her scalp, nails scratching lightly in a way that makes her eyes flutter shut. She does the same for him, but when she stands in front of him, on her tiptoes to reach, he nibbles at her wrist, making her giggle—so much that he has to catch her before she slips.

She’s happy, thinking about how her hair will smell like his now.

They stand under the stream of water for a while, hugging, saying nothing.

When she shivers, Noah shuts off the water and hands her a towel before grabbing one for himself.

Later, after they’ve brushed their hair and dried off, still wrapped in towels, she catches sight of him at the sink, securing a pink butterfly clip into his damp hair, pinning a few strands back from his forehead.

From where she’s perched on the bed, with a foot propped up to apply moisturizes, she bites her lip to keep from grinning.

“That’s adorable.”

Noah glances at her in the mirror, then snorts when he realizes what she’s talking about. “Lily gave it to me when she was eight. Said it made me look cooler.” His mouth quirks. “She lied, obviously.”

“No,” she says, setting her foot back down on the carpet and flipping her hair over one shoulder. “It’s very fashionable. You should wear it all the time.”

“Instead of the bun? I don’t believe you,” he teases back.

She sticks her tongue out and walks toward her suitcase, which she’d brought over from her room after they got back from the beach. He watches her, leaning against the sink with his arms crossed over his chest. Water still beads along her collarbones.

She grabs her underwear, then pauses, letting it dangle from her fingers. When she turns back, the fact that Noah was watching her makes her heart jump.

The way he stands there, with only a towel slung around his waist and damp hair messy except for that ridiculous pink clip doesn’t help the heat curling low in her stomach.

She considers the fabric between her fingers, then tilts her head.

“Do you want to get dirty again?”

His eyes darken, a slow, lazy smirk playing at his lips. “Do I want to get dirty again?” he repeats. “I think you know the answer to that, love.”

Her smile could stop wars.

She drops the underwear back into the suitcase and walks up to him, fingers grasping the hem of his towel, brushing against the skin just below his navel.

“The clip stays on,” she says.

Noah exhales a quiet laugh, raising an eyebrow as he lets her guide him toward the bed.

“On one condition,” he says, catching her wrist just before she can tug the towel away and reveal his growing erection.

She lifts a brow.

“The clip stays on,” he murmurs, voice dipping lower, “as long as you do.”

They hold each other’s gaze. The space between them disappears, years of hesitation dissolving into certainty.

Her smile widens, so big it makes her cheeks ache.

He just sealed a deal that will have him wearing that hair clip forever.

He knows.

She tugs the towel from his waist and rises onto her toes, pressing her lips to his.

And then, there is no space left between them and no more years of sleep.

💕 Happy Valentine's Day to all of you, my loves:

@rumoured-whispers | @iconic-taurus | @bloody-spades | @bluestdai | @theanarchymuse95

@somebodyels3 | @blade-dressed-in-red | @todressabladeupinred | @turn-your-life-into-folklore | @thecoyotescry

@iloveyoutodeathbutimdrowning | @tosoundlessdarkistare | @missduffsblog | @flowery-mess | @chey-h

@tf-is-aesthetic | @alwaysfightforwhoyouare | @fadingangelwisp | @respectfulrebel | @amelia-acero

@theasowle | @xxkatsatwatwafflexx | @lunabuna991 | @ferduttini | @lacy1986

@bad-idea2021 | @death-ofpeace-ofmind | @n0ahsebastian | @kjsebastian | @omens-seeker

I'm sorry if I forgot someone!

#noah sebastian one shot #noah sebastian #noah sebastian x reader #bad omens one shot #bad omens fanfiction #bad omens fanfic #noah sebastian fanfic #noah sebastian fanfiction

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musingsofahufflepuff · 5 months ago

Text

Just to Stop the Feeling

bi!Theodore Nott x m!reader; angst & fluff

summary: in the wake of his mother’s death and his father’s ever increasing expectations of him, Theodore finds love in a place he never would have expected

a/n: a year in the making and this might be the gayest thing i’ve ever written. big shout out to @suugarbabe for listening to me yap about this for weeks, the anon who requested this, and everyone who’s been supporting me the past year. here's 6.2k words of bi awakening, enjoy ♡

The Great Hall was loud, too loud if you asked Theodore. The Sytherin was sat at his house table, head propped up on one hand as his friends chattered around him. The sorting ceremony had just wrapped up which meant everyone in the Hall was catching up about their summers. Theo thought back to just a couple days ago, the oppressive silence that haunted the Nott Manor in stark contrast to just how lively and crowded it was now. His father was rarely in common spaces nowadays, thank Merlin, but that left Theo to stalk around the Manor much like the ghosts floating above him now. If only it was as interesting an existence as Sir Nicholas or even Peeves. Not even a poorly rolled cigarette in the garden brought much enjoyment to him these days.

“Theo! Are you with us mate?”

His eyes drag up to meet the inquisitive look on Enzo’s face. He hums in acknowledgement.

“We’ve been talking to you for the past five minutes.” Theo takes the cue to look around and see the group looking at him, some in amusement and some—Mattheo specifically, though he tries to hide it—with concern.

He slips on his signature lazy half smirk with minimal effort, rehearsed and perfected. “Tired from the train, what did I miss?”

Enzo perks up and launches them back into conversation, Mattheo visibly relaxing in his peripheral. Arm still supporting his head, he jokes and laughs and nods along to everyone recapping their summer breaks, feeling hollow.

The Slytherin common room wasn’t cozy in the traditional sense, with its cool lighting and excess of stone architecture, but Theo found it comforting nonetheless. He was sitting on one of the leather couches in front of the fireplace, this time only in the company of Mattheo and Draco.

Cool leather against his skin contrasted nicely with the heat of the fire, the familiar voices of his friends putting his soul at ease for the first time in months. He loosely kept up with what they were talking about, his mind simultaneously wandering to thoughts about the new term. Evidently, Draco and Mattheo were on the same wavelength as the topic shifted to Hogwarts and—much to Theo’s dismay—girls. “So Nott, got your eye on anyone this year?”

Theo rolled his head against the back of the couch to face Draco, that smirk back on his face. “Eh, hadn’t thought about it too much. I know Pansy has hers on you, Malfoy.”

The blond scoffs, “as if I wasn’t aware.”

“Like a predator on prey,” Mattheo cracks, smile evident in his voice. Theo allows himself to chuckle as Draco looks at them helplessly. Theo feels Matt’s elbow nudge at his side. “Too bad it isn’t Granger looking at him that way.”

A pillow flies past Theo’s head and smacks the boy next to him square in the face. Mattheo dramatically falls back onto the couch before erupting into laughter.

“Too bad you aren’t a beater, huh Malfoy?” Theo quips, quickly putting up his hands to potentially block another projectile pillow.

Draco just groans, “I’m going to bed.”

The first month of classes flies by fairly quickly, everyone falling into their usual rhythm. Quidditch practices a few times a week, late nights smoking in the astronomy tower and the odd party here and there. Theo is itching to get off the castle grounds.

That’s why he jumped at the opportunity to go when Enzo asked the group for company on his shopping trip that Saturday morning. Theodore loved Hogsmeade in the fall. The shops would put up festive decorations and the entire atmosphere of the small village grew extra cozy.

With a Slytherin scarf loosely draped over his shoulders and Butterbeer on the brain, he met his group of friends at the beginning of the path to Hogsmeade.

The breeze was comfortable as they walked through the village, stopping every couple of shops to peruse the new inventory. They finally make their way to the Three Broomsticks, finding a table for the group.

Theo groans as he gets voted to go up to the bar for drinks. Sitting at one of the stools is a guy in scarf showing off a badger emblem. As he gets closer, he realizes he vaguely recognizes the Hufflepuff. Theo settles himself down on the stool next to him, causing the guy to look over.

He has a quizzical expression on his face, eyes lighting up as he figures out who he’s looking at, “You’re Nott, right? I think we have a couple classes together.”

His heart thumps a little harder at his name on the boy’s lips. The boy in front of him tilts his head when Theo doesn’t respond, reminding him to give a quick nod.

The Hufflepuff’s lips tug up into a small smile as he offers up his name.

Theo blinks a couple times and stammers out something about seeing the guy around sometime before he’s speed walking back to the table, no drinks in hand.

“Whoa, who got Nott blushing?”

Theo furrows his brows together in confusion, a hand coming up to his face. And sure enough, heat was radiating off his cheeks.

“Never mind that, Theo! Where’s the butterbeer?”

Monday morning Theo is sitting in History of Magic before class starts, getting ready for an hour of boredom, when books hitting the desk with a thud catches his attention. He’s startled to see you, the Hufflepuff boy from the Three Broomsticks, standing there already looking at him.

“Mind if I sit here?”

Theo nods, feeling like an idiot. Why was this Hufflepuff boy able to completely shut off his ability to speak, let alone think?

That bright smile is back on your face as you take the seat next to him. And his heart flutters.

“So glad this is the last year of having to put up with Binns and his masterclass story telling,” he can practically feel the sarcasm dripping from your voice and finds himself cracking a smile. An actual smile, not the smirk he usually puts on.

“I know, it’s a wonder anyone manages to stay awake.”

You gesture to the travel mug in your hands, “gotta keep at least a bit of caffeine on me for emergencies. One of my muggle-born friends gave me something called an energy drink? It’s…a lot, to be quite honest.”

Theo huffs a laugh, “energy drink? You’d be better off with some espresso than whatever muggles put in those things.”

You give a contemplative nod, “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Before he can figure out something else to say, to keep existing in the surprising warmth of conversation with you, Binns is starting up his monotone ramble. Theo feels his heart sink as you look away from him to at least make an attempt to pay attention. He silently looks through his textbook, trying to ignore the weird sensation in his chest.

“Hey Theo, wanna come to the Astronomy Tower tonight?” Mattheo’s voice comes from behind where he’s sat in the common room the next evening after dinner.

He pulls his nose out of the book he was buried in as he thinks it over. It had been a while since he’d had a proper smoke with the lads, and he didn’t need to ask to know that’s what Mattheo had in mind. It doesn’t take long for him to set his book down on the table with a nod, “yeah, sure.”

As he turns around to face him, he sees Enzo right behind the other boy, grinning with a thumbs up. The look on his face makes Theo debate changing his mind, but he walks out of the common room with the pair anyway.

The walk up to the Astronomy Tower is long and filled with so many stairs that Theo is very quickly reminded why he doesn’t bother coming up here as often as he thinks he’d like to. Enzo and Mattheo walk slightly in front of him, talking about something Theo doesn’t really bother to listen in on, Quidditch perhaps? How those two don’t run out of things to talk about, he’ll never know. He’s so lost in thought he barely notices the last two flights of stairs to the top and he’s suddenly hit with the cool air of early fall. He’s also suddenly aware that Mattheo and Enzo are no longer talking, but instead looking at him. He blinks.

“Huh?”

“Told ya he’s just been on a different planet lately,” Enzo quips, nudging Mattheo with his elbow. Mattheo nods in agreement but doesn’t comment on it, instead repeating his question, “I said do ya got your own smokes or are you taking one off me? Cause if you are, we’re fucked. I’m out.”

Theo isn’t surprised in the slightest, “is that why you invited me? Free cigs?” Nonetheless, he pulls a pack out of his pocket and holds it out for him.

Matt grins as he swipes one, “nah, but it doesn’t hurt. You’ve always got nicer ones than me.” Enzo immediately scoffs.

“It’s cause you’re broke Matty—”

“Shut up, no I’m not!”

“Then explain why you keep mooching off of me—” they continue to bicker before Theo cuts them off. “Matt, got a light?”

Mattheo shuts up and holds out a lighter, flicking it to life with practiced ease. Enzo swoops in with his joint before Theo can even pull a cigarette out of his pack, rolling his eyes at his friend. Mattheo raises an eyebrow quizzically, “weed? Seriously?”

Enzo just shrugs nonchalantly, cocky little smirk on his face. “Not my fault neither of you know how to have fun—hold on, is that my fucking lighter?!” Mattheo gives him a shrug, moving it away from where Enzo’s leaning in to get a better look.

Theo sighs, “I think he meant on a school night—”

“Who are you? My mum? Didn’t think you cared about actually attending lessons, Teddy—” Theo immediately scowls at the nickname, making Enzo raise his hands in surrender, smirk still planted on his face. Merlin, he could be insufferable.

Theo returns the shrug, trying to play it off, “just figured with OWLs coming up—”

He’s cut off once again, this time by Mattheo, “don’t tell me, you wanna make sure you don’t miss sitting by that Hufflepuff.” Damn his ability to see straight through him. “Don’t think we didn’t notice you two sitting together yesterday in Binns’ class.”

