#Car Foot Mat | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

rainrot4me · 2 months

Text

Let Me Hear You

Summary: Walking the same path every day while listening to music is your routine. Humming along, Masky makes it his routine to follow you. Until you wander somewhere you shouldn’t…

Characters: Masky x Female Reader

SMUT WARNING MINORS DNI

TW: Stalking, following, non-con, fingering, forceful, vaginal, fucking against a tree, Masky's nasty, taking advantage, uncontrollable, struggling, you don't give consent/Masky just takes what he wants, choking

Words: 4.2k

You walked this path every day.

After every shift of work, every weekend, rain or shine you would slip your shoes on and take that dirt path through the woods. The path used to be an old horse trail used by the previous owners of the land, the dirt dry and matted down for miles. The forest surrounding the path was dense, sunlight rarely slipping through the leaves overhead and giving the lush area a nice, shaded feel. The area was thriving, nature untouched besides your constant walks, but you never dared press off the path out of fear of getting lost. Although the dirt made a giant winding loop back to your home, what lay in the middle made you too nervous to find out.

You could usually complete your walk in under two hours, making your way back to the treeline connected to your backyard and safely back into your house. It was routine, so of course, when you got home from work well past nine PM, you slipped out of your uniform and into athletic clothes and a hoodie. Sliding your screen door open, you flicked your flashlight on, the moon hiding behind dense clouds and offering little light. But this was your comfort, if you didn’t have anything else, at least you would have these two hours to debrief and get at least some exercise in. Despite the cool summer air, you pressed through your ward and to the well-worn path you knew, disappearing into the trees.

What you didn’t know, or rather, what Masky didn’t want you to know, was that this path was also his daily routine. Not for walking, persay, but more for observation. His routine was to hang at the edge of that treeline whenever he wasn’t busy, waiting for your car to sling into your driveway and for you to come strolling out that screen door. You were oblivious to his presence, sauntering on that path as he quietly shifted behind the trees to watch you unwind the further you walked. In a way, it was his way of unwinding, giving himself something to focus on besides the constant pounding in his head.

Now, he hadn’t sought you out through choice. It was a sort of coincidence that he began to watch you.

Before you lived in that house, the previous owners were old, rarely trailing past the range of farmland and into the trees. So it made it simple. That widespread land in the center of the round path was a popular spot for the various members of Slender’s band of misfits to visit, hauling whatever recent kill they had made and burying them randomly, difficult to find. Seeing as it was land connected to the house, cops couldn’t just stroll through without some type of warrant, so it made it all the easier just to dump the bodies there and forget about them.

Until you moved in, curious little mind pulling you to the trees and investigating the trail. Masky was there that day, burying some boy, or what was left of him, just out of sight. He didn’t even realize you were there until your foot crunched on a branch, sending him grabbing for his pistol and aiming it through branches straight to your head. You had no clue, headphones lodged in your ears and playing some old songs, leaving you completely vulnerable. Masky was going to shoot, irritation guiding his movements at the thought of being seen. Until you started humming, tune familiar to some Fleetwood Mac song that stirred in the man’s brain, tugging at some long-forgotten memories that he knew were Tim’s. But instead of becoming angry, it was like his body was relaxing, gun slipping back into his jacket pocket and eyes trained sternly on you as you continued walking.

It was laughable how unaware you were, even still as Masky followed that familiar path, watching you the same way he always had. He chalked it up to being a precautionary measure, watching to make sure you didn’t move further off the path than he wanted you to. But in reality, in the depths of his mind that he wouldn’t tell anyone, he just wanted to hear your voice.

So, nudging your wired headphones into your ears, you shoved your phone into your pocket, shining your flashlight on the ground below as you walked. You kept the volume low, still able to hear your feet crunch on the weeds as you hummed lowly, swaying the light back and forth. Masky was to your right, hidden in the shadows of the branches as he walked in time with you, straining his ears to relish in your sweet voice. It was his guilty pleasure, getting to hear new and old songs that otherwise he wouldn’t. He recognized it as Name by Goo Goo Dolls, an older song he occasionally heard in bars and stores he passed. Tim was already stirring, pressing against the edges of his consciousness and skewing his thoughts, making the man reach for his cigarettes, popping one into his mouth and flicking the lighter. Masky had to put distance between you two now, wary of the smell of smoke alerting you, giving himself about fifteen yards of space but still keeping time with you.

You slipped your hair behind your ear, hands shoved into your hoodie pockets as you walked. The air was rather cool for a summer night, the clouds overhead making you wonder if there would be a storm tonight. Slipping your phone from your pocket, you flipped to a weather app, scrolling through and surprised by the pop-up showers happening within the hour. You'd have to speed up if you wanted to return home without getting soaked.

So, shoving your phone back into your pocket, you held your flashlight tight, putting a little pep in your step. Masky was caught off guard, pushing his cigarette box back into his jacket and matching your pace, confused as to why you were hurrying now. He sucked the smoke into his lungs, the pounding in his head sizzling out. You had stopped humming, which irritated him, but he followed in the hopes that you would start again.

Minutes had passed and you recognized the path to be at about the halfway mark. You had an hour left, but the heavy clouds in the sky were already pushing down, thunder rumbling somewhere in the distance. Shit. You wouldn’t make it back in time. Stopping, you had to think, to weigh your options of running the rest of the way or cutting through. You had never been off the path, the entire unknown distance in between making you uneasy. But what could be in there that wasn’t just more trees? This land had been lived on and used, so you had nothing to be afraid of except the possibility of running into a deer. Taking a breath, you held your flashlight up, stepping off the dirt path and into the thick brush of the woods between.

Masky immediately tensed, heart thumping as he saw you turn off the path and past the trees in the direction of your house. You were gonna cut through. The man had realized your hurry, the rolling storm clouds above telling him it wouldn’t be long until you were both soaked. But he never expected you to take a shortcut, pressing into the dark shadows of the trees and unfamiliar territory. This was bad. It wouldn’t be if he knew you would just pass through, mosy on to your home and out of the rain, but Masky knew better. You see, using that plot of land as a screwed-up burial plot was way too easy and convenient, and it led some creeps to become lazy. Toby was the worst, leaving chopped-up pieces of arms and torsos scattered against the earth, letting nature and curious animals take care of the rest. But that method left evidence, bones and rotted flesh scattered everywhere and easily noticeable. You would see them and become scared, calling the stupid cops and busting them all. He had to deter you.

Hiking your legs over tall bushes and weeds, you push deeper in, trying your best to keep straight and search for your porch light. The wind was already blowing, leaves upturned and shaking against the breeze. Keeping your eyes trained on the ground, you began to hum again, Leave Out All the Rest by Linkin Park thumping in your eyes, keeping you distracted against the pants you were heaving. Your leisure walk had turned rough, getting more exercise in than you intended. Meanwhile, Masky was gritting his teeth, shoving through the trees as he pressed in front of you, wracking his brain for some way to throw you back onto the path. You were quick, Masky having to work to stay ahead of you and make sure you didn’t run into anything unsightly.

Your humming was throwing him off, cigarette pressed tight between his lips as he tried to focus more on you instead of your pretty voice. The pre-storm breeze was picking up now, tall grass whipping against his legs and tangling themselves around his boots. Looking forward, he could see fresh dirt dug out into a pit, one of Toby’s lazy mishaps again. Masky didn’t have a choice, he’d have to confront you if he was gonna get you out of here. Swearing, he crossed your path, yards in front of you and shoved off his mask.

You smelled the smoke before you saw him, his lit cigarette wafting in your direction as the breeze blew. You looked up, flashlight shining ahead and barely catching the man mixed in with all the trees. Heart dropping, you stopped, music still pumping in your ears as you stared at the man across from you. In all of your time here, you had never seen a person in these woods. Especially during the night right before a storm. This was bad. Your breath was shaky, catching up from your quick movements but not getting a chance to settle as you began to panic. You didn’t have a weapon, you never needed one, that was a sore mistake now. The man didn’t move, just standing and watching, his build taller and larger than yours, able to easily overpower you.

Moving slowly, you plucked the headphones from your ears, taking a step back as you shook. “Uhm… Hello..?” You called, voice shaky as the breeze whipped your hair in your face. The man had his hands shoved in his jacket pockets, puffing his cigarette in the breeze and making your nose furl, the scent sour. “Pretty late, huh?” His voice was rough, low and scratchy as he talked, plucking the cigarette from his mouth. You stepped back, nerves begging you to run but deciding it would probably be worse if you did. “Hah, uh, yeah. Just out for a- uhm, a walk. Cutting through so I don’t get rained on…” You laughed awkwardly, fidgeting the flashlight between your hands as you continued to step back slowly, trying not to draw his attention.

“Well, you outta be careful. Buncha fox traps out here. Could take your foot clean off.” He called, taking a step towards you and making your stomach turn, palms beginning to sweat. He flicked the cigarette between his fingers, ashes falling before he put it back in his mouth, puffing smoke. You glanced around the ground, feet suddenly nervous as you shuffled under yourself, hugging yourself tight. “O- Oh really? Didn’t know about that… uh, I’ll be careful. Just gotta make it home before it rains.” You went to turn, pushing for another path away from this strange dude. You noticed he didn’t have any form of light, standing in the darkness as he began to step towards you, panic surging. Stumbling back, you gripped your flashlight, willing yourself to hit him if it came down to it.

But instead, the man stopped in front of you, tossing his cigarette to the ground and stomping it, glancing at you. “Trust me. It’d be better if you just take the path. I can walk with you, make sure you don’t get rained on too bad.” He was pushing, pressing beside you and guiding you back towards the path, not giving you any choice but to follow beside him as he pressed his hand on your back. The rain had already begun to sprinkle through the leaves, cool mist running across the ground as you held your flashlight close, wary of the man as you walked next to him.

Finally seeing the dirt path again, his hand pushed you to follow it again, the familiar crunch of weeds comforting you against the panic you felt internally. The man’s hand never left your back, keeping you next to him as he walked quickly, moreso forcing you to go this way than advising you. You wanted to run, to throw the flashlight at him and get home but he was stern, the brunt look on his face stunning you. So you just kept walking.

Masky had no clue what he was doing. He only meant to scare you, push you in the opposite direction and disappear again. But when you didn’t run, just kept watching, he had no choice but to speak up. He opted to take the mask off, giving you good reason to leave but not scaring you so much you wouldn’t come back. He still wanted you to feel comfortable here, just not off that path. Obviously, that didn’t work. If your survival instincts wouldn’t help you, he would.

Minutes passed in tense silence, flecks of water sprinkling onto your face and wetting your hair. His hand still pressed, your shoulders tense as you flicked nervously between the path and his face, the unwavering look making you uneasy. “So, uhm. Why’re you out here?” You shook out, filling the cold air as you felt his fingers tense, eyeing you slightly. He was quiet for a second, almost like he was contemplating. “Cleanin' up. Got some hunting equipment back there. Had to get it stable before the storm.” He looked away, continuing on.

Settling in, you let him guide you, figuring that if he tried anything, you would be close enough to neighbors to scream. If he was going to do anything, he would have done it where no one could hear. Either way, you knew after tonight you wouldn’t be walking back in these woods without a knife. The rain was coming down harder now, thick droplets landing on your cheeks and blurring your vision. Your hair was soaked, clothes sticking to your body as you walked, and chills running over you. “Almost there.” The man grunted, tugging at his jacket and pulling it closer to his chest, raindrops running down his face. Nodding, you hummed, slicking your hair back off of your face.

This walk was weird without music, and your routine became skewed. So you decided to hum, picking up where you left off of the Linkin Park song and hitting the notes softly. The man’s hand instantly tensed, fingers curling into your hoodie and catching you off guard, stunting your voice. “Sorry.” You mumbled, sniffling as your nose became stuffy against the cold. He huffed, flattening his hand out again. “It’s fine. Keep singing.” He huffed, gripping the back of your hoodie. Uncomfortable, you began to hum again, pressing the notes quietly as you walked. The man held your top tight, taking deep breaths as he listened to you, teeth gritted.

Internally, Masky was fighting himself, using all of his willpower not to drag you back to your house and force better noises out. Maybe it was his deprivation, the loneliness from all this time, but he couldn’t stand how nice you sounded next to him. It was always from a distance, but right now, pressed by his side, it was like you were beckoning him. Like some fucked up siren. He huffed a breath, begging himself just to keep walking, just get you home. But as you hit a high note, throat straining against the sound, Masky's breath hitched, fist gripping onto your back.

You paused, humming stiffled in your throat as you looked at him, feet planting beside his as you stopped. “Are you… alright?” You asked nervously, gripping his jacket sleeve and gazing into his stern face, eyes dark as they looked back at you. “[Y/N]...”

“How do you…” You gasped, pulling back against his fist wrapped against the back of your hoodie. “You’re a real tease, you know that?” The man huffed, gripping your shoulders and shoving you backwards against a nearby tree, shoulder blades shoving into the bark as rain pelted down your cheeks. You shook your head, panic rising in your chest as you pushed back against his arms, his fingers gripping your shoulders tightly. “I don’t… What?” You huffed, tears pricking in your eyes as he grits his teeth, eyes roaming your body under him quickly.

“Of course you don’t. Coming out here every day just to tease. Practically begging me.” The man spat, pressing a knee between your legs and shoving your hips down, forcing a whine out of your throat. You had no clue what was happening, fingers gripping the fabric of his jacket as your hips forcefully ground down against his jeans. “Please… I don’t know what you want. If it’s money-” The man gripped your throat, pressing whines and gasps past your lips and holding you flush against the large tree behind you. “Can’t you see? I don’t want your fucking money, hun.” He grunted, pressing his body close and shoving his clothed bulge against your hip, gripping your hips tightly.

You were still clueless, adrenaline pumping and kicking your brain into survival mode, too busy wondering if you would survive to realize the man’s intentions. Grunting, he gripped your cheeks, forcing you to look at him. “Listen to me very closely, [Y/N].” He spat, grinding his bulge against your hip, moving your hips along with his against his knee, making your eyes shoot down, cheeks growing hot. “I just wanna hear that voice. You can’t imagine how many days I listened to you humming and wanted to turn them into moans. You’re just so… addicting.”

You couldn’t comprehend what you were hearing, your mind too muddled with the feeling of your clothed cunt throbbing against the man’s leg, his hands rough against your hips. “I don’t understand…” You grunted, pushing back against his shoulders as he leaned in, pressing his lips close to your ears.

“I need to fuck you, hun.” He mumbled, pressing a kiss against your ear as you gasped, flinching against him. Shoving a hand up your shirt, he pushed the cloth up, rubbing his rain-soaked hands against your warm skin. You didn’t know what to think, didn’t even know what to do. This guy overpowered you by a long shot, but as he pressed his hand into your shorts, you couldn’t hold back the whine that sounded.

“Yeah, yeah, noises just like that, hun.” He smiled, pushing your shorts down to your thighs and groaning at the sight of your panties. Your clothes were soaked now, pressing uncomfortably against your skin as he pressed a finger against your clothed cunt, pushing his thumb between your folds and onto your clit. You gasped, gripping his arm tight as he watched, your eyes trained on his face and hand as they moved. “I don’t-”

“Just don’t hold back that voice, mkay? Let me hear you…” He sighed, shoving your panties down before you could stop him, rubbing his thick fingers between your folds. Slick collected against the digits, your body betraying your racing mind as you decided to give up, fighting obviously useless.

Masky was electric, fingers moving faster than his mind could cooperate as he pressed against your clit, causing your body to stutter under him. Even if you didn’t know him, he knew you, and he knew that this was what you needed. Rain ran down his face, he rubbed his fingers against your cunt, pressing in and stretching. You couldn’t handle it, mind racing as he slowly fucked you open, body unsure of what it was even supposed to be doing. He shoved deeper, curling up into you until you were moaning out, fingers digging in. You gripped and held his forearm, too sensitive to take it as you spasm against his fingers, words getting caught in your throat. Masky relished in the way you gasped every time his palm hit your clit, fingers pumping up until you were gushing against him, arousal building. With every unforgiving pump of his fingers, you were losing your restraint, mind muddled under his grunts and thick fingers.

“Can barely hold back, yeah? Go ahead, be as loud as you need to.” You were biting your lip, eyes screwed shut as you fought off your orgasm, refusing to give in to this eager man. Until he leaned in, licking against your neck and pressing his wet hair against your cheek. You shuddered, losing your resolve until you were clenching around his fingers, his palm shoved against your clit and rubbing your orgasm out, chuckling as you cried out, your resistance completely gone.

He didn’t give you a moment, shoving your panties down to your knees and leaning up, unzipping his jeans. Stuttering, you whined, watching as his length sprung free and pressed against your abdomen. “What are you…” You gasped, vision blurry and goosebumps running against the throbbing still in your cunt. “I already told you, hun.” He hissed, pumping his cock with his wet hand before he was pulling your hips close, feet still planted but knees buckled. He pushed his cock down, pressing the tip against your lips, pushing forward until your lips were wrapping around him, clit spasming. You whined, the man angling your hips until your entrance pressed against the tip, your hands gripping his shoulders tight as he pulled you to him, pressing inside.

You gasped, his thick cock stretching you until you were gritting your teeth, his head nudging against your soft walls. “Don’t hold back, now…” He gasped, chuckling as he began to grind your hips down onto his length, your folds pressed against him with every deep thrust. You couldn’t handle it, stomach tightening with every tug and pushing gasps through your lips. No matter how badly you tried to keep quiet, you just couldn’t, the sensitivity dragging noises from you. He was ecstatic, every moan matching yours as he thrust faster, nails digging into your hips. He stared you in the eyes, dark gaze staring through you as you stared back, jaw hanging open.

As if by instinct, fingers pressed into your mouth, shoving down into your throat until you were gagging, throat constricting around the digits. He was moaning, your lips wrapped tightly around his fingers as you sucked, your head becoming light due to the lack of oxygen. He would pull back slightly, giving you a moment before shoving his fingers back in, spit building against your lips. You couldn’t handle it, couldn’t comprehend anything but the intense pleasure of his thrusts, fingers muddling your mind.

Before you knew it, you were clenching around his cock, clit straining against the pressure until you were crying out, choking on his fingers pressed knuckle-deep into your throat. “Fuck, hun…” He groaned, bottoming out against you and gripping your hips tight, relishing in the way your throat squeezed in time with your cunt. You were whining and grunting against him, eyes rolling back until you were coughing, cunt throbbing as spit ran down your chin.

Ripping his fingers from your mouth quickly, he slid your cunt off of his cock, throbbing hard as he fisted himself quickly, pressing the head against your abdomen. You gasped, heaving for breath as you watched, eyes heavy and face soaked with rain. He came against your skin, seed shooting against your stomach as he was rubbing the tip against you, cursing as he stared into your eyes. It was all too much, knees buckling against him as he gripped your waist tight, shoving your hoodie down and pulling your shorts up, your wetness soaking into the fabric. Your eyes lulled closed as he threw you over his shoulder, legs gripped tight as he began to walk through the trees, abandoning the path completely. But you were too delusional to think, mind too frayed to fight against him.