“Well, I didn’t…” Enzo interjects but is ignored by Mattheo other than an exasperated eye roll.

“You seemed pretty chatty; wasn’t that the same guy at the Three Broomsticks last Saturday?”

Theo quickly lights the cigarette on Mattheo’s still flickering flame and shoves it between his lips. He receives an unimpressed look at his attempt to avoid the question, but to his credit, Matt refrains from pressing further. The same cannot be said for Enzo.

“So what, you’re fraternizing with Hufflepuffs now, are ya mate? Never thought I’d see the day—” his teasing is abruptly ended by Mattheo whacking him upside the head.

Mattheo lights his own cigarette before putting the lighter away, taking a deep drag from it. There’s a beat of silence between them. A gentle breeze passes through the tower as Theo looks out at the Scottish Highlands bathed in the light of the moon.

“He’s just…nice, I guess. Doesn’t seem to mind I’m a Slytherin,” Theo finally answers, releasing a stream of smoke.

Enzo chuckles, rubbing the back of his head where he was whacked. “Fair enough. I feel like usually only girls that want a little fun are willing to break that barrier.” He raises his eyebrows suggestively as he takes a drag as well. Mattheo snorts with a nod. “At least it's not a Gryffindor.” Theo’s nose subconsciously scrunches.

“Yeah, remember that Gryffindor Enz was all over end of last term because word was going around he had a good pot stash?” Now it’s Mattheo getting shoved, but he barely reacts besides a huff of a laugh.

“Didn’t even have the goods,” Enzo pouts petulantly, “wasted a whole 2 weeks for nothing.”

“I think you’ll live, mate.”

Theo leans back against the railing, cigarette between his lips as he watches his best mates as their bickering shifts into them laughing and joking like it always does. He adds a couple quips here and there, mind wandering to the Hufflepuff boy periodically as the cigarette slowly dwindles. Once it’s reached the end of its life, he snuffs it out, pushing himself off the floor where they’d ended up sitting for the past hour. “I think I’m heading back down to the dorms, it’s getting late.”

Mattheo shares a look with Enzo. With a smirk, Enzo wolf whistles, “gotta get your beauty sleep for your little badger, eh Nott?”

Theo just flips him the middle finger as he crosses the tower to the first of many, many stairs. As his descending footsteps echo through the stairwell, Enzo turns to Mattheo, “poor fucker is whipped.”

Mattheo nods, “and down right oblivious…how many galleons are we betting for how long it takes him to figure it out?”

There’s a mischievous smirk on the other boy’s face. “How much you got?”

The next morning, Theo is once again startled by the Hufflepuff boy dropping his books on the table with that same dramatic thud. If Theo didn’t know any better, he would start to think it was intentionally to get his attention. This time, he speaks first.

“Morning.”

There’s that bright smile again and Theo’s chest feels…odd.

“Morning!” you chirp as you slide into the seat. “I took your advice and got some espresso, much better than that muggle concoction. Figured since it was your suggestion, I’d bring you some. Mum got some beans from a cafe in London when I wrote her about it.”

Once again a warm sensation floods Theo as a second mug is set on the table and slid his direction. He carefully picks it up and takes off the lid, finding a double shot inside. It’s still hot from what he assumes is a temperature charm on the mug and the warm sensation in his chest gets stronger.

He raises the cup to his nose, inhaling the comforting aroma of coffee before taking a sip. It’s not quite the taste of home, but it’s close. He nods appreciatively.

Then before he can stop himself he’s making an offer, accent a hint thicker than he typically tries to control, “I’ll have to make you a cup the way I had growing up sometime. This is good though.”

Theo doesn’t have time to backtrack or change his mind before your smile is turning softer. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

To hide the flushing of his cheeks, he quickly downs the rest of the liquid and hands the mug back. For maybe the first time ever he’s glad Binns decides now is the perfect time to begin the monotonous period.

Out of the corner of his eye he sees you put the mug back in your bag, soft smile still on your face. And maybe Theo doesn’t hate this class as much as he thought he did.

Over the following weeks, Theodore does the unthinkable: he looks forward to bloody History of Magic, just for the opportunity to chat with you before class.

His friends share looks at breakfast as he starts leaving earlier and earlier each Monday and Wednesday, hoping to get even just a bit of extra time with you. Because he’s too nervous to ask you to hang out. And he cannot for the life of him figure out why.

He’s Theodore Nott. The stoic, level headed and lusted after Slytherin. Right? He makes people nervous. He flusters pretty girls. So what the bloody hell is going on?

He’s never, not once in his 5 years at Hogwarts, ever considered the possibility that someone could do this to him. Let alone a stupid, pretty Hufflepuff boy with a gentle, excited smile that’s way too eager to mingle with a snake. But somewhere in his gut Theo knows he’d be devastated if the other boy stopped.

And that terrifies him.

One morning after several weeks of sitting together, you once again drop your books onto the desk with the theatrics Theo’s come to expect from you. He subconsciously finds himself perking up at the sound just before you start chattering away, something he’s also grown almost fond of. He likes that you tend to fill the space he’d otherwise find awkward or tedious in conversation, seemingly undeterred by his often quiet nature. And he’s more than happy to just listen to you and bask in your welcoming presence.

This time you’re talking about the History of Magic exam coming up in a couple weeks and your lack of a study partner, something that instantaneously catches Theo’s attention.

“Yeah, my usual study buddy bailed on me, the nerve,” you laugh. “So now I’m on the hunt for a new one…”

Theo’s heart rate picks up as you trail off, there’s no way you’re going to say what he’s hoping you will. Right? There’s no way he’s that lucky. Hell, there’s no way someone like you would want to be around him outside sitting next to each other in the worst class offered at Hogwarts. He’s pretty sure you have less controversial friends to ask than a brooding Slytherin whose best mate is the son of Voldemort, for fucks sake—

His internal pity party is cut short by you looking at him almost… nervously?

“Would you maybe be free to, I dunno, study together some time next week? It’s cool if you’re not, I just thought—well, I’m not sure what I thought—other than that I would offer,” your question starts to shift into a ramble and your cheeks flush as you seem to realize it. Meanwhile, Theo’s heart has stopped and his breath catches in his throat. He has to hold himself back from shouting a thrilled “Yes!”

He clears his throat, desperately clinging to his composure. “Yeah, sure, I could make that work. When did you have in mind?”

Theo feels nearly sick with nerves as he sits at the Central Hall fountain outside of the library waiting for you. He was at least 15 minutes early, mostly because Enzo said he would hex him if he kept pacing around the dorm room like he had been for the prior half hour. His foot taps anxiously in a way he is not used to. He's no stranger to stress, but this is on a different level. All he's going to be doing is go over the most boring aspects of wizarding history with you for a couple hours and here he is, worried he's going to end up in the Hospital Wing with heart palpitations. He takes a deep, shaky breath as he looks up at the snoring dragon mural above the library. Just breathe you idiot!

“Hey Theo, sorry I'm late. My dormmate would not shut up.” He hears your voice before he sees you, his head turning to follow the sound. And he tries to keep the surprise off his face at hearing you call him Theo instead of Nott like you had been since that afternoon in the Three Broomsticks. “You ready for the most exciting next couple hours of your life?” Oh, and what he wouldn't do to see that teasing little grin on your face more—

“Ready,” he stands from the fountain bench, following behind you through the heavy wooden doors of the library.

He walks half a step behind you as you weave your way through the tables and shelves, finding a relatively remote spot in the already quiet space. For maybe the first time in—your friendship? Theo hopes that's what you two are at least—the entire time he's known you, your set your books down without the slam.

You must have noticed the look he was giving you because you smirk. “I don't just go throwing books when you're not around. And close your jaw, you'll catch lacewing flies.”

Theo lightly bites on his lip as he sits next to you at the table, your shoulders almost touching. You flip the massive textbook open and pull a couple quills and parchment from your bag as you settle in to go over the material.

There’s a feeling of familiarity with you that Theo wasn’t anticipating. Conversation comes more naturally than when he’s spoken with you before class and he realizes he really, really likes spending time with you. There’s no bickering like there is with Matt and Enzo, no snarky comments thrown around for laughs. It’s peaceful and warm.

He feels like that around you a lot, he realizes, warm. Comfortable. His arm brushes against yours.

Theo and you spend the next couple hours working through the exam material, interspersed with getting to know each other. He listens to you ramble about your favorite classes this term, your friends—anything you’re willing to tell him, he wants to drink it all in.

Neither of you seem to notice how close you’ve gotten to each other until he can feel your breath on his face and that warmth that seems to radiate off of you. Then, you’re getting closer.

There in the back of the library, Theo’s world comes to a standstill as you gently press your lips against his, his heart threatening to pound out of his chest. It takes him a couple seconds to regain his senses before moving his lips back against yours, losing himself in the kiss.

He notices you taste like earl grey which blends with the woody scent of your cologne in an intoxicating mixture. Much too soon for his liking you’re pulling back and he has to stop himself from whining at the loss of contact.

His eyes flutter open to find you haven’t gone far. In the silence he thinks about how pretty your eyes are and maybe—no, definitely—that’s his new favorite color.

“Was that okay?” your voice is just above a whisper.

Theo just leans forward and recaptures your lips in another kiss. First his mind swirls with this is what kissing is supposed to feel like. He’s dumbfounded that it really can feel like fireworks and it’s not just some sappy bullshit made for the romance novels Pansy and Daphne read.

Then it all comes crashing down.

The next thing he feels is dread. Overwhelming, overpowering dread. He can’t quite place why, but it’s there. And suddenly he’s pulling away from your lips like he’s been burned.

He sees the shock on your face, but before he starts to apologize or explain, his father’s voice is itching in the back of his mind. He steps back.

Your voice saying his name is muffled by the ringing in his ears and your concerned expression is taken over by that all too familiar disappointed look in his father’s eyes. He runs away, feeling more like a coward than he’s ever felt in his life.

And the worst part is he knows he’s leaving you alone, confused and hurt. But he does it anyway.

After wandering the corridors of the castle for the better part of 10 minutes, lost in thought, he finds himself in front of the music room. Like his body instinctively knew where he needed to be. He pushes the door open, relieved to find it empty. The wooden stairs creak as he walks up. He sits on the rug by the piano, hugging his knees to his chest.

Theo is alone in the music room not 20 minutes before Mattheo finds him. A bloodhound that boy. Or maybe he just knows Theo too well.

“Your little badger sent me.” Mattheo eases down onto the rug next to him, close enough for his knee to lightly graze Theo’s thigh. “He was freaking out like the world was ending or he kicked your cat or something. Didn’t know where to find you, but he did find Berk and I in the Astronomy tower. So I said I’d take care of it, you’re welcome.”

Theo just hums in acknowledgment.

“So…did he actually kick your cat or what?”

Theo shakes his head.

“Well it must have been pretty bad since you came here. Haven’t seen you hiding out here since, well—” his mum died. Mattheo doesn’t have to finish his sentence, they both know.

A long breath he didn’t realize he was holding breaks out in a sigh as his eyes shut. The soft enchanted piano music is the only sound for a moment as he wills away the emotions threatening to surface. “I don’t know, maybe the world is ending.”

A couple more beats of quiet. “Wanna talk about it?” He knows deep down it’s a question Matt will respect the answer to. And he briefly debates turning him down, but something compels him to slowly nod.

“He—we kissed.”

“Was it bad?”

“No.”

Mattheo nods as he considers the response he was given. “So the problem was that it was good?”

“Yes? No? Maybe?”

“That’s kinda dodging the question, mate.”

Theo groans, “I don’t know, okay?” He runs his fingers through his hair. “I just— cazzo! This is wrong, isn’t it? Feeling like this?”

“Theo—”

“I can’t feel this way for another guy. My father would disown me and it’d ruin my life. I’m supposed to marry a pureblood witch and produce an heir and—”

Before Theo has time to stop him or even process what’s happening, Mattheo is grabbing him by the face and pressing their lips together, and that same fluttering sensation is back. It’s not as strong and thrilling as kissing you, Theo’s not sure that’s even replicable, but it still feels nice in a way none of his previous kisses have been. Where he was going through the motions for some reason even he didn’t understand. But no, once again he can understand why people would want to do this.

Then as quick as he was pulled in, his best friend is pulling away, silently observing him for a moment.

“Did the world end?”

“…No.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

They sit staring at each other as Theo’s brain struggles to formulate a response.