When you woke, you were in your bed, clothes still damp and hair still tangled. Cursing, you sat up, cunt sore as thunder roared outside, the hint of sunrise peeking against the trees. You tried to wrack your brain, tried to comprehend what had happened. But when you moved, feeling the crusted semen against your stomach, you decided a shower was the better option.

You still walked that path, just more cautiously now, carrying a knife in your hoodie every time. Cautious, you always made sure to stick to the path, unsure if the ‘fox traps’ existed or not, but not wanting to tempt it.

You still had your headphones lodged in your ears, keeping the volume at a good level as you walked, making sure to hum just a little louder. Occasionally, catching a whiff of smoke.

This was an anonymous request!

Comments and reblogs are appreciated! 𐚁₊⊹

852 notes · View notes

sytoran · 6 months

Text

home is where the heart is ★ n.r

— 𝐓𝐖𝐎 ;; 𝐒𝐔𝐑𝐅𝐁𝐎𝐀𝐑𝐃𝐒 & 𝐒𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐃𝐎𝐔𝐆𝐇

in which your married life with natasha romanoff is depicted through this comedy-drama series. with your dream job, three kids, and a plethora of friends, each day is blissful but all the more chaotic and unpredictable. (and ultimately, very horny.)

pairing ★ sub!wife!natasha x beefy!butch!reader

chapter summary ★ twitter's sole purpose is for you to thirst over your wife, the beach is a good place to spend time with your kids, and ogle at your wife in a bathing suit, but not a great a place to have sex. (lesson learnt).

warnings ★ (MINORS DNI) - explicit content, hard stuff: beach sex, doggy style, cunnilingus, daddy kink, SO MUCH thirsting

word count ★ 4.0k (get fed gremlins)

SERIES MASTERLIST || MAIN MASTERLIST

*****

In tandem with Tony Stark’s spontaneity, Steve Rogers’ unending enthusiasm, and the fact that you privately owned close to twenty beach resorts in New York alone, the lot of you and your other friends had a beach outing planned for that Sunday.

After the astronomically long time it took to get your kids dressed, beach toys packed, picnic dinner prepared, and everything loaded into the car, five happy L/N-Romanoffs finally kickstart their journey to the Westview Surfers’ Beach.

“SAND!” Emilia roars maniacally, once the five of you step foot onto the sandy shore. She’s gone like the ocean breeze, sprinting into the distance, grains of sand flying everywhere.

“Sea! Sea! Sea!” Emilio is equally as excited, already by the tide of the brilliantly blue ocean, following its ebb and flow with scampering feet and delighted cries.

“Careful, Emilio!” Marina says, holding his hand, preventing her over excited brother from falling over. You can see the way she laughs along, kicking up water with her slippers.

Behind your eager children, you swing you and Natasha’s interlocked hands as you casually stroll along the beach, giving her a sweet smile.

The sand that crunched beneath your feet was earthen and dry, such a gentle hue of gold, almost as grounding as the bright smile your wife returned.

“You look heavenly,” you murmur, bringing up the underside of your wife’s palm to press a gentle kiss to it. She flushes prettily, the sundress she’s adorning doing wonders to her skin tone and curves.

Natasha returns the softness, pressing into your side as you wrap a firm arm around her waist, hand cupping the curve of her motherly hips.

“Oy, lovebirds!”

At the sound of a distinctly familiar voice, you and Natasha spin around with bemused looks. From a distance, you can see Tony with a flamingo floatie around his hips, waving comically.

Next to him, the regular gang is sprawled across three separate picnic mats, conveniently hidden from the sun under several large beach umbrellas.

Pepper is fixing up Tony’s floatie, to which Carol and Valkyrie snicker at from afar. Thor is asleep on the mats, taking up more than half the area. Laura is busy reading, with Clint probably gone to find seashells for the sandcastle Bucky and Steve are constructing. The kids make a long human chain from the shore to the sandcastle, scooping up buckets of water to make a trench.

“Aunty Y/N! Aunty Nat!” Nathaniel squeals, dropping his bucket, running over and leaping into your arms.

“What’s up, you little rascal?” you ask, laughing as the youngest Barton giggles. Natasha ruffles his head, waving at Lila.

Morgan, being the same age as Emilia and Emilio, is already chatting excitedly with them and kicking up a loud racket. Marina joins Cooper in attaining bucketfuls of seawater.

“What’s up, my favourite lesbians?” Tony calls out to you and Natasha with outstretched arms, comically ignorant to the death-glare Valkyrie shoots him.

Natasha rolls her eyes in faux annoyance, strolling past him and brightening up animatedly to chat with the ladies. You pat Tony’s back sympathetically.

Your attention flits to an impressively large sandcastle with a sculpture of a mermaid on top, hand-crafted by Steve and Bucky. Leaning closer to Tony, you whisper, “Why does the mermaid kinda look like you?”

Leaving him to splutter at his intentionally uncanny resemblance to the mermaid, with a seashell bra and an elegant tail, you look up to see Clint coming back with his arms full of seashells.

“Hi, Y/N!” He greets distractedly. In the midst of his frantic haste, Clint’s foot gets caught on a stray rock —

And the rest is a scene out of a comedy movie.

The seashells go flying out of his arms, scattering onto the picnic mat and spraying sand everywhere, Clint loses his balance and flies forward, outstretched arms knock into the sandcastle, and everyone watches in horror as Steve and Bucky’s great unfinished symphony comes crumbling down, leaving only the head of Tony’s mermaid untouched.

A quiet hush falls.

Bucky and Steve’s faces are morphed into disbelief and heartbreak, and Clint trembles in fear with sand in his mouth. Tony shudders at his beheaded mermaid, the ladies have their hands over their mouths, and Natasha fights battles in order not to burst out laughing. Thor sleeps unperturbed, and even the kids' racket has died down.

“Well,” you announce, breaking the stunned silence. “Who wants to go surfing?”

*****

As Natasha lazes in a beach chair, away from the gory scene of Steve and Bucky dunking Clint in the seawater, she watches you with a budding fire in her belly.

Standing on the sand so casually, you have your hefty surfboard tucked under one arm, and Emilio in your other. You’re speaking to him with a roguish grin, unbuttoned Hawaiian shirt flapping in the wind, tinted sunglasses pushed up to muss up your perfectly tousled hair.

“You ready to ride the waves, bub?”

“Yeah! I’m ready!”

Your wife swallows, thinking she was ready to ride something else.

Natasha crosses her legs unsubtly. It was honestly unfair, how indifferently attractive you were, like it was a state of being instead of a practised art.

Perhaps it was her love for you and the longevity of your marriage that warped her perception of sexiness, but when you were casually strolling on the beach with that chiselled abdomen on display, who was she to be blamed?

“Y/N!” Natasha calls, sitting up slightly. There’s a devious little idea blooming in the back of her mind, and she feels like taking the bait, just for today.

You look up at your wife’s beckoning, and smile widely at her. Setting Emilio down gingerly and calling him a “little rascal”, you jog over to Natasha easily.

When you flick your hair back, it glints in the sunlight, and so does the sheen of sweat under your sports bra, defining the cutting edges of your abdomen. Natasha has the criminal urge to rip off your swimming trunks there and then.

Despite your obliviousness, Natasha is more than well-aware of the stares you’re getting from young women and married women alike, momentarily disregarding their boyfriends and husbands to gawk at you.

“Damn, look at that fine specimen!”

“Ryan, why don’t you work out more?”

“There goes my heterosexuality.”

You get feasted upon hungry eyes like a slab of beef, likened to your beefiness, but it only makes Natasha’s possessiveness skyrocket.

“Hey, honey,” you say, settling on a low and inviting tone that has your wife blushing. You crouch down next to her beach chair, holding her hand in a sweet gesture. “What’s up?”

You’re close to her, so close, and she can feel the heat radiating off you, and your distinct scent, and the overwhelming senses of want and need are washing over Natasha like those tidal waves in the ocean.

But well, Natasha knew more than a few ways to rile you up too.

“I think I want to go surfing too,” she lies through her teeth, having no inclination to partake in the sport. Natasha fakes a pout all too well, knowing it’s one of your many weaknesses. “But the sun’s really hot out there, so I need some help with the sunscreen.”

It wasn’t like she’d have needed it, anyway. Just like that and you’re sold, ever the gentleman and the golden retriever, digging for the sunscreen in the duffel bag.

“Of course, honey,” you reply readily. “Is it the Banana Boat sunscreen, or is that the kids’ one? Oh wait, we have the SPF 50 one, I think that’s—”

Words trail off comically when you look back up at Natasha, gradually dying down completely.

Your wife has conveniently slid off her outer layer of a sheer white blouse, leaving her in just a matching two-piece set of an azure bathing suit. The top piece is held together with thin pieces of string, accentuating her chest in a tight cradle. The lack of coverage shows off the dip of her hips and her soft curves.

Coherent thoughts in your mindwires get severed as Natasha plays with the string on her bottom piece, nearly flashing you as the material slides down ever so slightly. Your throat dries up as her fingers trail a path over her tummy and cleavage. She plays with another bundle of string that keeps her chest barely covered, and the irresistible urge rises within you to undo it.

“My eyes are up here, y’know,” Natasha murmurs, laying on her side and looking at you through lowered lashes.

“I know where they are,” you answer hoarsely, gaze still fixated on your wife’s enticing cleavage.

The sheer amount of bare skin that Natasha is showing off has your remaining fragments of sanity falling to pieces. There’s no point even trying to hide the tent in your pants, poking uncomfortably against the fabric.

“Gonna help me lather sunscreen?” Natasha asks with a silky lilt to her voice, turning over on the beach chair.

You groan out loud when you see the curve of your wife’s ass on display, her rounded bottom barely covered by a few measly pieces of material, all held together by flimsy strings and nothing else.