“Matty, I—” he hesitates like this is going to be what destroys their friendship, “I don’t think I’m…straight.”

“I didn’t think you were.”

And something about the way he says it makes Theo feel better. Like he’s not being judged or ridiculed for feeling this way. Like it’s something natural. A no-brainer, boring fact of life. Theo thinks he might cry.

Instead he leans forward and connects their lips again, just briefly. And part of him knows Mattheo can feel the underlying sadness and fear in it. But when they pull apart once again, neither of them comment on it. A weight feels like it's been lifted off him.

“I think,” Theo pauses as he debates speaking about this out loud for the first time, like it will make it real. “I think I haven’t really felt like myself since my mum...y'know?” He says it like it’s a question, but they both know the truth. “I know it’s been 2 years, I should be fine. But I’m not.”

Mattheo, who had been quietly listening, speaks. “I don’t know Theo…I’ve barely heard you talk about her since you came back to school third year. Have you talked about it to anyone? Hell, have you let yourself grieve?”

“I…I don’t know how. My father stopped mentioning her after the funeral and—he barely acknowledged she was even gone.” He pulls his knees back up to his chest. “I miss her.”

He feels the comforting warmth of Matt’s hand on his shoulder blade. And the gentle touch of his thumb across his cheek, wiping a tear away is the first indication that he’s started to cry. He quickly sniffles in an attempt to stop the tears, but it doesn't work. If anything, it just makes them fall faster. He tucks his head down, forehead against his knees. Mattheo's hand gently rubs his back as they sit in silence as he cries. He's grateful Matt doesn't try to help by speaking, the gentle piano filling his ears like a warm hug after being lost in the cold for days with no reprieve.

The silent sobs eventually slow, his body no longer shaking from the force of them. And weirdly, he feels better. He’s spent his whole life being told that men don’t cry, especially pureblood wizards of their status, so when the weight comes off his chest he’s shocked at how easy it is to just breathe.

He pulls his head up to look at Matt, who isn’t looking directly at him but keeps his hand on Theo’s back. A soft murmured, “thanks,” passes his lips and causes the curly haired boy to return his attention to him. Mattheo doesn’t comment on how red and tear-stained his eyes are, much to Theo’s relief.

“You good, mate?”

“Yeah, I think so.”

Mattheo hesitates before speaking again, “you don’t have to listen to me, cause what do I know, but I think you should talk to him.” Theo thinks back to you, how lost and hurt you looked when he ran from the library and he sighs.

“When did you get so wise?”

Mattheo shrugs, “we’ve all had to grow up pretty fast…you’re my best mate Theo. It sucks seeing you like this, y'know?” He lightly nudges Theo’s shoulder, “kinda ruins the vibe.”

Theo can’t help but chuckle, “you’re an idiot.”

“And here I thought I was wise.”

“I was wrong, you’re fully a dumbass.”

“Nah, that’s Enz. But seriously, talk to him. We’re all tired of you pretending this isn’t something you want, whether you realize it or not.”

Theodore reluctantly nods, “fine. Fine, you’re right. I think I like my, what did you call him? Little badger?”

Mattheo grins and shifts away from Theo, looking a bit too happy for a man that just watched his friend cry over a crush.

“What are you so cheery about?” Theo raises an eyebrow as Mattheo gets up to return to the Astronomy Tower.

Mattheo throws a smirk over his shoulder as he lingers at the top of the stairs, “Enzo owes me a hundred galleons.”

“Wait! You two idioti bet on this?!”

Despite feeling somewhat better after his talk with Matt, Theo avoids you for the rest of the week. Come Wednesday morning, he’s sliding into the seat next to Mattheo in History of Magic, ignoring Enzo’s annoyed “Hey!” in protest and Mattheo’s side-eye.

He doesn’t turn around to see the disappointed look on your face as your books softly thunk on the desk behind him where you two usually sat. But he doesn’t miss the lack of usual flair the sound has. His heart aches.

“Riddle said you’d be in here.”

Your voice breaks through Theodore’s thoughts, pulling his eyes toward you walking up the steps and over to him.

He'd been finding himself coming back to the music room over and over again since he started avoiding you. He wasn't entirely sure why, maybe he just wanted to stop the dull ache of loneliness in the absence of you. He pushes the thought out of his mind.

You settle down on the rug next to him, jarringly similar to the position he'd been in with Mattheo a week ago. Only you were further away, and while he couldn't blame you, he hated it.

“Sorry for kissing you so suddenly, I just—I’d been wanting to for like a month and I guess I was hoping you wanted it too. I didn’t mean to scare you off.”

He quickly shakes his head, “no, don’t apologize, it was—I liked it. I’m sorry for running off like that. I think I got…overwhelmed. I didn’t exactly know I was, y’know, into guys before…you.” He forces it out despite his embarrassment, cheeks a light shade of pink.

You look at him with a small, somewhat sad smile, “it’s fine. Kinda reminds me of that day we properly met in Hogsmeade. You ran then too.” You pause briefly before adding, “and don’t worry about it, this is new for me too.”

Theo flushes more intensely at the memory as you turn your head to look around the music room. “I don’t think I’ve ever been in here before. Riddle had to give me directions...Why here?”

His mouth goes dry as he stares at you. “My, uh, my mum used to play the piano. She tried to teach me, but I couldn’t fully get it before…” he trails off for a moment before pushing past it, “I come here to feel close to her.”

A look of realization passes over your face, “oh, I—I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. I don’t really like to talk about it.”

A hesitant hand reaches out to rest on his knee. He didn’t even realize he’d relaxed his legs down from his chest.

“We don’t have to talk about it, Teddy—”

He gasps at the nickname, soft and filled with raw emotion. “I want to.”

“She was… the only person I felt truly got me, before Mattheo at least. And she uh, she used to call me Teddy. So since she—” he hesitates, the finality of it all hitting him at once like it’s the first time he heard the news all over again, “since she died, I haven’t let anyone call me that.”

He sees the way your eyes soften further, but it’s not from pity, like he’d come to expect from the topic, no, it’s deeper than that. It’s empathy. “I didn’t know,” your voice is quiet, like you’re about to apologize, but truthfully that’s the last thing he wants. So he keeps speaking.

“She would have loved you.” His hand shifts to rest over yours, still on his leg. “She would have loved how…happy you make me. So, I want you to call me Teddy, please.” It comes out a bit more desperate than he intended, but when did anything ever go as planned when it came to you?

But you don’t run. You don’t look at him in disgust for showing emotion. You just nod with a soft, “okay Teddy.”

And god, that fluttering sensation is back. A small smile tugs on his lips; before he knows it he’s leaning forward, needing to be closer, as close as you’ll possibly let him. And this time, without any guilt or shame or fear, he kisses you.

And he feels like he’s drowning. Drowning in your lips, in your scent, in you. Like water filling his lungs, it burns so sweet. Surrender to the unknown, letting his lingering heartache and worries about his father’s expectations go until all that’s left is you.

It’s pure bliss.

As your lips move together in sync, his body heats up and he finds himself craving more. He’s just received a taste, but he can already tell he’s going to be insatiable; the need to devour you, to become one with your very essence, is overwhelming. But he doesn’t run away. He pushes deeper.

He feels your hand cupping his face, almost to steady yourself from falling over as his tongue brushes against your lips, begging, pleading for mercy. Like he’ll fall apart if you don’t let him explore every inch of you. Your lips part.

Tongues dancing together, he pushes you down until your back hits the rug, his torso hovering over yours as his hands on either side of you hold him up. Your fingers caress his cheek, touch featherlight.

The kiss lasts until neither of you can breathe, parting only to gasp and pant, inches from each other’s face. You suddenly laugh, a sweet sound that rivals the room’s quiet piano in its beauty.

“You’re still here,” your eyes search his, like you’re trying to find doubt in them, but there is none. He wants to kiss you like that for the rest of his life.

“I don’t think I’m scared anymore.”

Your arms coming up to wrap around his neck and pull him back into another kiss catches him off guard, but he melts into it like his body was made to meld with yours. It’s soft and sweet and feels like home.

The next morning at breakfast, you’re sitting next to him like you belong at the Slytherin table, at his side and getting acquainted with his friends. Enzo’s in the middle of asking you for details on which Hufflepuffs have the best weed when Draco comes over and sits down, an apprehensive look on his face. “I suppose this is something you just expect us to get used to?”

“Yes.” It’s Mattheo who speaks, grabbing a bit of toast off Draco’s plate and taking a bite. “He makes Theo happy, he’s one of us now as far as I’m concerned.”

Enzo pipes up from beside him, “I’ll do anything to never have to listen to Theo hopelessly pine like that ever again.”

Draco huffs and as Theo’s about to say something, he hears you laugh softly next to him as your hand gently squeezes his thigh. “Just gonna have to live with some yellow brightening your mornings, Malfoy.” The other two boys snicker at the defeated look on Draco’s face and start to tease him that he’s just jealous Nott grew a pair and managed to ask someone out. But Theo barely notices.

He presses a kiss to your temple, heart fluttering as you grin up at him and for the first time in a long time, he’s happy.

#theodore nott #theo nott #theodore nott x male reader #theo nott x male reader #slytherin boys #enzo berkshire #mattheo riddle #x male reader #mattheo riddle x theodore nott #a lil bit of #mattheo riddle x enzo berkshire #if you squint #bisexual #gay #theo nott x reader fluff #fluff #angst #angst with a happy ending #mykie fics

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aligned-starz · 11 months ago

Text

Mixtape - Mattheo Riddle

. * ꙳ ✦ ⊹Pairing : mattheo riddle x fem!reader

Warnings : fluff, use of y/n y/l/n, happy ending

Summary : who knew mattheo could be so patient?

Song : Somethin' Stupid - Frank Sinatra, Nancy Sinatra. * ꙳ ✦ ⊹

Word Count : 3,612

Mattheo Riddle's reputation preceded him: notorious for his quick temper and razor-thin patience. His tolerance for delays could be measured in mere molecules. For most, the prospect of having Mr. Riddle wait on them was akin to receiving a rare blessing or witnessing a miracle. Yet for Y/n, it was just another day in the life.

However, if you were bold enough to confront him about it, he would vehemently deny it, insisting that he never waits on anyone.

"What do you mean you don't wait on anyone, mate? Y/n's got you waiting like a dog on a leash," Blaise quipped, earning chuckles around the Slytherin table. Mattheo shot his friends a glare, a familiar grumpy expression settling upon his face at their teasing. It wasn't anything new.

"Aww, look at the state of you, you big softy!" Pansy's laughter and jest seemed to aggravate him further, evident in the forceful grip on his fork, which tightened by the minute. Theodore observed his friend, noticing something amiss. Mattheo would typically retort with a snarky response, but now he seemed so lost in thought.

Noticing his unusual change in demeanor, the group silently decided to shift the topic, directing their attention to Berkshire, who had become the target of their ridicule.

Lorenzo had recently found himself in an embarrassing altercation with the revered potions master. It marked one of the worst instances of public humiliation he had ever endured. Picture this: he was already five minutes late, had brought the wrong set of books, stumbled over his words while responding to Snape, AND managed to blow up his and his potions partner's cauldron.

Naturally, this series of blunders led to a sassy and cold scolding from Snape. To say that Lorenzo was left blushing scarlet by the end of class would be an understatement.

"Hi Matt!"

Clang! The loud sound of the fork hitting the cool stone floors of the grand hall echoed through the room, accompanied by Mattheo's accidental knee bump in surprise, drawing everyone's attention at the table. If that fork could talk, it would likely express gratitude for your sudden appearance, saving it from the clutches of Riddle's vice-like grip. As Mattheo turned toward you, the frostiness in his gaze thawed, replaced by a gentle warmth in his brown eyes.

Just a moment ago he was lost in his thoughts about you. Did he think of you so much to the point he had conjured you up in front of him? Where the hell did you come from?

Nott smirked at the interaction, Merlin's beard, this guy is whipped.

"You seemed to have dropped your fork, here." you remarked, catching his attention once again. His eyes followed your movements as you gracefully crouched down to retrieve the utensil from the floor. Standing back up, he met your gaze through his long, soft eyelashes while you held out the fork for him to reclaim. And in a trance-like state, he slowly reached out and took it.

Your hands touched. In that moment, a foolish part of him yearned for more, to pull you close and envelop you in the warmth of a hug, to allow himself to be vulnerable for once.

The soft snickering of his friends broke him out of his trance, and with a quick motion, he turned away from you.

"Thanks." His response was brief, but it brought a smile to your lips.

Despite the sudden change, he had subtly shifted along the bench, creating space beside him. It felt like a silent invitation for you to join him. So, without a word, you took your place and set down your plate, inadvertently brushing the back of your hand against his. Perhaps it was unintentional.

Mattheo froze once more, wrestling with his impulses. It took considerable effort to restrain himself, but there was something about you that stirred a tumult of emotions within him. Something that tempted him to lean in and shower your face with kisses. It was beginning to unsettle him.

He withdrew his hand and discreetly tucked it under the table, his gaze fixed downward, brows furrowed in frustration at the escalating intensity of his emotions. His friends looked at one another knowingly, before they continued to chatter about other topics.

As you settled beside him, he couldn't help but notice the subtle fragrance of your perfume, a scent he seemed to encounter every time you were in close proximity. It carried notes of vanilla, with a delicate hint of cherries. The aroma enveloped him, not in a way that hurt his nose, but in a way that stirred a dizzying sensation within him. His heart quickened its pace, and a tightness settled in his chest, each breath seeming to draw in more of your intoxicating essence.

Like smoking a blunt, but knowing it’s good for you.

You joined the chatter, contributing your opinion to whatever topic the group was discussing, he turned his head in your direction. His gaze traced every curve and detail of your face as you spoke. A smile tugged at the corners of your lips as you laughed in response to something Pansy had remarked, and he felt his own lips instinctively mirror the gesture.

He was going to say something, a witty remark or anything to get you to smile even further. But somehow he couldn’t find his words, his attention consumed by your captivating presence as he struggled to form a coherent sentence. Every gesture, every word you uttered seemed to mesmerize him. You’ve made THE Mattheo Riddle, speechless.

Suddenly, Cedric Diggory approached, clad in his yellow and black robes. Mattheo felt a pang of discomfort stir within him as he watched your attention shift to the newcomer, your smile widening in greeting. He clenched his jaw, his gaze flickering between the two of you, a knot forming in his stomach.

“Y/n, would you like to continue our herbology project? We could get started early.”

His statement abruptly halted the lively conversation around the table. The group exchanged puzzled glances with one another before collectively turning their attention to Riddle. The air grew tense as the weight of his words settled over them, leaving everyone momentarily speechless. Except you, who smiled and chatted with the boy.

A profound sense of jealousy surged within Mattheo, causing his smile to form into a narrow line. You were too nice and oblivious to even notice the abrupt hush that fell over the group.

It wasn't that they disliked Diggory—far from it. It’s just that the group was well aware of Mattheo's possessive tendencies, especially when it came to the girl Cedric was currently chatting with. Their concern wasn't about Diggory himself, but rather the potential for Mattheo's jealousy to stir up trouble.

They all watched the boy closely, anticipating a cutting, sarcastic remark to shatter the silence. But it never came. Instead, he merely averted his gaze, displaying an unusual patience. As you stood up to resume your herbology project and leave, he offered you a gentle smile, a stark contrast to the tension everyone else felt.

The silence deepened after you left, each person at the table coming to their own realization. He didn't just like you. It became evident to all of them that Mattheo was deeply in love with you, so much so that his usual bad behavior seemed to dissolve in your presence. His rough edges softened, revealing a side of him they had rarely seen. It was incredibly uncharacteristic of him, unsettling his platinum blond friend.

"Gods, so it's true then, you love Y/l/n." Draco scoffed and broke the silence, his voice a mix of bewilderment and surprise. Pansy quickly turned and swatted the back of his head, offering Mattheo an apologetic look. Mattheo appeared to be on the verge of exploding, his emotions barely contained as Draco's words hung in the air.

"Oh, fuck off, you ferret," he retorted, his voice laced with irritation. His words were sharp, cutting through the tension as he struggled to keep his temper in check once you were gone.

Malfoy's eyes widened as he coughed, his face flushing a deep red in response to Mattheo's remark. It was clear that the notorious "ferret" incident was something they would never let him live down. The group burst into laughter at the joke, everyone except Mattheo. He remained silent, still grappling with the complex emotions he felt towards you, unable to join in their mirth.

"And so he returns. Y/n leaves for a moment, and the devil horns sprout back," Blaise remarked, his words drawing Mattheo's attention. Mattheo's brows knitted in confusion—what did Y/n have to do with any of this?

"What are you all implying?" He gently shook his head, scanning the faces around the table. Each one met his gaze with a sly smirk, leaving him increasingly puzzled by their shared secret.

"You've got it bad for her, Mattheo. It's painfully obvious," Pansy declared, her words echoing the unspoken sentiments of the group. All eyes turned to Mattheo, anticipation hanging in the air, as if they were silently urging him to acknowledge what they all saw. Perhaps hearing it from someone else would finally make him realize the meaning of what he had felt.

“I like her?”

FLASHBACKS. * ꙳ ✦ ⊹

After a few hours at The Three Broomsticks, the group collectively decided to walk home because of the growing crowd at the pub. In the midst of Hogsmeade’s bustling streets, Mattheo trudged along with his friends, their laughter filling the air. Yet, despite the light atmosphere, Mattheo felt the weight of a particularly bad day settling upon him, rendering him silent.

He’s had a day full of disasters. From sticky butterbeer being spilled onto his sweater, to losing his favorite mixtape. The night sky filled with stars seemed to look upon him with pity, so much so that a sudden downpour of rain drenched the group. They shrieked and laughed as they ran away, leaving behind a Mattheo Riddle who also wanted to run, but noticed the untied state of his shoelaces.

Mattheo quickly bent down to tie his shoelaces with a loud sigh. Raindrops pelted his back, adding to his already dampened mood. While his tipsy friends were away from his sight, Mattheo's thoughts lingered on the frustrations of the day, his mind clouded with a sense of fatigue and discontent.

He observed the droplets as they splashed around him, forming a small puddle beneath his scuffed Converse shoes. Without so much as a glance at his reflection in the water, he stoically continued to tie his shoelaces, his expression unreadable. As he moved to tie his other untied shoe, a sudden shadow eclipsed his vision, drawing his attention away from the task at hand.

With furrowed brows, he lifted his gaze, a blend of surprise and confusion crossing his features. However, his expression swiftly transformed into one of astonishment as he registered whose presence it was. There you were, holding your leather jacket aloft to shield Mattheo from the relentless rain. Stunned by your unexpected act of kindness, he found himself momentarily frozen in place.

“Well come on, hurry up!”

Mattheo found solace from the Slytherin party amidst the rows of books, his headphones nestled snugly over his ears. Lost in the melody of his music, he was oblivious to the world around him, the rhythmic sounds escaping from his headphones and gently permeating the tranquil atmosphere.

Beside him, you sat down to accompany him. The library was completely silent, everyone else was probably at the party your friends had thrown, rendering the place empty. However, the muffled strains of Mattheo's music began to seep through his headphones, dancing faintly in the air.

You listened quietly as Mattheo sat with his eyes closed, completely engrossed in the soft melody emanating from his headphones. A gentle smile graced your lips as you watched his relaxed demeanor, his lips slightly parted while his chest rose up and down, the soothing music seemingly transporting him to a quiet state of mind. With his wounded nose, and bruised knuckles, who would’ve guessed he was listening to this kind of music.

"But then I go and spoil it all, by saying somethin' stupid like, I love you."

You tilted your head, you didn't recognise this kind of music at all. Same as to the tape you found in the courtyard. Curiously, you tapped Mattheo’s shoulder, scaring him out of his tranquil state.

“Shit! Y/n, don’t sneak up on me like that.” Mattheo cursed in surprise, quickly pulling down his headphones and turning to face you, a mix of caution and annoyance in his eyes.

“What are you listening to?” you asked, genuine curiosity evident in your voice.

Mattheo hesitated for a moment, as if weighing his response. Finally, he met your gaze and replied, “Somethin’ Stupid, by Frank Sinatra.”

“Muggle music?” you questioned again, intrigued by his choice.

Mattheo sighed, turning back to face the table and crossing his arms. The solitude he had been enjoying was now broken by your company. “Yes, muggle music,” he replied, a hint of defensiveness in his tone. “You wouldn’t know it.”

You silently absorbed his vague answer, a soft smile forming on your lips. Bending down to pick up your bag from the floor, you rummaged through its contents until your fingers brushed against what you were searching for. With a sense of anticipation, you pulled out a small, box-shaped mixtape. Scrawled across its surface in marker were the words, "The Smiths."

“Muggle music huh, like this I presume?” You held the mixtape up within his eyesight. Mattheo's eyes widened slightly in recognition as he realized that the mixtape you were holding was his own. He uncrossed his arms, a mix of surprise and gratitude washing over his annoyance.

“You found it,” he breathed, his voice tinged with relief.

You nodded, a smile playing at the corners of your lips. “It was lying in the courtyard. I figured it must be important to you since you’ve mentioned before that you liked muggle music.”

Mattheo's expression softened, tilting his head with a smile, touched by your gesture. “You remembered?.. It is. Thank you.”

As he took the mixtape from you, his fingers brushed against yours, sending a jolt of warmth through you both. In that fleeting touch, a connection seemed to spark between you.

You've always been friends, but it was always just friends. Not close friends, or bestfriends. Just friends.

The library's quiet enveloped you once more, but now it was accompanied by a newfound sense of comfort and understanding. As Mattheo took out the previous tape, and put in his favorite one, you couldn't help but feel that this chance encounter had brought you closer together in an unexpected way.

Mattheo paused, a thought forming in his head.

"Do you wanna.. listen with me?"

The flickering light from the cauldron cast long shadows on the potions classroom walls. Mattheo stared in frustration at his potion, which was bubbling in all the wrong ways. He let out an exasperated sigh, running a hand through his tousled hair.

"That's it. I can't do this. I’m a lost cause," he muttered, pushing the textbook away and slumping back in his chair.

You shook your head, a determined smile on your face. "You’re not a lost cause. Come on, we can work on it together. Potions is tricky, stop being so hard on yourself."

Mattheo looked at you, doubt etched in his features. "I’ve tried and tried, so many times I’ve lost count. It’s hopeless." He thought of Malfoy and his other friends who had tried countless times to help him pass this project, only to give up defeatedly.

You leaned in closer, your eyes filled with encouragement. "It's not hopeless. Let’s go through the instructions again, step by step."

Tucking your hair behind your ear, you grabbed the book and turned it toward him again, pointing at the list of ingredients. "Remember, you need to add the crushed pearls after the rose thorns. Not before."

Mattheo glanced at the instructions, "How do you remember all this?"

A smile spread across your lips as you chuckled softly. "I actually really enjoy this class. It reminds me of cooking. But enough about me, focus Riddle."

He turned his gaze to you and laughed softly, watching as you explained the potion once more. He noticed the twinkle in your eyes as you talked about a subject you loved, the way your hands moved to make gestures, and how your hair framed your face perfectly, even as the cold wind tried to blow it away. You looked like his favorite mixtape—captivating and cherished.

Snapping out of his thoughts, he turned back to focus on the potion. Despite his earlier frustration, he found it hard to concentrate when you were all he could think about now. But he wanted to impress you.

With your patient guidance, Mattheo carefully measured out the ingredients, adding them in the correct order this time. As he followed your instructions, the potion started to change color, transitioning from a murky brown to a shimmering gold.

A flicker of hope sparked in Mattheo’s eyes. "It’s actually working."

You smiled brightly. "See? I knew you could do it."

A loud laugh of triumph escaped from Mattheo's throat, and as he continued to brew the potion from memory, the shimmering gold color shifted into a soft beautiful pink, with a mother-of-pearl sheen.

"Well Mr. Riddle, I think we have a love potion."

He looked at you with gratitude in his eyes, acknowledging your role in the successful creation of the potion. You could've very easily given up on him, but you didn't.

"Give it a sniff!"

Mattheo leaned over the cauldron, inhaling deeply as the Amortentia potion began to release its powerful scent. His eyes widened in surprise, then softened with confusion. He straightened up, a puzzled look on his face.

"That's odd," he murmured, more to himself than to you. "I don't smell anything distinct, no new smells."

You furrowed your brows, leaning over the cauldron yourself to sniff the potion. Yet, no new smell arose. All you could smell was Mattheo's scent, and all he could smell was your scent. Both that have already been lingering in the air the moment you stepped into the classroom together.

"Huh, maybe I brewed it wrong?" He defeatedly sighed.

Mattheo was on his way out of the common room, ready to meet up with his friends for their usual late-night hangout. The laughter and chatter of Blaise, Draco, and Theodore echoed faintly from down the corridor. He was just about to push the door open when something made him pause.

Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed a familiar figure curled up on the couch by the fireplace. You were fast asleep, a textbook resting open on your chest and a few loose parchments scattered around you. The soft glow from the dying embers of the fire cast a warm, flickering light across your tired face.

Mattheo hesitated, torn between joining his friends and staying behind. His eyes softened as he watched you, noticing the way your hair fell gently across your face and how your breathing was slow and steady. You looked so serene, a contrast to the usually bustling common room.

Unable to help himself, he quietly walked over to the couch. Carefully, he gathered the loose parchments and placed them in a neat pile on the table beside you. He gently closed the textbook and set it aside, making sure not to disturb you.

Instead of leaving, Mattheo decided to stay and look out for you. He settled himself beside you, carefully plopping himself down to sit. You stirred slightly in your sleep, and Mattheo smiled softly, reaching out to adjust the blanket draped over you.

With you resting, Mattheo decided to make himself comfortable as well. He shifted slightly, allowing you to rest your feet on his lap. He pulled out his headphones, making sure his tape player was at a low volume. He leaned his head back, closing his eyes peacefully at your presence and the music playing in his ears.

END OF FLASHBACKS. * ꙳ ✦ ⊹

"Earth to Riddle," Draco said, waving a hand in front of Mattheo’s face. "Where are you, mate?"

"I like her."

Mattheo opened his mouth to speak more, but then closed it again, feeling a rush of clarity. He liked you. No, it was more than that—he realized he was falling for you. All those moments together, your kindness, your patience, your laughter—it all made sense now.

Without another word, he stood up abruptly, his friends laughing at his late realization. "I have to go," he said, his voice firm with determination.

"Yeah! Go get her tiger!" Theo cheered.

Mattheo ran out of the Great Hall, his heart pounding in his chest. He needed to find you. He needed to tell you how he felt.

The cold air nipped at his ears as he ran down the corridors, but he didn't care. His mind was consumed with thoughts of you. He recalled the softness of your voice, a soothing tune to his often restless thoughts, like the songs he uses to escape. He thought about everything he loved about you—the way your eyes sparkled with understanding, your infectious laughter, and the small gestures that showed your kindness.

Your patience with him stood out the most, especially during times when he struggled and felt like giving up. You always believed in him, offering encouragement and support even when he couldn’t find it in himself. Each memory of you fueled his determination, propelling him forward through the chilly air.

He sprinted down the corridors, ignoring the curious looks from other students. He knew where you’d be—near the Herbology classroom. As he burst out of the castle doors and ran toward the greenhouse area, he saw you standing there, leaning against the wall, completely unaware of the whirlwind of emotions that had driven him here.

You turned as Cedric pointed at Mattheo, a confused look both on your faces at the sight of him running toward you, when suddenly he shouted,

"Hey Y/n! I love you!"

My first upload received so much attention, I DID NOT EXPECT THAT AT ALL. So from the bottom of my heart, thank you to everyone who commented and reblogged. It means a lot to me that people enjoyed my writing, and I hope you all enjoy this one too. To be honest, this work could've been better and I've been putting off finishing this since like forever. But @taylorisamastermind 's kind words inspired me to finish. Again, if you notice any grammatical mistakes, no you didn't!

Thank you everyone! xx

[my masterlist⋆｡°✩]

#mattheo riddle #mattheo riddle x reader #slytherin boys x reader #slytherin boys #mattheo riddle x you #mattheo riddle imagine #fanfiction #fluff #mattheo riddle oneshot #mattheo riddle x y/n #slytherin #harry potter #wizarding world #oneshot

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strnilolover · 5 months ago

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⋆.˚ She’s not mine, She’s not you .ᐟ

Warmings : Arranged Marriage, Angst, Fluff, Forbidden Love/Relationship, Sneaking around and More.

In which … prince matt and maid reader have been in a secret relationship for a little bit now. But, they’ve had to keep it behind closed doors because of his royal status and family. What happens when he’s placed in an arranged marriage he doesn’t even want to be in?

01, 02

The air in your small quarters felt heavier than usual this evening. The flickering light of a single candle cast soft shadows on the stone walls as you meticulously folded linens. The familiar routine was meant to keep your mind occupied, but tonight, it couldn’t quiet the gnawing unease that had settled in your chest.

Matt had been distant all day. Normally, he’d find a reason to slip into whatever room you were working in, whether it was the grand library, the kitchens, or even the stables. He’d offer smiles and some heated actions that made your heart race. But today, he was nowhere to be found.

You told yourself it was nothing — that he was simply busy with royal duties. Yet the anxious pit in your stomach told a different story.

But then a sudden, forceful knock at your door startled you. Before you could answer, the door burst open. Matt stood in the doorway, his chest rising and falling with uneven breaths. His hair was messier than usual, his shirt slightly wrinkled as if he’d been running his hands through it all day. His expression was a storm of frustration and anguish, a stark contrast to the gentle, confident prince you knew.

“Matt?” you said cautiously, setting the linens aside and stepping toward him. “What’s going on?” you whisper, cautious not to upset him farther from what ever it was.

He didn’t answer right away, instead closing the door behind him with a heavy thud and locking it. His hands rested on the doorframe for a moment as he let out a slow, shaky breath. When he finally turned to face you, the fire in his eyes made your heart skip.

“They’ve done it,” he said bitterly. “They’ve made the decision for me.” his words were rough — it sounded like he just ate something that wasn’t good, whatever this was — wasn’t good.

Your brows furrowed slightly, unsure as to what he meant — but you had a feeling. “What decision?” Your voice was barely above a whisper, but you already knew you weren’t going to like the answer he was going to provide you.

He took a breath, his body visibly shaking. “My parents,” he began, his voice tight with anger. “They’ve arranged a marriage. To Lady Evelina.”

The words hit you like a blow to the chest. You felt the air leave your lungs as your knees wobbled slightly. You gripped the edge of your desk for support, your fingers digging into the wood.

You stood there, the words on the tip of your tongue — but it felt like gravel running along your mouth. “When?” you managed to ask, though your voice trembled.

“The engagement is to be announced at the ball in five months.” he spat, pacing the small room like a caged animal. “They didn’t even ask me. They didn’t give me a choice.” he voice raised, hands coming up to point at his chest as to get his words across more clearly.

You stared at him, trying to process what he was saying. The weight of it pressed down on you, making it hard to breathe. “Lady Evelina…” you said softly, as if saying her name aloud would make it less real. “She’s… she’s beautiful. She’s noble. She’s—”

“She’s not you,” Matt interrupted, stopping mid-step to look at you. His gaze was fierce, almost desperate. “She’s not the one I love.” he stated, like it was the most obvious thing in the world — because it was, to you both.

“Matt…” You shook your head, a lump forming in your throat. “You’re a prince. You were always going to marry someone like her. I knew that.” you said, voice cracking as you forced them through your teeth.

“No,” he said firmly, crossing the room to stand in front of you. “I told you from the beginning — I don’t care about any of that. Titles, politics, expectations — they mean nothing to me. You’re the only one who matters.”

His words, spoken with such conviction, brought tears to prick at the corner of your eyes. “And what about your kingdom?” you asked, your voice breaking even more. “What about your people? They expect you to marry someone who can strengthen alliances, someone who can stand beside you as a queen-“

“I don’t care what they expect!” he exclaimed, cutting you off as his frustration started to boil over. “I care about what I want. And I want you.”

“You think that’s enough?” you said, tears streaming down your cheeks now. “You think you can just tell your parents, your court, your entire kingdom that you love a maid, and they’ll just… accept it?” your chest twisted.

“I’ll make them accept it,” he said stubbornly, his jaw set. “I’ll do whatever it takes.”

Your hands trembled as you stepped away from him, needing distance to think clearly. “Matt, you’re being reckless,” you said, your voice barely steady. “You have a responsibility — to your family, to your kingdom. I can’t let you throw all of that away for me.”

He followed you, closing the space quickly between you with a few long strides. “You don’t get to decide that,” he said, his voice soft but firm. He reached for your hands, holding them gently despite the storm of emotions coursing through his veins. “This is my life. And I’m choosing you.” he whispered, gripping your hands tighter as he brought them up to place a small peck on your knuckles.

Your resolve crumbled under the weight of his words. A sob escaped your lips as you shook your head. “You shouldn’t have to choose,” you whispered. “You shouldn’t have to sacrifice everything for me.”

Matt shook his head, “Don’t you see?” he said, his voice breaking. “I’m not sacrificing anything. You’re the only thing that’s ever felt right. Without you, none of it matters.”

And you stared at him — your tears falling freely now. His love for you was undeniable, but so was the impossible weight of the world he lived in.

“And Lady Evelina?” you asked bitterly. “What about her? She’s being forced into this, too. She deserves someone who loves her.”

“She does,” Matt admitted, his shoulders slumping slightly. “But that person won’t be me. I’ll talk to her. I’ll tell her the truth.“ he says.

“And what if she wants you to be that person?” The question hung in the air like a dark cloud, the unspoken reality neither of you wanted to face.

Matt’s hands tightened around yours once more, his grip almost desperate. “Then I’ll find another way,” he said firmly. “I’ll talk to my parents, the council — whoever I need to. There has to be another way.” his voice was almost a plea now — the once storm was still there, but muffled now.

“Matt…” Your voice was barely a whisper. ��Sometimes there isn’t.”

He pulled you into his arms suddenly, holding you so tightly it was as if he thought you might disappear. His chin rested on the top of your head, and you could feel his chest rising and falling against you.

“I won’t lose you,” he murmured, his voice steady despite the tears you could hear in it. “No matter what it takes, I won’t lose you.”

You closed your eyes, letting yourself sink into his embrace for what you feared might be the last time. “I love you, Matt,” you whispered. “But this… it’s bigger than us. You can’t fix this.”

“Yes, I can,” he said softly, but there was a crack in his voice that betrayed his own doubt. “I have to.”

For a moment, the world outside didn’t exist. There was no Lady Evelina, no arranged marriage, no impossible expectations. There was only Matt, his arms around you, and the love you both felt but couldn’t hold onto.

But reality had a way of creeping back in. And as you pulled away, the weight of what lay ahead settled heavily in your chest.

“Promise me something,” you said, your voice trembling.

“Anything,” he said without hesitation.

“Promise me you won’t lose yourself in this fight,” you whispered. “No matter what happens, no matter what you have to do — don’t lose the part of you that I fell in love with.”

He cupped your face, his thumbs brushing away the tears that streaked your cheeks. “I won’t,” he said softly, his voice steady now. “But I can’t promise that I won’t fight for you. Because I will. Until my last breath.”

a/n : holy shit balls y’all. i have been thinking about this for so long and now i have finally, FINALLY, written the first part. i’m not sure how many parts there will be after this or what direction it’ll go in, i’m just building as i go. BUT — i hope you all enjoy this first part 😛

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adidastain · 1 year ago

Text

just you and me

90s matt stone x fem reader

warnings: implied smut, alcohol use

notes: first person perspective (I, me, my, etc.)

word count: 2217

—

“Oh, Trey! Ah!”

I looked over at the man sitting next to me. He was pinching his nose bridge, groaning slightly.

A laugh escaped through my nose as the sound of steady thumping filled the room. My friend and I were over at her boyfriend’s house to watch football, and she sort of ditched the living room with her boyfriend to go fuck upstairs. Now I was left alone with Trey’s roommate, Matt, who seemed just as awkward as me.

My friend practically screamed, before I could hear Trey shushing her. I shook my head and Matt took his glasses off to run his palms over his face.

“Jesus Christ,” he exhaled, laughing slightly. I giggled and stood up to make my way towards the kitchen.

“You want a beer?” I asked, rummaging through their refrigerator.

“No thanks,” he huffed, standing up as well.

Matt joined me in the kitchen to toss an empty beer can in the recycling. Their kitchen was quite small, so he sort of had to shimmy past me and I swear I felt our hips brush together.

“Can you hand me that cheese?” he said.

The only cheese I could see in the fridge was a little bag of shredded cheese, labeled “Four-Cheese Mexican Blend.”

I watched him as he poured a pile of chips onto a plate, before sprinkling cheese on top and throwing it all in the microwave.

“Did you see me on Master Chef last season?” he asked, grinning. Thumping continued steadily upstairs.

“I knew you looked familiar,” I said, playing along with his joke. Matt giggled and looked down at his feet, shuffling in his position.

I watched him nibble at his fingernails as silence filled the room. He seemed so shy all the sudden; I guess that was just from the fact that we didn’t really know each other and only just met a few hours ago.