“Mhm,” you respond brainlessly, uncapping the bottle and rubbing your hands with a bountiful amount of the moisture, clearly in excess.

You begin applying your wife’s sunscreen with overzealous eagerness and desire. Large hands spread unnecessarily widely as you gain coverage over the soft skin of her back, trailing up and down and smearing the white moisture over her soft skin.

“Oh, that feels nice,” Natasha says airily, a dainty little sound that causes your cock to twitch in your shorts.

The line down the middle of Natasha’s back is emphasised as she tenses and relaxes it. Like clockwork, you begin massaging your wife’s back to release the tension in her muscles.

“Y/N…” The breathy moan she lets out is pure heaven, dragged out from the depths of her throat, then lifting to a higher tone that washes over you in a sea of goosebumps.

Of course, your faux masseuse skillset is just a simple ploy to grope and knead at Natasha. Fat spills through your fingers as you spread your hands across her torso, as Natasha whines softly.

It wouldn’t take a genius to realise that the heat building between the two of you was not just due to the heatwaves under the beating, unforgiving sun.

Your frighteningly quickly-growing arousal only heightens when Natasha feels that her back is done and flips over. Face-to-face with her hefty mounds, a round belly, and the blown pupils of viridescent eyes — you lose the plot completely.

Deft hands fly to your wife’s ample assets, squeezing her hips in sinful amounts and staking your claim. “You’re so pretty, baby,” you mumble, face buried into the crook of her neck, subtly mouthing at her neck.

“Mhm,” Natasha whines in agreement, but it turns into a gasp as your fingers slip underneath the material of her bra, plucking at hardened nipples in merciless haste.

You press down onto her, flat tongue and sharp teeth, licking a broad stripe up your wife’s exposed collarbone to the tender column of her neck.

Before you can taint clear skin with raging-purple bruises, you’re pulled away with a firm grip on the back of your neck. You look back up to see Natasha gazing at you sternly.

“Let’s try not to perpetuate public sex while you are the owner of this place, with all our friends present, and the kids building sandcastles no less than ten feet away.”

Much to your disgruntlement, these factors weigh in heavily and overpower your body’s built-in “pretty-wife-need-to-worship” mechanic. Now, your shorts fill up a lot more space than need be, your shaft pressing hot and tight against your left leg, clearly visible.

You grumble, hands still clammy with sunblock, the ghost of Natasha’s warmth still interlaced between each of your fingers. “You’re a meanie,” you sulk, lust-driven adrenaline coursing through your veins.

Natasha looks at you with a wicked smile. “And you’re too susceptible, darling. Now, where’s my flask? I plan on staying plenty hydrated before watching you rough it out against the waves.”

Clearly put-off by not being able to fuck your wife in your public beach resort, you flip off a little kid who openly ogles at Natasha’s ass, much to your wife’s horror.

*****

“I’M NOT BUILT FOR THIS!” Tony screams, arms flailing, as he rides a shallow wave. His firmly implanted foot adds too much weight on the front of his neon yellow surfboard, and the over-eager man overturns comically as the current rushes.

You laugh out loud, Hawaiian shirt flapping in the wind, surfing past Tony in a smooth motion. “Stick to the flamingo floatie, little guy!”

Valkyrie barely dodges the splash Tony creates, nearly falling off her own board. “Fuck off, you cunt!” she yells, full-chested and deadly focused on the tide. From a distance in the shallower part of the ocean, a reprimanding “Language!” can be heard.

Natasha’s wading in the shallower waters with Laura, while Thor had opted to sun tan on the beach while watching the kids.

As a large wave approaches, Natasha watches with intent. Upon your wife’s new found attention, you mentally prepare yourself, determined to impress her, and perhaps get revenge for her prior ploy.

You manoeuvre deftly, putting weight on your back foot to stabilise as you approach the wave head-on. Three… two… one. You add even more weight on your back foot as you go around the back turn while gaining speed, garnering energy like a coiled spring.

As the wave reaches its full height, broad and steep, your calves release with impact, propelling up the barrel of the wave like a spring. The surfboard moves in effortless motion, anchored by your back foot, navigated by your right.

The second you reach the lip of the wave, you find the sweet spot to execute the backside tail slide. You rotate your wide-set shoulders, swiftly switching the pressure to your front foot.

Your surfboard glides off the surface for a split-second, turning mid-air — there’s a camera-worthy frame of damp hair, stray droplets, and focused eyes.

You slide back down at an oblique angle with purpose and precision, like a scene out of a movie, locking eyes with Natasha as the wave crashes behind you.

“Damn, Y/N!” Carol hoots, looking amazed as you surf back to the rest of the gang.

“That was crazy,” Steve adds, resting belly-down onto the surfboard, strikingly adorable for a hulking man.

“Gotta admit, that was pretty cool,” Tony comments, his head bobbing above the surface of the water and his surfboard nowhere to be found.

You laugh along with them, attempting to explain the technical jargon of how you did it. But as much as you appreciated your friends’ enthusiasm, there was ultimately only one person you sought validation from.

“Hi,” you say to Natasha with a stupid smile, sitting on your surfboard, having escaped the rest.

“That was very sexy of you,” your wife wastes no time in stating, as if she wasn’t five millimetres away from flashing you and killing you with her sexiness.

Natasha is stuck on the image of your damp hair flying into place like a scene out of a superhero movie, unbuttoned shirt flailing up to expose your defined back and abdomen, concentration flashing in your eyes.

“Mhm,” you hum lowly. Fire burns low in your belly as you ogle your wife in her bathing suit, pulling her closer by the underside of her thighs.

In a moment of indiscretion, your left hand slips upwards and undoes the knot on Natasha’s bathing suit, letting the material slip from your fingers.

“Y/N!” Though blocked from view of the others as it was underwater, Natasha lets out a breathy gasp and presses into you. Her cunt, already soaked before, gets even wetter at the intrusion of seawater.

“Can I claim my prize?” you ask heavily, hot pants against your wife’s ear, driving her wild with the way your fingers slip through her folds to encroach on her entrance.

In no time at all, two of your fingers are at Natasha’s cunt, feeling slick even underwater, and you push in—

“Group picture!” Steve yells from a distance, as you and your wife effectively leap apart in the water, the heated moment dissipated into thin air.

But it lingers, the arousal, swimming in the back of your consciousness as you smile for a group selfie. Bucky’s arm is around you but you thank the heavens for hiding your erection under the water.

You can tell Natasha feels the same, eyes locking on you even after Steve successfully takes the group picture. (After many attempts.)

“I’m gonna go check on the kids,” Natasha finally says, gesturing back as if she was going to walk back to shore. She’s expectant, waiting.

“And I think I’m gonna go check with her!” you add, chuckling awkwardly, beckoning backwards with your thumbs.

“Okay,” Steve says disbelievingly, eyes glimmering with knowing and just a little amusement. Tony is much less subtle in his sniggering, and Clint looks horrified at the prospect of doing it at the beach.

Tony claps you on the back as you walk past. “Use protection,” he whispers, and you fumble out a haphazard response.

*****

Turns out, you and Natasha don’t even make it to a completely secluded area before you’re half-undressed and panting.

And maybe that’s half the thrill, hidden in a secluded beach cave, with regular people roaming around just outside. You’re pressed skin-to-skin with each other and tuning out everything else.

You groan as you snap the strings of Natasha’s bathing suit off, finally, finally. Teardrop tits bounce in place, shaking with the impact of how hard you jerk against your wife, unbearably uncomfortable in the constraints of your boxers.

Natasha takes mercy on you, helping you to tug down your Calvin Clein briefs, watching with heady arousal as your shaft slaps against your six-pack, red and raw and leaking.

“Hurry up,” Natasha whines, bending over and clutching at a stray rock, ass in the air as she exposes her leaking cunt to you.

“Fuck, baby,” you groan, grabbing onto her ass and slapping it just because you can. You sink deep into your wife, warmth and relief enveloping you as you bury yourself inside her.

The first thrust is like heaven, feeling the pulse and push of Natasha’s walls as she accommodates to take your size, stretching to a familiar extent because you’d made a nest in there for yourself.

The second thrust takes you there, an insurgent amount of slick coating your cock, flooding the path you proceed to pummel into. “Natty,” you whine, groping at her ass and pulling it closer to you, hilt-deep with no signs of stopping.

“Mhm, daddy,” Natasha moans, walls fluttering around you as you pull out, trying to stop your escape. But then you thrust forward, again, warm and full and deep, and your wife wails beneath you.

Natasha lets this velvet sound from her throat, silky and coated in honey as she breathes reinvigorated life into your arousal.

“Fuck,” you growl, rutting your hips with more rigour. Natasha whines, wrists suspended behind her back with one of your hands as you have your way with her.

“Baby I’m gonna come,” you gasp, virility cloaking the way your abdomen presses up against Natasha, left hand encircling her neck to bring your hot mouth up to hers.

You’re hardly embarrassed for how fast you’re barrelling towards climax, as Natasha is in much more of the same position. She’s panting your name, clutching at the rocks with hard sand digging into her feet. Your cock nudges and prods into her sweet spots effortlessly, the result of countless sex experiences.

“M-me too,” she responds breathily, breaking off into a whine as you press heated, open-mouthed kisses along the line of her back, tasting the salt and sweat on your tongue.

Pleasure blossoms in your lower torso, creeping up the base of your shaft and working its way upwards. Hot arousal overflows from its constraints, and your teeth sinks into your bottom lip as you come, quick and hot and messy.

“Oh!” Natasha moans, high-pitched and sensitive, as you pluck at her ruby-hard nipples. It only takes a few more thrusts for her to reach release, dripping down your cock and her thighs.