My friend had told me about him a couple times and suggested I go out with him. I think she just wanted someone to go on double dates with. It sounded pretty ridiculous, but I guess after actually meeting him I’d maybe feel better about it.

He seemed like the funny type; I could tell he and Trey were practically inseparable. They were perfect for each other. But Trey was loud, and Matt definitely wasn’t.

“It’s been five minutes now,” Matt said, looking at his watch.

“They usually go for about twenty,” I added. “Supposedly.”

Matt laughed softly. He had a cute laugh, sort of. The gap between his front teeth really did a lot for him as far as charm went.

Suddenly, the microwave beeped and he presented his award-winning dish to me. The cheese melted into one big glob that bound a bunch of chips together as well.

“Nachos,” Matt beamed.

I giggled and rolled my eyes slightly. This guy was a total dork. My friend did tell me it was time I gave dorky guys a chance, since all three of my previous boyfriends were either jocks or models. But they all sucked, so maybe she was right.

Matt picked apart the glob of chips and cheese, snacking idly. He never went back to the couch though, so long as I was still in the kitchen. I could hear Trey groaning loudly above us, while my friend whimpered and moaned with each thud.

“Great game, huh?” I asked, breaking the silence so we wouldn’t have to listen to our friends having sex for the next, who knows how many minutes.

“Yeah,” Matt said. “The uh, Ravens are really kicking ass tonight.”

He somehow kept a straight face. I guess I was a little buzzed and delirious after having one beer, but to be honest, anything was funnier than listening to people fuck.

“I don’t know anything about football,” I admitted, picking at my fingernails.

“Me neither,” he snorted. “I like basketball. And hockey.”

“Hockey’s cool,” I agreed.

Silence again. Except for the thumping and creaking and moaning.

“Oh my God,” I whispered, gripping my face with my hands. I ran my fingers through my hair, leaning forward to sort of curl up like a shrimp.

“They always do this when she’s over,” Matt sighed, his voice hushed. “Wouldn’t you think, y’know… maybe they’d get bored of it?”

I threw my hands up. “Exactly!” I huffed.

“I guess I can’t really say anything, though,” he mumbled.

“Why not?” I asked, rubbing my forehead.

Matt bit his lip, staring down at his feet. “I wouldn’t turn down getting laid.”

“Well, duh,” I snorted. “But would you ditch your friend to have sex? At a stranger’s house?”

Matt shook his head.

“Exactly,” I whined.

“If you wanna leave, I can drive you home or something-“ Matt offered.

I shook my head. “It’s fine. They’ll be done soon. Hopefully.”

“Okay,” he laughed.

I sighed again, letting my gaze linger on him for a few seconds. I studied the way the fabric of his shirt hung from his shoulders, which were slightly slanted and very broad. The fabric caught on his collarbone and clung to the muscles in his chest, which weren’t huge, but still prominent. The rest of his body seemed to drown in the shirt; he looked skinny but his chest and arms were fairly toned.

Matt’s eyes caught mine and I actually blushed. He simply smiled like a dork. He really was quite cute…

That’s when I got my brilliant idea.

“Wanna make out?” I asked, taking a step towards him.

Matt’s eyes widened and he snorted. His body shifted to the side, shoulders shrugging as he stepped closer. “Sure.”

I bit my lip and carefully grabbed his hands, letting my body naturally gravitate towards his while I stared into his eyes. I could see now that he had dark green irises behind those big glasses.

Before I knew it, his lips met mine in a very gentle, ghostlike peck as he tested the waters. Matt reached up to caress my neck; his hands felt absolutely colossal in comparison to my slim frame. They were warm too.

I was shocked at how gentle he was being. We kissed so carefully, barely grazing each other’s lips and taking our time.

However, after moving my hands from his arms to his waist, I pulled him closer by the hips and stood on my tiptoes, attempting to deepen our kiss and build more passion between us. I wanted to feel his desire and see just how good he was at this.

It was then that Matt started holding his breath. As I kissed him deeper and opened my mouth slightly, I could feel his muscles tense up and he became hesitant to move. It seemed he focused most of his attention on moving his mouth in time with mine, strangled exhales escaping his lips every few seconds when we’d pull away in between kisses.

My hand slid up his torso to caress his face as I leaned back and looked into his eyes. His face was slightly pink and his lips were parted.

“You’re a pretty good kisser,” I smiled, glancing at his soft, warm lips.

Matt grinned, tooth gap on full display. “Not so bad yourself,” he said softly.

I let my hands fall to squeeze his biceps. “But you’re all tense,” I told him.

“Am I not allowed to be a little nervous?” he laughed sheepishly. “I barely know you.”

“Aw, you’re nervous,” I whispered. I kissed him again. “How sweet.”

“Yeah, kinda,” he said defensively. “You’re pretty.”

I hummed, pulling him back in to shut him up. This time I backed up so that the counter was digging into my hips and he could press his body against mine as hard as he could.

Matt grunted, before briefly pulling away. “Is it cool if I put my hand here?” he asked, placing his warm hand carefully on my waist.

I nodded, sliding my arms around his long neck to pull him back in. Once Matt had a good hold on my torso, I could feel a warm, tingly sort of sensation deep in the pit of my stomach. I could still hear thudding from above and I thought about quickly fucking this dork in the kitchen before they were finished upstairs. The thought was quickly pushed away, however.

“Mm… this feels dangerous,” he mumbled in between kisses. I could feel his lips curl into a smirk against my lips as he spoke, his warm hands massaging my waist.

“What do you mean?” I asked, panting softly.

“I might have a thing for you after this,” he exhaled. “You’re so good…”

I swear I didn’t mean to, but I let out a very soft, barely audible moan as he said this to me. The last thing I expected was for him to talk like that, but it kind of drove me crazy.

Fuck.

Matt pulled away and looked me in the eyes, seemingly flabbergasted by the sound I made. The eye contact was so intense. My heart was pounding in my chest, even faster than the thudding from upstairs.

Between the few seconds we spent staring at each other, Matt leaned closer and closer, letting his forehead rest against mine. It was oddly intimate, but I honestly loved it. Something about the fact that he was practically a complete stranger to me, yet still able to make me feel so flustered and anxious but comfortable at the same time, drew me closer to him. I felt need, like if I didn’t have him now, I’d never have him again.

I can’t believe I proved my friend right again.

But I couldn’t. I couldn’t do it. I can’t hook up with this guy here. Not right now. I felt insane for even thinking about it. I felt reckless.

My fingertip grazed over his lip, before leaning in to kiss him again, softly. I kissed him like I needed it to breathe, but not so much that I would die without it. Like I was kissing him just to kiss him. Taking time to breathe in between each kiss, letting my lips linger for a few seconds. The kind of kiss you’d share after having sex, when you’re exhausted and trying to catch your breath.

Eventually, we heard a loud, high-pitched whine echo from upstairs. We pulled away, giggling softly as the two lovebirds were seemingly finished doing their deed. Sadly, this meant my time with Matt was spent and I’d have to wait until our next meeting to do anything else.

“Hey,” he whispered, lifting my chin up so I’d look him in the eyes. “We should hang out sometime. Just you and me.”

I raised my eyebrows, laying my palms flat against his broad chest. “What would we do?” I teased, knowing damn well exactly what he had in mind.

“I dunno,” he giggled. “We’ll see how it goes.”

I couldn’t help but roll my eyes. Even if he was a sweet, dorky guy, he was still a guy. But who am I to judge? I almost tried to fuck him on his kitchen counter a few minutes prior.

“Okay,” I laughed.

Matt kissed me again, this time caressing my throat as he opened his mouth and licked my lips. I gasped and practically froze, immediately accepting the gesture by parting my lips and letting my tongue slide against his.

He tasted like tequila and the feeling of his hot, wet tongue against mine was absolutely intoxicating.

Unfortunately, after a minute or so, we heard footsteps coming down the stairs, and Matt let go of me. His warmth left with him and I felt cold as his body moved away. Aside from that, my face was on fire as my heart was racing and my lips still tasted like him.

Trey came downstairs alone, face probably just as flushed as mine and Matt’s. He let out a breathy “Hey,” before reaching inside the fridge to grab a cold beer. Matt and I responded in sync and I only felt my face grow warmer.

“Oh shit, Ravens are kicking ass. Sweet,” Trey said as he left the kitchen. I looked at Matt, who was biting his lip to stifle a laugh.

Eventually, my friend came back downstairs and we all gathered in the living room once again. Her and Trey were glued to each other of course, but instead of Matt and I sitting on opposite ends of the couch, I managed to squeeze in between him and the armrest.

Inevitably, my friend gave me that look, and I gave her the look. No words were said and none were needed. I couldn’t help but smile slightly, crossing my arms as I let my body ever so slightly lean towards Matt’s.

“When does hockey season start?” I whispered to him.

“It’s still going, I think,” he said quietly, looking down at me.

“Good,” I hummed, looking back towards the TV. Matt scoffed and I could feel him staring at me for a few seconds.

As the night went on and more drinks went around, my friend decided to sleep over with Trey, so Matt drove me home. Which was perfectly fine, because he ended up spending the night with me too. Though, to be honest, we spent very little time sleeping.

#i love dorky flirty matt #matt stone #fanfiction #fluff #x reader #baseketball #cannibal the musical #fem reader #mattrey #smut #matt stone x reader #trey parker #orgazmo

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aishnico · 2 years ago

Text

#𝙀𝘿𝘿𝙄𝙀 𝙑𝙀𝘿𝘿𝙀𝙍: 𝘨𝘳𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘴𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘭

» summary: one day, you told your daughter how you got that green seashell inside your locket

» word count: 2.2k

» warnings: major fluff to angst (I SWEAR YOU WON’T REGRET READING PT 2)

» inspired by sarah jio’s always novel.

» part 2

it was a sunny afternoon. you were drinking your ginger tea and watching your daughter drawing a big, blue castle which she was inspired by a cartoon she watched this morning. you were feeling peaceful. waiting for your husband to come back from the bazaar.

"ta-daa!" she cheered at you while showing you her picture. you smiled and praised her for her work. then took it into your hands. she added sun, sea, and seashells inside the sea. they were in different colours. when you saw a green one, you couldn't help but caress your locket.

"do you wanna know what's inside there?"

she nodded quickly and you took off it from your neck and put it on the table, then opened the locket. she couldn't help but loudly gasp when she saw the green seashell inside of it.

"wow! that looks really beautiful and unique, mommy, where did you find it?!"

you couldn't help but smirk when she asked you this. "i didn't, someone else found and gifted it to me."

"then you must be really important to them, i mean look at that, not everyone gifts something like that!"

you smiled at her, "yeah, guess who did?"

she thought a couple of seconds and gasped again suddenly. "daddy?!" you smiled and nodded. "do you wanna know the story behind it?" she nodded again quickly. then you start to look from the window and you saw a beach where things have started.

— 1984

it was a sunny afternoon in chicago. there were a couple of weeks before the start of your college, in seattle. so before moving there, you decided to spend your last weeks with your family. and here you were, collecting seashells with your little brother on the beach. you got tired after kneeling up and down every few seconds under the sun. you then frowned "why are you collecting these so much, what are you gonna do with them anyway?"

"i'm gonna make a huge castle from them with clay!" he didn't mind your indifference. you rolled your eyes and looked at the rough and light blue coloured sea. there were a lot of people on the beach, but not a big amount of them were swimming. some people were surfing too. you were fascinated by them, especially by a man who had a medium height and brunette hair with blue eyes.

"look!" he suddenly shouted at you. "it has a hole in it, i can make it into a necklace! can you put it in a safe place, please?" you sighed and nodded to his request and after taking it from him, you went to your sunbed. you put the seashell inside the bag and you certainly didn't expect to see that man you were fascinated by.

"hello!" he said nervously. you smiled at him too. "hi."

"i am, uh... saw how you were collecting seashells and when i saw it, i thought you may like it." he approached you and opened his palm, showing what was inside. you loudly gasped when you saw it. it was a green seashell.

"oh my god i... i don't know what to say... it looks so unreal, are you sure you want to gift me this?" he nodded and you slowly took it from him. you couldn't help but ask "why are you giving this to a stranger?"

"i, i don't wanna sound cheesy but, a beautiful seashell for a beautiful lady, I guess..." you chuckled at his nervousness and looked down. "well, thank you then." you looked at him again and sat down to sunbed. patting your next so he could sit next to you. he sat and you looked at his ocean eyes.

"i've never seen you here before until today. i saw how you were surfing. you do this for a long time, don't you?"

"i came here from san diego a few days ago. and yeah, i've been surfing since 12."

"then welcome! i hope you'll like it here. i'm [name] by the way." you cheered. he smiled at you. "and i'm eddie."

you were talking about your interests until your brother stood before you, put his hands around his waist and looked at you furiously. "are you done with flirting with your boyfriend? because we still have to fill at least 2 bottles!"

your and his cheeks got flushed. you coughed. "he's not my boyfriend." "whatever..." your brother put his full bottle of seashells inside the bag and gave you a bottle. "would you like to help us?" he asked to eddie. he then smiled at him and agreed on it.

you still continued talking about your interests and then about random things. you discovered that he has the same music taste you have. and he was more open to you now. at the time, you realized your brother was far ahead of you. maybe because you were busy talking.

after finishing filling the bottles, your brother thanked eddie sincerely and went swimming. you wanted to join him but you stopped when you saw eddie not moving.

"hey, did something happen?" you asked.

"uh, yes actually. i remembered i gotta go." he gave you an apologetic smile. "will I see you again?" he asked and you nodded. "then will i see you, tonight?" you chuckled and nodded again. after agreeing on which place and in which time you should meet he rushed. "bye, [name]!"

"bye, eddie!"

after you and your brother came back home, even though you were tired, you still helped your mother with cooking. at the table, he was talking about the sea and how beautiful seashells with little holes he found. and of course, he talked about eddie. about how nice and helpful he was. he was smirking at you and you just hit his leg slightly under the table.

it was almost eight, you wore a blue sundress with matching flat shoes. of course, your little brother wished you luck on your date.

you went to the bar where you two agreed to meet. you saw him and waved at him. he was wearing a 'the who' shirt with black shorts. you greeted each other and entered the bar. he was a gentleman to buy you a drink. you thanked him and then sat close to the stage. you didn't understand why, but he looked nervous. so you started a conversation about a random thing. the conversation led to where he was talking about the first time he tried surfing excitedly. you realized that you were smiling at him since he started to talk.

a couple of guys entered the stage and started to play light my fire by the doors. your mouth got open "i love this song!" he smiled at you. "would you like to dance to this song with me then?" you nodded and he got up and gave you his hand. you gave yours to him and he led you close to the stage.

you could feel everyone's gaze at you two. but you didn't care. not when you were feeling excited. you two took a step forward and bowed. you circled each other, your gaze remained locked. he placed his hand on your back, you placed yours on his shoulder and your free hands met. your feet in perfect sync together. as the song progressed, you felt more relaxed and gave him a heartwarming smile of yours. he blushed slightly.

when the song ended, he wanted to walk home with you. you agreed and led him the way. there was a comfortable silence between you. maybe because there were thoughts from this night inside your heads. after about twenty minutes, you were outside your house.

"thank you for walking with me." you said while smiling. he smiled too "it's nothing, just wanted you to be safe.”

you didn't say anything to each other for a couple of seconds. when you looked at your window, you saw your little brother waving at you. you rolled your eyes.

"well, thank you for the night, then. i had a good time. good night." you said to him and before you went the door, he called you.

"wait, [name]!" you turned to him. "i... i had a good time with you too. and, and i wanna repeat this. i want to spend time with you again."

you chuckled. "are you asking me out?" he nodded shyly. and you just kissed his flushed cheek. "i would love that." and after you gave him your phone number and wished good night to each other, you entered your house.

"i liked him from the moment he agreed to help us. he looks nice to be my brother-in-law." your brother smirked at you. but you weren't paying attention to him. you were carefully caressing your green seashell. and you decided to carry it everywhere. you put it inside your locket and wore it. wondering about your next date.

three weeks passed since you met with eddie. you would see each other three or four times a week. some days you would go to new places that he hasn't ever been there, going on late-night drives or chilling at the bar where your first date was.

there were days that you two would hang out with your brother. some days, you would take him to the theme park, bowling saloon, arcade bar, or eddie just trying to teach him how to surf. your heart would melt when you would see them together. he really liked eddie, also your parents.

but sadly, it was your final day in chicago. you had to go back to the rainy city. you wish you would go to college in chicago. you would be with your family, and with eddie.

he knew this was your last day. so you agreed on meeting at the beach where you two met. it was evening, and not many people were at the beach compared to the afternoon. you two sat down on the sand, watching waves lap up against the shore softly.

"i wish i could meet you earlier." you said while smiling sadly.

"yeah, i wish i dared to meet you earlier. i've been seeing you on the beach with your brother before we met."

"but, this is not the end of the world, right? i'm planning to come here in the summer. we can see each other."

he nodded but you felt something hidden in his facial expression. "eddie, if there's something on your mind, you can just tell me." he gulped and turned his head to you. "what i am to you, [name]? just your summer love for a few weeks?"

your eyes widen at his question. you didn't know what to say. no, you had actually. but you didn't know how to put them in words.

"the first time i saw you, you were looking fascinated. i couldn't help but stare at you at that moment. i thought i just liked your appearance, but no. i still wonder how i managed to ask you out. the more time i've spent with you, the more i've fallen in love with you. i love you, [name]." he said while looking at you sincerely. he said these three words for the first time.

you smiled, grabbed his hands and held them. "i, i love you too, eddie. you're not just a summer love to me. trust me, you're more than that. i believe we still can communicate. i don't wanna lose connection with you. you will be always in here." you pointed with your index finger to your locket. he chuckled and his cheeks flushed.

the sun was almost setting. you knew you gotta go. you looked at him with apology.

"before you go, i wanna do something. i wanted to do this after our first day." he got close to your face, your noses touching. "can i?" he asked and you nodded happily. he then connected your lips with a passion. it started slow at first but got heated after. he was kissing you like no tomorrow and you were trying to catch up with him. you saw his eyes got watered and you wiped away them. after seconds, he pulled away and connected your foreheads.

"i love you. don't ever forget that." you whispered.

"i love you too, and i won't forget that."

you squeezed his hands for the last time and started to walk home, crying silently.

your family moved to michigan due to your father's work after your start at college. it was a surprise for you. but you could do nothing about it. and eddie never called you again. you got frustrated and hurt because of it. wasn't he telling you that he was in love with you? maybe he thought it wouldn't work or the thing between us should just stay as a summer love.

then you wanted to hit yourself. because you realized you never give him your number, you gave your house's. and when your family moved, they changed it. when the semester finished, you first went to chicago to look for him. but you couldn't find him. then you learnt that he moved to southern california. you cried, even though you spent a little bit of time with him, you were still madly in love with him. and you never stopped loving him.

#pearl jam #pearl jam x reader #eddie vedder #eddie vedder x reader #pearl jam fanfiction #pearl jam fluff #pearl jam angst #eddie vedder fluff #eddie vedder angst #grunge #grunge x reader #stone gossard #jeff ament #mike mccready #chris cornell #matt cameron #soundgarden #mother love bone #90s

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broidobe · 4 months ago

Text

80s-90s rock masterlist ౨ৎ

౨ৎ here you'll find all of the 80s-90s bands i've written for UNLESS they have their own masterlist!

౨ৎ bands in this masterlist so far (it's always expanding): the cure, nirvana, aerosmith, pantera, ozzy osbourne (his band), poison, cinderella, type o negative, extreme, pearl jam, alice in chains, billy idol, danzig, soundgarden, kiss, def leppard, bon jovi, ramones, la guns, ac/dc, slayer, van halen, warrant, nine inch nails, queen, hole, faith no more, jeff buckley

౨ৎ smut= ❦ fluff= 𖤐 angst= 𓉸

𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓬𝓾𝓻𝓮

robert

𓋹 dating robert smith would include

𝓷𝓲𝓻𝓿𝓪𝓷𝓪

kurt

𓋹 dating kurt cobain would include

𓋹 safe place 𖤐

𓋹 worshipped ❦ 𖤐

𝓪𝓮𝓻𝓸𝓼𝓶𝓲𝓽𝓱

joe

𓋹 doctor 𖤐

𓋹 clink 𖤐

𝓹𝓪𝓷𝓽𝓮𝓻𝓪

dimebag

𓋹 dating dimebag darrell would include

phil

𓋹 phil anselmo with a quiet reader

𓋹 unrelenting ❦

𝓸𝔃𝔃𝔂 𝓸𝓼𝓫𝓸𝓾𝓻𝓷𝓮

zakk

𓋹 dating zakk wylde would include

𓋹 zakk wylde nsfw headcannons

𓋹 quiet afternoon 𖤐

𓋹 blush ❦

𝓹𝓸𝓲𝓼𝓸𝓷

bret

𓋹 dating bret michaels would include

𓋹 bret michaels nsfw headcannons

𝓬𝓲𝓷𝓭𝓮𝓻𝓮𝓵𝓵𝓪

tom

𓋹 tom keifer nsfw headcannons

𓋹 cozy evening 𖤐

𓋹 every little piece 𖤐

𓋹 too much for you ❦

𓋹 still gasping (pt. 2 of too much for you) ❦

𓋹 never meant 𖤐

𓋹 joyride (feat. axl) ❦

𓋹 wretched tide 𓉸

𝓽𝔂𝓹𝓮 𝓸 𝓷𝓮𝓰𝓪𝓽𝓲𝓿𝓮

peter

𓋹 being married to peter steele would include

𓋹 peter steele dating a younger reader would include

𓋹 colossal ❦

josh

𓋹 dating josh silver would include

𓋹 shake the weight 𖤐

𓋹 signed up for ❦

𝓮𝔁𝓽𝓻𝓮𝓶𝓮

nuno

𓋹 dating nuno bettencourt would include

𝓹𝓮𝓪𝓻𝓵 𝓳𝓪𝓶

stone

𓋹 dating stone gossard would include

𓋹 you're quiet ❦

𓋹 beneath the static 𓉸 ❦

eddie

𓋹 dating eddie vedder would include

𓋹 in the mountains 𖤐

matt

𓋹 no direction 𖤐

𝓪𝓵𝓲𝓬𝓮 𝓲𝓷 𝓬𝓱𝓪𝓲𝓷𝓼

sean

𓋹 dating sean kinney would include

𓋹 sean kinney nsfw headcannons

𓋹 sean kinney nsfw alphabet

𓋹 drummer and a savings bond 𖤐 ❦

𓋹 the whole damn thing 𖤐 𓉸

𓋹 orbiting 𓉸

jerry

𓋹 jerry cantrell nsfw headcannons

𓋹 start of a song 𖤐

𓋹 stale smoke 𓉸 𖤐

layne

𓋹 lazy, dangerous ❦

𓋹 crawling in the dark 𓉸 𖤐

𝓼𝓸𝓵𝓸 𝓪𝓻𝓽𝓲𝓼𝓽𝓼

billy

𓋹 chanel ❦

𝓭𝓪𝓷𝔃𝓲𝓰

john

𓋹 dating john christ would include

𓋹 incense ❦

𝓼𝓸𝓾𝓷𝓭𝓰𝓪𝓻𝓭𝓮𝓷

chris

𓋹 dating chris cornell would include

𓋹 chris cornell nsfw headcannons

𓋹 chris cornell and the softness only you see

𝓴𝓲𝓼𝓼

eric

𓋹 asylum 𖤐 ❦ (very light smut/barely any lol. it's more spice)

𓋹 strutter 𖤐 ❦

ace

𓋹 starry-eyed ❦

𝓭𝓮𝓯 𝓵𝓮𝓹𝓹𝓪𝓻𝓭

rick savage

𓋹 only you 𓉸 𖤐

joe

𓋹 dating joe elliot could include

rick allen

𓋹 ghosted ❦

𝓫𝓸𝓷 𝓳𝓸𝓿𝓲

richie

𓋹 dating richie sambora would include

𓋹 richie sambora nsfw headcannons

jon

𓋹 wicked love ❦ 𖤐

𓋹 the watcher (feat. axl) ❦

𝓻𝓪𝓶𝓸𝓷𝓮𝓼

dee dee

𓋹 dating dee dee ramone would include

joey

𓋹 how deep is your love? ❦ 𖤐

𓋹 fucking dump ❦ 𖤐 𓉸

𝓵𝓪 𝓰𝓾𝓷𝓼

kelly

𓋹 dating kelly nickels would include

𝓪𝓬𝓭𝓬

the whole band

𓋹 how you met the members of ac/dc

𝓼𝓵𝓪𝔂𝓮𝓻

jeff

𓋹 dating jeff hanneman would include

𝓿𝓪𝓷 𝓱𝓪𝓵𝓮𝓷

sammy

𓋹 shy type ❦

david

𓋹 milk and honey ❦

𝔀𝓪𝓻𝓻𝓪𝓷𝓽

jani

𓋹 dating jani lane would include

𝓷𝓲𝓷𝓮 𝓲𝓷𝓬𝓱 𝓷𝓪𝓲𝓵𝓼

trent

𓋹 hushed devotion ❦

𝓺𝓾𝓮𝓮𝓷

brian

𓋹 brian may nsfw alphabet

𝓱𝓸𝓵𝓮

courtney

𓋹 malibu 𓉸 𖤐

𝓯𝓪𝓲𝓽𝓱 𝓷𝓸 𝓶𝓸𝓻𝓮

mike

𓋹 lonely drinker 𖤐 ❦ (spice)

𝓳𝓮𝓯𝓯 𝓫𝓾𝓬𝓴𝓵𝓮𝔂

jeff

𓋹 jeff buckley dating headcannons

#masterlist

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thesweetestapplepie · 1 month ago

Text

‘his favorite’

WC: 3.5k i think.

tags: fluff! pure fluff! semi reverse comfort?