“Mhm, nhn—” As your wife raises in pitch and volume, you stuff three fingers into her open mouth, giving her something to suck on and remain quiet. You continue with gentle thrusts, feeling thick white liquid flow out the side of Natasha’s ruined cunt.

“Needa taste you,” you suddenly grunt, hips bumping into Natasha’s ass. She babbles her agreement, despite being half-conscious in a state of post-orgasmic pleasure.

Easily, you lift Natasha and set her down onto the sandy shore of the beach cave, where the tide is low and washes over your feet gently.

It’s a change of pace, a gradual end to your savage ravaging, slow and sensual, where the water meets the sand. You lower yourself between Natasha’s spread thighs, lips slightly parted and dripping with need.

Natasha swallows audibly, right hand twisting into your tousled hair, looking at you through hooded eyes and lowered lashes.

Words are left unspoken between the two of you, the tension speaking for itself, as you retain eye contact while lowering your mouth onto Natasha’s pulsing cunt.

You take your last breath of the fresh sea salt air and summer breeze before drowning in unbridled desire. As if making out passionately, you eat your wife out, switching between licking and sucking.

Poetry is written between the lines — the lilt of Natasha’s hitched breath, the crease of her thighs where your fingertips drag across, the shallow water that wades over your feet in a cool decrescendo.

Your head dips down once more, warm and wet, and the sun melts into the horizon, glazing golden and liquid orange.

With your tongue lodged fully inside your wife’s pussy, marking your inability to breathe, and wide hands spread firmly over Natasha’s thighs, the two of you converge in saintly devotion, hushed worship falling from her lips.

“Please, just like that, please, daddy, please.”

Just like that, and the ocean swallows you whole, taking you under Natasha’s hold inescapably. Your name is said in a breathless cry, lilting and pronounced, and you shudder between her clenched thighs.

“Nat?”

“Yeah?”

“I think there’s ocean water up my asshole.”

“Yeah, I got some sand up my vagina too.”

*****

and that's chapter two of 'hiwthi'! how did yall feel about the introduction of the rest of the cast? i personally enjoyed writing the build-up scenes the most. (sunscreen and surfing!) and for those keen on expanding the family dynamic, i'll be building on that in the next chapter!

reblog or i will take 292857192 years to post the next part

SERIES MASTERLIST || MAIN MASTERLIST

#⋆⭒˚｡★ home is where the heart is #natasha romanoff smut #natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x reader smut #wlw smut #gxg smut #marvel smut #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff imagine #natasha x reader #natasha romanoff fluff #natasha x reader smut #top reader #sub natasha romanoff #dom reader #bottom natasha romanoff #butch4femme #butch reader #femme4butch

1K notes · View notes

skeltnwrites · 1 month

Text

Summary: You are there for Steve when he has to face his fear of needles. | 1.1k

TW: needles, medical anxiety, panic attacks, bf steve

A/N: this is based on true events 🥲 also you cannot convince me he doesn't have anxiety about this after rewatching that scene where he is literally stabbed in the neck with a needle

This is the first time Steve’s ever let you drive his car. Not because he doesn’t trust you with it but because he’s happy to be your chauffeur for as long as you let him. He’s always one to refuse when you offer, to grab the keys before you even think about it. He’s a gentleman at heart, even if part of him just likes to drive. But today is different.

Steve’s practically buzzing in the passenger seat, snapping his foot against the floor mat like a rubberband and tapping his fingers where they are crossed over his arm. And he’s silent, which is weird because he’s always been the type of nervous to not be able to shut up.

You wrap a hand around his knee, thumb caressing denim. He doesn’t acknowledge it like he normally would, gaze trained on the windshield. His eyes are glazed over like he’s somewhere else entirely. You have to call his name twice before he hums.

“Wanna get ice cream after?”

You barely catch his nod.

You’re grasping for anything to get him out of his head but he refuses to talk to you regardless of topic. He’s been more obliging during arguments.

It’s not surprising that he’s anxious today, you expected it. He’s always been hesitant about doctors and only goes if he absolutely has to. But lately, this hesitation has transformed more into refusal, regardless of reason. This appointment specifically, a checkup and routine bloodwork, has been an ongoing battle with Steve for months. After his dad had a health scare, it was recommended Steve be seen to rule out anything preemptively. You’d given Steve every opportunity to schedule it himself like he claimed he would, but weeks turned into months of procrastination so you eventually phoned the doctor's office.

Steve stalls in the parking lot. You’d turned the car off nearly ten minutes ago but he’s had to fix his hair twice, retie his shoes, and he even pretended to search for something in the glove box. You’ve been patient, but with only two minutes left until his appointment, you circle around to his side, gently guiding him out of the car. Before he can protest or claim he forgot something, you quickly lock the door behind him.

“Name?” The middle-aged woman at the front desk asks.

“Steve,” his voice shakes so he clears his throat.

She pops the wad of gum she was blowing, bemused at your boyfriend. “Steve…?”

“Yeah,” he agrees.

You swipe a hand across his back, finishing, “Harrington. Steven Harrington.”

She turns to her computer and begins typing lazily.

“Oh,” he nods.

She hands him a clipboard and pen, “Fill this out.”

You lean over the arm of his chair as he writes. His hands tremble around the pen and he stops to scribble out where he wrote his birthday incorrectly. You offer to do it for him but he declines.

“Steven?” A nurse calls from the other side of the room where she’s propped a door open with her foot. You’re thankful for the short wait so Steve didn’t torture himself for long in the lobby.

Steve doesn’t move so you squeeze the hand you’re holding, “Ready?”

He neglects to answer you but stands. You release his hand, collecting the clipboard and your things. Steve turns around, frowning and wide-eyed. “Are you coming?”

“Yeah, baby. Do you want me to?”

He nods as you pass him his papers.

The nurse guides you down the hall, obtaining Steve’s height and weight before reaching a small room smelling of antiseptics. She takes his blood pressure, listens to his heartbeat, and jots down notes on the clipboard throughout. Steve’s breathing shallowly and staring at the floor as she works, focused on holding it together.

When she leaves to grab the phlebotomist, Steve lets out a staggered exhale and whispers, “I really hate this.” His eyes join yours for the first time that morning, all warm and honeyed.

You climb onto the paper sheet beside him, sealing his palm between both of yours. “I know, babe. You’re doing so good. Almost done.”

He cranes over until his forehead meets your neck, eyelashes tickling your skin. You lean into him, planting a kiss on the nearest strip of skin.

There’s a knock before the door swings open. A new face in the same scrubs. This one is all smiles, however, and chatting up a storm before she even sets her things down.

Steve sprawls up slowly, eyeing the woman’s caddy as she rambles.

She familiarizes herself with his chart before getting to work– washing her hands, ripping open the needle packaging, brushing a disinfectant wipe across his skin. It's all happening so fast. Steve’s breath picks up and his eyes dart away to the bland wall beside him. The nurse notices but doesn’t address his fear. She instead tries to distract him, asking him about how you guys met.

A few words will find his tongue before he’s cut off by a series of gasps. He’s trying so hard to speak but his thoughts keep spilling out in a scrambled mess and that terrifies him even more. It terrifies you too– you’ve never seen him so scared.

Steve gets a glimpse of the long needle near his arm and flinches away from her fingers. You’re pressing his face into the slope of your neck with your free hand because he keeps trying to watch what she’s doing.

“I need you to stay still, okay, hun? I’ll be so quick, I promise,” the nurse encourages.

But as soon as her grip on his arm tightens, locking it against the table, he’s losing it. Fat tears are dribbling down his red cheeks and falling onto his lap where you’re clutching his hand. His chest convulses with shallow, uneven breaths, his muscles tensing under the strain of trying to keep his arm still. The needle slides in, and for a moment, his whole body stiffens, but she successfully finds the vein with a single poke and starts draining the blood into a vial.

Gradually, his breath starts to even out as he realizes the worst is behind him. Your fingers weave through his hairline and soothing words are whispered into his skin. A few final hiccups escape into your tear-stained collar.

“All done,” she’s patching him up with a cotton pad and tape and even you’re surprised at how quick it was.

Steve tilts in your embrace to see the damage, unleashing a shuddered sigh. The nurse smiles at him and he offers a wobbly one back.

Over a bowl of his favorite ice cream, he hesitantly opens up about his fear, recounting his traumatic experience with a Russian doctor. His words are thick with the weight of the painful memory and anxiety lingers through the tremble in his voice. No matter how many questions you have or how much you wish you could take away the experience, you know the best thing you can do is listen and praise him for his bravery.

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington #steve harrington x you #steve harrington drabble #steve harrington hurt/comfort #steve harrington angst #steve harrington fluff #stranger things

357 notes · View notes

barefoot-joker · 8 months

Text

Against Heaven and Hell~Yandere!Adam X Reader X Yandere!Lucifer

Hello, everybody! Welcome back to my Hazbin Hotel hyperfixation! Today I bring you a Yandere! Adam vs Yandere! Lucifer story. I think this one turned out alright but let me know what you think. As always, enjoy and have a great day/night!

Words: 1972

Warnings: Swearing, Adam being Adam, Car Crash, Contract Signing, Kidnapping

I bit my lip as I looked at myself in the full length mirror. The girls and I were going out tonight and I wanted to look my best. It had been a few months since we’d seen each other after all. I smoothed out my black and red plaid pants and fluffed my black dress shirt. Deciding I was presentable enough I walked to my kitchen. I grabbed my keys off the counter, put on my black bomber jacket and black boots, and walked out my apartment door. I locked the door behind me and continued my way to the elevator. Hitting the button for the first floor, I found myself tapping my foot as I waited.

Ding!

The doors opened and I walked out. I headed to the parking garage to the left of my apartment building and walked up the few flights of stairs to my car. Since I was the designated driver I made sure a few days before my vehicle was nice and tidy. I put on some tunes as I drove down several blocks before arriving near the center of the city. I parked on a side street and pulled out my phone, texting Ashley that I was ready for them. I scrolled through social media for a few minutes when there was a tap on my window. I looked up and saw Ashley, Shiloh and Tiffany standing there. I unlocked the doors and they all got in. “Hey, girl! Long time no see!” Ashley, sitting in the passenger seat, gave me a tight hug.

“It’s nice to see all of you too. Gosh, it feels like it’s been forever.”

“It really has. But no time is like the present as they say!” Tiffany piped up from the back seat.

We all nodded in agreement. “So, where should we go?”

“How about Tito’s? I heard they have a $3 special going on tonight.” Shiloh said.

“Tito’s it is then.”

With that I started the car and drove further into the city. We arrived at Tito’s around 7 pm and after parking the car, walked inside. The bar was quite busy that night with many couples sharing tables and others taking to the dance floor as a live band played. The four of us took to a booth across from the bar and ordered our drinks. The girls had gotten some classics like a gin and tonic, old fashioned and Manhattan while I just had my favorite soda. I was the designated driver after all. We sat and chatted for hours, and it soon was 10 pm and my friends were wasted. I struggled to carry all of them to the car as they giggled drunkenly, grasping onto me tightly. “Oh my god, Y/n! You’re so cute, you know that?” Shiloh said, giggling slightly.

“Yeah, yeah.”

I had to lean Tiffany and Shiloh against the back door as I struggled to put Ashley in. “Stop, Y/n! That tickles! Stop!”

I grunted as I managed to get her in with her seat belt on. Quickly I rounded to the back of the car and started to get Shiloh in. Tiffany slid to the ground and started to laugh uncontrollably. This was going to be a rough night.

It took about 15 minutes but I had finally gotten everybody in the car. I drove everybody back to Ashley’s apartment and started to unload them into the hallway. “Y/n, please stay. We can like have a big sleepover!” Ashley slurred.

“Sorry, honey. I’ve got work in the morning. But I’m sure Tiffany and Shiloh wouldn’t mind your company.”

I leaned down to the “Welcome” mat by Ashley’s door and grabbed the spare key. Unlocking the door, I dragged in all three girls. I placed Ashley on her armchair and Shiloh and Tiffany on the couch. Once I made sure they were all cozy, I snuck out before they could grab onto me. I made sure to replace the key under the mat before I walked back to my car.

The drive home was a bit chaotic. There were lots of people on the streets wandering around due to it being a Friday night and night life was hopping. I was placed out of my thoughts as my light turned green. I was in the middle of the intersection when suddenly my car was struck on the side by a much larger vehicle. I tried to regain control of the wheel as my stomach clenched, however, the car began to flip. I couldn’t even get a scream out as another car came and smashed into the front of mine. I could feel the car being slid across the road before slamming into a building. My head flew forwards and smacked into the wheel before flying back. My vision was doubling as I heard faint screams from the street. Just as my eyes began to close, I could have sworn I saw golden wings descending from the sky.

Before I even opened my eyes, I could feel warmth around me. It didn’t feel like a blanket or anything more like the Sun beaming down upon me. I slowly opened my eyes only to be blinded by bright light. Everything seemed to be overly saturated as I looked around and the gentle humming of violins filled the air. I sat up with a groan and held my head, a slight dull pain hitting it. What happened?

Suddenly, a set of double white doors flew open and revealed a tall, large man in a white, gold and purple robe, a demon looking mask on his face with black horns scraping behind his head. Beside him a smaller female with a black and white devilish mask, gray dress and white and black wings stood. “Ah good, you’re finally awake, babe.”

“Who are you?”

“Adam, first man. Autographs are extra, sweetheart. And this is Lute, my assistant.”

I just stared at him. What in the world? “Um, I hate to ask, but where am I?”

“You’re in Heaven, toots!”

“H-Heaven? You mean like Heaven and Hell Heaven?”

Adam’s yellow eyes rolled. “Duh! What other Heaven do you know of?”

My hands touched my chest and then my face. If I’m here does that mean-

“You’re not dead if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“Then how’d I get here? I thought only dead people saw the Pearly Gates?”

Adam’s smile grew wide and the sight of fangs alarmed me. “I may have pulled a few strings to get you here. Please hold the applause. You can thank me later.”

“Um, okay.”

“I’ll give you a few minutes to collect yourself, but don’t keep me waiting for too long.”

He snapped his fingers and the two left. When the doors closed, I took a few moments to breathe. What exactly happened? All I could remember was driving back home from Ashley’s apartment, getting into a huge car crash and golden wings descending from the sky. Could that have been Adam? But then did he know I was going to get into a wreck? Could angels predict that sort of stuff?

I shook my head and stood up from the bed I was on. Looking down I was in a light blue medical gown and my feet were bare. Was I in a hospital back on Earth? “You almost ready in there, babe? It’s been a while.”

“C-coming.”

“Not without me I hope.”

I stopped before the door. Did he say what I think he said? Whatever.

I opened it and stepped out. “Finally. Now come on, toots. Let the first man show you around!”

Before I could say anything, he slung a tight arm around my shoulders, and we walked off.

Heaven wasn’t quite what I expected. It was almost like the city I lived in just without what would be considered sin. Every angel smiled and waved as the three of us walked by and it was almost sickening how happy everybody was. “So how do you like Heaven, babe? Does it surpass your expectations?”

“I guess. I wasn’t really expecting to be here. How did I get here again?”

“That doesn’t matter. The important thing is that we’re together! Especially now that you’ve got a real man in your life!”

“Sir, you said you’d hold off on that information.”

“Oh what’s the big deal, Lute? Toots will be stuck here anyway.”

I stopped walking and the two turned to look at me. “Stuck here? What are you talking about? You said I wasn’t dead.”

“Not yet. But as soon as my favor goes through then you’re all mine, sweetheart.”

“F-favor? Are you going to kill me?!”

“Eh, sacrifices need to be made. But I can assure you my dick is good.” He winked.

“Get away from me!”

I bolted as fast as I could. “Lute, grab her!”

I could hear the flapping of wings as I continued to run. Just as I was rounding a corner, I could feel myself falling. It wasn’t fast but more like floating back to Earth. The light around me dissipated into a grayness and I felt myself land softly.

My eyes flickered open and it took me a few minutes to realize I was in a hospital room. I sat up quickly and looked around frantically. I couldn’t see any angels around, so I leaned back in bed. A knock sounded at the wooden door and in walked a short man with blonde hair. He had on a white dress shirt and red tie, white pants and black boots. He stopped by the side of my bed and a pleased smile graced his lips. “Thank goodness you’re alright. I thought you’d never wake up. You were in a coma for a few days.”

“You are?”

“Oh, forgive me, where are my manners? Dr Morningstar at your service. You were in quite the accident, little lady.”

“What happened?”

“From what we were told it was quite the fatal car crash. I’m not sure how it happened, but it seems like Heaven willed it to occur.”

He grit his teeth when he mentioned the glorious upstairs. Odd.

He went back to smiling at me and I couldn’t tell if it was the lighting, but his eyes appeared red. “The most important thing is we get you better. I’m sure your husband is worried about you.”

“Oh, I’m not married.”

“I see.”

His gaze dropped to my hand and I became uncomfortable with how long it lingered there. “Well, I’d better let you rest. I’ll be back later to check up on you.”

He bowed and exited the room, closing the door behind him. What is with today?

Over the next few weeks Dr Morningstar helped me recover. My friends came and visited a couple of times which was nice. I was told I could go home at any time soon. It was late one night when Dr Morningstar came into my room. “Alrighty then Y/n, I have your discharge papers right here.”

He handed me a stack of paperwork. “I just need you to sign the bottom.”

“Of course.”

I did as he said when suddenly the lights started to flicker. The room slightly shook as Dr Morningstar suddenly summoned a cane with an apple on top. “W-what’s going on?”

“You my dear, just signed your soul to me.”

“W-what?!”

“I didn’t want to trick you like this I promise, but it needed to be done. Adam was getting too close to you.”

How could he know about Adam?

“The douchebag spilled everything to me, trying to make me jealous I guess. But sad to say, you’re now mine.”

He walked closer and I attempted to run but was met with a whack to the head. “Sweet dreams, darling.”

My eyes couldn’t quite process the six wings and horns that my doctor gained as they closed.

Everything faded to black.

900 notes · View notes

abibliophobiaa · 8 months

Text

18 +

steve harrington x f!reader

thinking about going to dinner with your husband, steve, for your first valentine’s day as a married couple.

he wants it to be special, even though you tell him countless times all you really want is time with him. so you put on your newest dress and a pair of heels, and he dons a dark button up and pants, and decide to make a night of it.

you’ve both been working endlessly lately, him at the school, you at your office. most days you’re like ships passing in the night — your only interaction that sweet, longing kiss in the morning and the kiss before bed as he reaches over you to shut the lamp.

it’s all dim lights, candles on the table, his smile warming your belly over the rim of his wine glass. he orders a steak and you order your favorite pasta, and you laugh and walk down memory lane. your beautiful wedding only a few months before, the honeymoon that followed, the dreams for your future.

by the time you make it to the car, his hands are on your hips, your back against the door, his mouth kissing along hot flesh, hips pressing eagerly into yours.

one of you utters ‘home.’ a breathy little thing, you’re not sure if it’s him or you, but the sentiment rings true for you both. he practically speeds there, your fingers finding his belt buckle as soon as he pulls you inside and pushes you against the hastily closed front door.

the home becomes a mess.

shoes by the door.

a heel on the welcome mat.

its twin down the hall.

the belt once looped around his waist in the doorway.

your dress at the foot of the bed.

his slacks on the lampshade.

his shirt hanging off the side of the night stand.

hands to hands, chest to chest, body to body, skin to skin — it’s your favorite way to be.

his hips rolling into yours, driving your interlocked hands into the headboard.

your head against the pillows, his against your collar bone, sweat pooling along the dips between his shoulder blades, over the dimples at the base of his spine.

exchanges of fuuuck, i love you, faster, harder, just like that, mine, yours, i love us spill into the room, temperature climbing to rival the rapid thump of your heart beneath your sternum.

his free hand slides between the two of you. trails the curve of your hip, the seam of your thigh curling around his waist, thumbing at your clit, then lower still where he moves in and out languidly, knowing better than anyone how to unfurl you, how to make you unravel over and over again.

and later, as you shatter around him and he pulls you against his chest, where you can feel the heavy thump of his heart beneath your breast, he kisses you soundly. whispers he loves you more than anything else. that he’ll do so for the rest of his life, the warm metal of his ring finger sending shivers to dance along your skin as he trails his palm up and down your spine.

and you’ll believe him, falling into peaceful rest, remembering two people who fell in love at the end of the world and made something beautiful of it.