These days, Arthur Morgan would be lucky to get a break to hunt. It isn’t usually like this, but the recent events, transitioning from Clemen’s Point to Shady’s Belle, Arthur was run dry of any energy to even clean the sweat off his own brow. Day’s began to fade together, the beating hooves against the ground bleeding into his mind as he rode countless miles, all to rob, steal, cheat people of their hard earnings and savings. Honest people or low life criminals only just as fickle as him, they all became nothing but dirt below leather boots if they stood between Arthur and his obligations. He wouldn’t even mind the burning of the sun against his neck, or the way his lower back ached like rotting wood everytime he got off his horse, if it wasn’t for the entire damn gang squawking down his throat for help. For missions. For goods. For money. Strauss was the worst offender, barely moved in and he’s already got new poor and fickle folk to pick on. Alas, even as their squandering and squabbling left him bled of thrill and sensation, today, he rode with an urgent, feverish pace around the outskirts of Valentine, his white Arabian making a haste gallop towards the cabins that speckled the north end of the town. Despite the venom spat in his ears by Strauss and Dutch for money and some worthless gold, his mind was only adamant on thinking about you.

His horse rode at a steady pace as he peaked the dirt path that led him straight to the familiar sight of the dark oak cabin. His hands patted his thigh for a second, as if making sure he was still in tact, before dismounting the saddle and walking up the creaking wooden panels to your front door, decorated with potted flowers and a new matt that wasn’t there before. The sky was swallowed in darkness for night to come and take its shift, the moon the only constant beacon in the sky beside the speckles of white scattered across the blindingly gorgeous canvas. This beautiful night left a tiny sense of dread in Arthur at the prospect of you not being awake, so he knocks his fist a gentle pound. He took his hat off just as quickly at the sound of the doorknob rattling.

“Arthur–” You were slightly taken aback by the intrusion so deep into the night, the soft creases under your eyes suggesting you were asleep moments ago. If Arthur had to describe the feeling he gets whenever he sees you, he would describe it as love at first sight every time he sees that glimmer in your eyes. His expression softens, the tense furrow between his brow dropping at the sight. You were in your nightgown, the material soft and delicate with your hair pulled back and slick as if you had just taken a bath. The smell of soap and delicate petals off of lavender suggests it as well, and Arthur couldn’t help but take a larger inhale of the scent, though a bit like a guilty dog. You glowed in the soft candlelight of your kitchen, illuminating like an angel basking from heaven's light. It caused his breath to hitch in the back of his throat.

“Ain’t you a sight for sore eyes.” His voice was gruff on the brink of his exhaustion, feet acting on their own as he took a step forward. He placed his hat back atop his head as his feet carried him forward. Though he knew you wouldn’t mind, sweet thing would always allow him inside with open arms. And you did again. Without hesitation, throw your arms around his neck, tugging down the absolute hulking stone wall of a man and pressing your lips against the tender wrinkled flesh of his neck.

“Arthur.” Your voice drops sinfully and it's enough to make his knees buckle, like an angel with the tongue as silver as the edge of a blade. If Arthur had to choose a single word to describe how he felt about you, it would be ‘desire.’ ‘Need.’ An instilled need hardwired into instinct, flesh and blood that led his horse to your cabin everytime the world stopped long enough for him to escape. His large arms wrap around your back, right hand on the back of your head as he cradles you softly against his neck, the ache in his back dissipated.

“Look at you, handsome as the day you left.” As if you knew he needed the praise, you feel him release some of his weight onto your figure. The beautiful woman you are, you hold him upright and he feels a pang of guilt in his chest for your pure goodness that seemed to exude from your being everywhere you went.

“You ain’t gotta flatter me jus’ cause I’m paying a visit.” He lets you help him to the table, pulling one of your chairs along the scratching wood floors as he sits down. “Long overdue one at that.” He grumbles almost guiltily. As you stride towards him, he feels the haze of fatigue linger before dropping entirely. His throat felt dry as you stood in front of him, his knees brushing against your thighs as you stood in between his legs. He smelled like the outdoors, like the wet stone of a pond or the bark off of a tree. You reach up to brush a hand against his face and it sends a pang of affection blossoming in his chest.

“Can’t I admire you after you've been gone for so long?” You pluck his black, tattered hat from his head, hand ruffling his matted and coarse locks. Your eyes trace the scar above his eyebrow, the deepened eye bags under his sockets and the new scarring on his knuckles. “Good lord, what on earth have you been doing?”

“I missed you, sweet girl.” His voice drops and his eyes flicker to meet yours. Soft turquoise gaze soaking in your presence, like a dog basking in the sweet bliss of the morning sun. He didn’t deserve the way you looked after him, his hand coming to press your palm flat against his cheek, contradicting his own inner conflict. This walking folk tale, the brutal enforcer of the west was now exhausted, vulnerable to the soft palms of your hands and the mercy of your affection.

“I missed you, too, Arthur.” You announced his name deliberately. His left hand wrapped around your thigh, fingers calloused and rough as he brings you closer. “But— don’t deflect, cowboy, what have you been doing out n’ about?” He turns his face to kiss your palms, his stubble scratching against the soft planes. His lips trail to your wrist, and he’s either trying to apologize for being away for so long, or he really missed you this badly. “You look tired.”

“Oh, so tired, baby. ‘M sorry if I ain’t my usual self.” He spoke in between kisses, lips brushing against the curve of your wrist once more before placing your hand back against his cheek. “We moved camps again, damn bounty hunters sniffing us out like bloodthirsty wolves..” There was an edge of paranoia to his words and bitter irony as he let out a sharp exhale from his nose. “They.. They got Sean.. Foolish kid.. Damn bastards…” His words began to trail with an edge of affliction to them. An edge of pain that only flickered in the icy cool pools of his eyes momentarily.

“Oh Arthur—.” You never met Sean more than once, he had popped into the Valentine saloon every now and then when you worked. But it didn’t dull the tightening in your chest. “He ain’t suffer, I hope. Just a kid..” Your voice drops apologetically and he chases your touch, leaning into your palm.

“No use in worrying about it now, what happened happened. Buried the poor bastard somewhere nice as a parting gift.” Despite the rough rumble in his voice, his eyes mellowed in thinly veiled grief. He knew he was transparent to your doubt, your thumb brushing over the wrinkled planes under his eyes, a small smile on your lips as you looked down at him. So beautiful. Kind. Like if an angel had the misinformed request of walking as a human for their life, and came to bless him despite the many atrocities and sins he had committed. Yet, basking in your altar he was nothing but a saint. “Found you something.” He breaks his gaze for just a moment, fishing something from his satchel.

Pulled from the leather folds of his bag, a pretty decently sized leatherback novel, red cover with orange stitching running along its sides.

“No–” Your voice drops dramatically and hyperbolically in disbelief.

“Yup–found it while cleaning out them empty homesteads by Rhodes.” His voice held an air of pride to it. It only immortalizes in his heart as he watches you brush your fingers over the neat, delicate cover. Perfect condition. “Something for you to practice that reading of yours.” He beckons your eyes back to him, finger hooking under your chin as he brings your sights closed in on his. There was a soft husk hum to his words, like they melted into one another as he took the time to digest your features, thumb brushing against your bottom lip.

“Mhmm.. How was that? Exploring, that is..” You began to slip into his lap, the subtle shift of your hips letting him know to make room. And he does, without hesitation, spreads his lap. He was tall enough, legs thick enough to support your weight on one thigh as he held you, straddling his leg with your hands tucked around the nape of his neck, lulling his tense shoulders back down. It was normal for this to happen, especially during times the gang kicked up too much dirt. Arthur, with little time to even journal his thoughts, comes back to your cabin with the hopes of making up for lost time. In desperate need to prove himself good, and to prove his love, to feel loved, he slips back to your cabin just when the time is right. Only, they never go as planned. Instead of Arthur coming back to take care of you, you find Arthur coming to you in comfort. His lips brush against your neck gently, but it was affectionate in nature as his butterfly kisses trail your jaw.

“Y’know I ain’t got much to complain about nature.. The constant lent requests I get put on the damn problem.” There was a gruff snarl at the thought, your hand instinctively scratching the back of his neck. “Found ya’ that in this cabin up near Rhodes. A damn bloodbath down there, husband and wife strewn across the house like a goddamn bomb went off.” You couldn’t help but chuckle at the way he described everything, despite the graphic detail his voice was husky, hot breath still fanning your neck as he wrapped his right hand around your hips, holding you in place.

“Oh no–a pack of outlaws robbed them poor bastards before you.” He let out a soft laugh at your comment, his thumbs coming to rub circles into the padding of your hips in feigned annoyance.

“Well okay–not exactly–” He chuckles in between his words and the sound causes your chest to flutter at the prospect of lifting his spirits. “Went round the back and found a woman dead behind the house. Seems she couldn’t handle the man being loyal to his wife after shacking her up. Took herself out after them both.”

“Well ain’t that just silly, what the hell the wife do to her?”

“Reckon nothing but love, darling. Bastards can be real ugly and cruel.”

“I reckon if she would’ve just waited a few more years, she would’ve had a new feller on her arm and forget that slippery eel! All a girls needing was some time and a new warm bed. Sad.” If there was one thing Arthur loved about you, it was the way you spoke. The way you invested yourself so deep into every intricate string of his life, the way you kept him light and airy.

“Is that how women work, now?” His southern drawl dropped playfully at his last syllable as a deep chuckle escapes his breath. “Reckon that’s what you’ll do, once I’m too old and beat.” Despite the playful fervor of his lips, still sending affectionate tickles up your neck, the self deprecation of his words were often stated in thinly veiled truth. He would never admit it, but a part of him says it not only because he believes it, but because he wants you to prove him wrong.

And you do. His eyes catch a glimpse of the silver on your wrist, bracelets he snagged for you months ago, your hands cradle his face once again. Soft padded thumbs brush against his slightly prickled stubble, only this time you pull him from your neck and his breath hitches ever so slightly. In intricate and tender nature, you steal kisses from both of his eyelids, they both close shut on instinct at the hazy touch of your butterfly lips.

“I reckon I’ll drag you out of your bed every morning when you’re old and beat.” The gentle thrum of your fingers against his face and the affectionate beckoning of your voice was enough for his chest to ache with adoration. “You must be a damn fool if you think I’ll let you get away from me just because you get a few new scars and wrinkles.”

“Oh, a hopeless fool, sweetheart.” His voice dropped pitifully at the last syllable. The exhaustion in him has no time for witty banter, no incentive to be crass or teasing. He simply longed for you. In his words, in his actions. His hands, calloused and rough, caress gentle circles into the soft flesh, head coming back down to kiss at your collarbone. “You reckon you’ll still kiss me like this in those mornings, too?” Arthur asked, almost hopeful as if your answer could be anything other than yes.

“I’d kiss you when we're old and breathless, Arthur.” That painful blue gaze returned back to you, this time big, his eyebrows furrowed up with desperation of your affection. “No matter how many moons pass, I was born for loving you.”

Arthur Morgan would never let himself cry on most occasions. He barely liked it when you would see him cry. But on tender nights like these, he lets his head fall back to your shoulder, the words you say lapping back at his mind. And you feel him let out a shaky exhale, his grip on your hips and waist tighten.

“Don’t think I’ve ever met a woman as good as you.” And he declares it with a slight shaky breath. Because this exhausted, emotionally bottled and short tempered outlaw found you to be such a good woman. The best. His favorite girl in the world.

#arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x you #arthur morgan x female reader #red dead redemption 2 #arthur morgan #arthur rdr2 #rdr2 #rdr2 arthur #red dead fandom #red dead redemption arthur

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