#luna’s loves #lunalovessteve #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington smut #steve harrington blurb

510 notes · View notes

thewintersoldierdisaster · 3 months

Text

a/n: this is my aggressively self-indulgent birthday present to myself ☺️ and in true 30 year old fashion, i pulled a muscle in my back during pilates class this morning so i’ll be enjoying the day quietly 😂 anyway, i had so much fun writing it and i hope you guys enjoy!

word count: 10.9k

tw: oral (f receiving), fingering (f receiving), dirty talk, innuendo, car sex, semi-public sex, drinking

summary: you turn thirty and mat makes sure it’s a birthday to remember

You hadn’t been aware that you’d fallen asleep, but you’re woken up with Mat’s lips hot on your skin. He kisses the inside of your knee and you sigh, eyes still shut. The rasp of his playoff beard against your soft skin makes your stomach jump. Mat’s hand works its way up over the outside of your opposite thigh, fingers coming to rest and curl around your hip.

“Taste like champagne,” Mat mumbles, his voice hoarse from screaming at the parade. A shiver overtakes your body when he licks at your skin, blowing over the spot and raising goosebumps on your arms and legs.

A throaty giggle slips past your lips and your hands find his hair, overgrown since he’d lost his barber’s number during the playoff run. The dark strands are soft under your touch, slightly sticky from all the beer and champagne that had been flowing during the parade and post-parade celebrations just a few short hours ago. He groans against your inner thigh when you tug and then scrape your nails against his scalp.

“We basically bathed in the stuff,” you reply, spreading your legs wider for Mat to have more room between them. It’s dark outside still, no light streaming in behind the curtains. Mat’s shoulders are wedged between your legs, forcing you to drape your leg over one, the bottom of your foot resting flat just below his shoulder blade. Your bent knee gives Mat a clear view of your cunt, soaked for him always.

He doesn’t get any closer than halfway up your inner thigh though, licking and sucking gently at your skin. You can feel your skin chafing from the coarse hair covering the lower half of his face.

“It’s late,” you breathe, head fuzzy with lust. You’re still drunk, you think, your body both too heavy and too light. The parade down Hempstead Turnpike had been in the afternoon, the afterparty at Borrelli’s, the after-after party at Revel in Garden City, the after-after-after party in the Horvats’ backyard. You’ve had more alcohol in the past twenty four hours than in the past two years, probably.

“It’s early,” Mat counters, his fingers creeping down to brush against the crease of your thigh. “Happy birthday, Squeaks.”

You blink your eyes open, adjusting to the darkness, and let out a little giggle. “I almost forgot today’s my birthday,” you admit, too caught up in the whirlwind of watching Mat and the boys win a Cup to really keep track of the days. You suck in a sharp gasp when Mat’s teeth nip at your skin, even closer to the elastic edge of your panties. The fabric between your legs is damp and sticking to your skin.

“Dirty thirty,” Mat’s breath is hot on your skin, his head turning and nose rubbing against the damp spot on your panties. Your hips jump, pressing against his face. “Fuckin soaked, baby.”

He kisses over the wet spot and you hiccup a gasp, feeling more arousal flood your panties. Your fingers tighten in Mat’s hair and he groans against you sending a vibration straight to your core. Pressure coils tightly in your stomach, a live wire buried under your skin.

A whine works its way up your throat, your hips wriggling under Mat’s grip on them. “Mat,” you murmur his name, dizzy even though you’re on your back. Your toes curl against his back and Mat shifts up, pressing his shoulder up against the curve of your ass, bending your knee closer to your chest and pushing your other leg open wider.

“Birthday kisses?” He asks, lifting his head up slightly and grinning at you. His eyes are blown dark, a pink flush dusting his cheeks. Your hands are still buried deep in his hair. With the beard and longer hair, he looks almost dangerous. Less like your husband and more like a pirate ready to take exactly what he wants.

You nod, knowing he doesn’t intend to work his way up your body to kiss you properly. His teeth flash white against his dark beard and that gorgeous head disappears between your legs again.

Anticipation builds in your stomach while Mat carefully presses kisses to the insides of your thighs, alternating between legs to make sure no inch of skin is untouched. You whine and writhe, desperately trying to get your cunt to his face to relieve some of the throbbing. He nips at the junction of your thigh, a warning, and you tighten your grip on his hair.

“How many birthday kisses for my girl?” Mat rasps, his words a little slurred from all the drinking. He keeps one hand flat on your hip and hooks the index finger of his other hand around the edge of your panties, tugging the fabric to the side. “Thirty, one for each year you’ve been perfect?”

His beard scratches the inside of your thigh when his mouth lands on your cunt and you groan his name, panting already from the barest touch of his lips. Your heart beats wildly in your chest and Mat huffs a laugh against your folds, darting his tongue out to lick at you quickly.

“Please, oh my god,” you whine, all vestiges of sleep gone. Your nerve endings are on fire, desperate for him. Mat’s fingers are so close to your clit, holding the fabric of your panties aside, but his grip on your hip is too tight to let you move. “Mat,” you drag his name out into a choked moan, his tongue delving back into your wet, messy cunt. He licks and sucks at you like it’s his job and he’s getting paid by the hour. Carefully and methodically, his tongue drags more of your arousal from your entrance, the sounds of him eating you out obscene in the darkness of your bedroom.

The rasp of his beard on your inner thighs and against your sensitive cunt has tears slipping down your temples and into your hair. Mat dips his tongue into your entrance, holding it stiff so he can thrust it shallowly, and you keen, toes curling and fingers nearly ripping his hair from his head.

“Good girl,” he mumbles against you, nose bumping up against your swollen, sensitive clit and making you see stars.

“Please, please, Mat, oh my god, more,” you babble incoherently. His face is held right where you need him, the iron grip of your fingers giving him no room to pull back. He sucks gently at your clit and you choke off a scream, back bowing off the mattress and pushing your hips up into his face.

He moans against you and you kick at his back reflexively, drawing a grunt from him and making him grip your hip even tighter. You can feel your body dripping for him, arousal pooling under your ass faster than Mat can lick it up. He takes his time, licking and sucking painfully slowly, stoking the fire in your belly until it’s an inferno.

You’re not even sure what you’re saying as words fall from your lips, eyes wide open to watch Mat’s hips grind into the mattress. His ass, encased in a tight pair of royal blue boxer briefs, bounces with the movement and all you can picture is his hard, thick cock pressing into the mattress, leaking pre-cum and wetting the front of his briefs. Your mouth waters a little, desperate to get him in your hands or on your tongue and Mat’s tongue picks up its pace inside of your cunt.

“Oh my god,” you squeal out, writhing against Mat’s face, hiccuping and panting until Mat’s lips move up to latch around your clit and suck, hard. A shriek rips from your throat and your orgasm hits like a bomb, exploding in your veins and gushing out of your cunt to coat Mat’s face. You see stars and your chest heaves, breath catching as Mat continues to lick you through your orgasm, stroking gently over your hip bone. You whine and buck your hips against Mat’s face, eventually collapsing back against the mattress, a sheen of sweat making your oversized shirt stick to your skin.

“God,” you gasp, fingers cramping when you let go of Mat’s hair and flex them. Your legs tremble.

Mat’s head pops up between you legs and he gives you an absolutely shit-eating grin. “Nope, just me,” he chirps, wiping his hand over his beard. His whole face is shiny with your orgasm, but you’re so wrung out you can’t even be embarrassed about it.

Your foot twitches against his back and Mat’s grin widens, his head dipping again to kiss the inside of your thigh. “Real glad your parents took T,” he murmurs, kissing his way up over the top of your thigh to your hip bone. “I like when you scream for me.”

A yawn cracks your jaw and you squirm, overstimulated by the damp cotton stuck to your cunt and Mat’s weight on your legs. “Better let me take care of you so we can sleep before the princess is back tomorrow,” you reach down and scratch at Mat’s face, another yawn cutting your sentence in half.

He hums against your skin, fingers tracing nonsense patterns over your side. “I’m okay, babe,” he sucks a little mark over your hipbone, tracing the tip of his tongue over the spot, making you shiver. “Birthday girl doesn’t have to do anything.”

“What if-“ you yawn again, feeling your eyelids grow heavy, “the birthday girl wants to suck her Stanley Cup Champion husband’s dick?”

“How about we save that for when you’re able to keep your eyes open?” Mat chuckles and rubs his hand over your lower stomach, warm broad palm soothing you to sleep.

———

You wake up a couple of hours later, if the faint sunlight streaming in around the edges of the curtains is to be believed. Your legs are tingling, numb, and Mat’s not next to you when you turn your head. Instead, he’s still slotted between your legs, his head on your upper thigh and arms wrapped around your leg like it’s a teddy bear. A laugh bubbles up in your chest, even as Mat shifts and his shoulder wedges up against your cunt, arousal fizzing in your veins.

Reaching one hand out to your night table, your fingers brush up on your phone and tilt it so you can see the time - just after 5 in the morning, so plenty of time before the family comes over with Talia for your birthday breakfast. You let your eyes close again, the fingers on your other hand threading through Mat’s hair. Your body feels heavy from the early morning orgasm and the residual hangover from the parade yesterday. Most of it is faded, but you know that a nice greasy breakfast is going to do the last of the heavy lifting to make you feel normal again.

Mat stirs between your legs, his fingers tightening briefly around your thigh before loosening again. He rubs his bearded cheek against your skin like a cat and the bristles tickle you, goosebumps lifting on your arms. He’ll probably shave in the next few days, but you hope he’ll keep some stubble, if not most of the full beard.

His face is slack in sleep, laugh lines faint around his mouth and eyes. It’s been a gauntlet for Mat and the boys the last few months, but they have the ultimate prize now and every time you look at your Stanley Cup winning husband, the pride you feel for him grows exponentially. You’ll leave for Greece in a few days, a family vacation that all four of your parents and Liana are joining you on before they all head back home and you, Mat, and Talia skip off to Italy for another few days. It’s much needed family time after missing out on so much time with Mat during the post-season.

There’s still a ton to do before you leave, but today’s all about you, according to Mat.

Dirty thirty, you laugh to yourself. Never in a million years would you have thought this is where you’d be on your thirtieth birthday, with the best man you know madly in love with you and the greatest kid in the world. It’s been nearly seven years with Mat and every day just keeps getting better.

“Whatcha thinking about?” Your husband’s sleep rough voice startles you from your thoughts and he chuckles when you jolt under him. Mat lifts his head and rests his chin on your lower stomach, grinning up at you. “Hi.”

“Hi,” you whisper back, matching his grin. “Just…how amazing everything is.”

Mat blows a raspberry against your stomach and you shriek a laugh, pushing at his cheeks. “Stop, I’m allowed to be sappy on my birthday,” you whine, poking your lip out in a pout.

“Better sappy than crying like you usually do,” Mat teases. His fingers flex on your thighs and curl in towards the apex. One index finger traces over the edge of your panties. “These look damp,” he comments idly, continuing to trace his finger over until the tip of it is resting just over your clit. “Can’t be comfortable.”

You hum, already lifting your hips. Mat chuckles at how eager you are, sliding his hand up so the heel of his palm can grind against your clit and his fingers can curl under the top band of elastic. He shifts up to kneel in between your legs and you glance down to see the bulge in his briefs, one of your favorite sights in the morning. His free hand reaches for his dick and he grasps himself idly through the fabric, bringing the outline of him into stark relief. The shit-eating grin he gives you when he sees the fresh damp spot between your legs makes your knees go weak.

“Oh, birthday girl is desperate this morning, huh?” He murmurs, tugging down your panties and leaning forward to press a heated kiss to your lips. You groan against his mouth, parting your lips to allow his tongue inside.

“Mat,” you huff his name, breathless when he pulls back from the kiss. “Please.”

The plaintive syllable spurs Mat into action. He pushes the fabric of your sleep shirt up, exposing your breasts, nipples pebbled from arousal and the air conditioning. He sucks one into his mouth, his tongue circling until you’re moaning and canting your hips up into his hand. The backs of his knuckles are just barely touching you where you want him - need him - and you spread your legs farther apart, only to be stopped by the fabric of your panties still around your thighs.

“Mat!” You grumble, wriggling under him, trying to help your orgasm along.

He’s alternating between your breasts, licking a stripe in the valley between them. “Just relax, baby,” his voice vibrates in your chest when he speaks against yous skin. “Gonna make you feel good.”

And he does, burying three thick fingers in your cunt and crooking them until you’re screaming his name, gushing all over his hand. He murmurs filth into your skin as he pays attention to your breasts, sucking until your nipples are red and puffy. “Such a good girl,” he praises you, your heartbeat racing wilding in your chest, blood rushing in your ears. “Look so pretty when you come on my fingers.”

You’re boneless on the mattress, one leg slung lazily over Mat’s hip, and you give him a slow, dazed smile. “Fantastic start to thirty. Ten out of ten, no complaints,” you giggle, gaze trailing down to his cock. “Now, I remember something about the birthday girl wanting to suck her husband’s dick.”

Mat grins down at you and pinches your hip with his clean hand, the wet fingers of his other hand trailing over your stomach. “Who am I to deny the birthday girl?” He shrugs, his entire face crinkling up in the mischievous expression you love so much. You grin and sit up, pushing at Mat’s chest so he’s laying back and your positions are reversed.

“I like that attitude,” you smirk, scratching your nails lightly over his chest until your fingers reach the elastic of his briefs. You snap it once, enjoying the way Mat’s stomach muscles jump, before slipping your hand under the fabric and wrapping your hand around the hot, thick base of his cock.

“Oh, fuck,” Mat draws the curse out into a couple of groaned syllables. “Baby, have mercy, please.”

You tighten your grip and Mat grunts low in his throat. “Oh, I’ll be nice to you, baby,” your voice is a purr, faux-sweetness laced in every syllable.

Hours later, after Mat gave you another orgasm in the shower, pounding into you so hard you’re fairly convinced you saw God and feeding into that tiny little, not-so-secret wish that he put another baby in you, he changed the sheets on the bed and you’d both gotten ready for the day. You negotiated Mat away from a clean shave down to a healthy amount of stubble.

It is your birthday, after all.

You’re scrolling through the birthday texts and Instagram posts when the front door bangs open and Talia’s little feet stampede through the halls.

“Mommy! Happy Birthday!” She shrieks, running into your arms and giving you a huge hug. You laugh and lift her up onto your hip, tightening your arms around her.

“Thanks, love bug!” You press a smacking kiss to her cheek. “How was the sleepover with Grandma and Grandpa?”

While she chatters away, your parents appear in the kitchen with bags of food and a few gift bags. Mat’s parents and Liana aren’t far behind. Nadia and Liana have huge bouquets of flowers in their arms for you, to be mixed in with the days-old bouquets that had arrived after the Stanley Cup win. The entire kitchen island is covered in flowers and you grin into your birthday bouquet, thanking your mother-in-law and sister-in-law.

The kitchen is chaos for a few minutes, while everyone greets you with hugs and kisses, wishing you a happy birthday. Talia’s still on your hip, but she has one arm wrapped around Liana’s neck, making you both laugh while standing in an awkward position.

Mat appears and Talia lunges for him, leaving you and your sister-in-law in the lurch.

“Daddy’s girl,” you shake your head, taking the iced coffee that your mom offers you.

“Tossed over for the Stanley Cup champ,” Liana teases. “We get it.”

Behind Talia’s back, Mat flips off his sister and laughs, even as Nadia is scolding him. Laughter and conversation echo around the kitchen and you lean a hip against the counter, sipping at your coffee, taking it all in with a small smile. Your mom appears at your side, nudging your arm with her elbow and smiling up at you.

“I’m so proud of you, sweetheart,” she murmurs, squeezing your hand. “Talia, she’s just such a delight, exactly like you were at her age.”

You laugh a little. “Oh, she’s totally Mat’s mini. I think she got the best of both of us,” you reply, watching Liana try to teach Mat and Talia one of those schoolyard clapping games. All three of them are laughing and Talia’s bossing them around.

“Well, either way, you’re a wonderful mom and I’m so glad we got to be in town for your birthday,” she pinches your cheeks together and presses a kiss to your nose, just like she used to do when you were a kid.

“I’m glad you guys are here too,” you reply, tucking up against her side and resting your cheek on the top of her head. “And we’re extra glad that you’re all teaming up to watch T while we celebrate.”

There was no chance either you or Mat was able to parent last night or this morning, not with the amount of alcohol you had mainlined during the celebrations. Your mom laughs and waves you off, saying it was nothing.

The rest of the morning passes in a comfortable blur of homemade breakfast and bakery pastries, presents, and plenty of cuddles from Talia. You, Liana, and Talia do a Starbucks run too for your free birthday gift, detouring to Sephora and Chip City for those birthday freebies too.

“So, did Mat tell you where he’s taking me for dinner tonight?” You ask Liana, wiping whipped cream off of Talia’s face. Mat had told you he was taking you out for a fancy dinner, but hadn’t said anything else, other than you should dress up.

“I think the city,” Liana comments off-handedly. “Nothing specific other than that though.”

You squint at her, a little suspicious because you know the siblings are close and Mat tells Liana like 85% of his plans, especially when they involve you and surprises.

“The city?” Talia pipes up, her face breaking out into a huge smile. “Do I get to go?”

You’d brought Talia into the city to see the tree this past Christmas and now she’s obsessed with it and being like Eloise in the Plaza. So every time you or Mat go into the city, she thinks she’s tagging along.

“Not this time, kiddo,” Liana tugs at her pigtail. “Your mom and dad are going solo to celebrate your mom’s birthday.”

“I wanna go!” Talia kicks the back of the passenger seat and you wrap your hand around her ankle.

“Hey! No kicking, I get that you want to come, but right now this visit isn’t for you. Daddy and I will bring you in a different time, okay?” You wait for her to nod her agreement and then unbuckle her from her car seat so she can scamper up the walkway to the house.

Liana falls into step next to you, snorting a little laugh. “She’s so fiesty and then so agreeable. That didn’t come from either of you,” she teases.

“I’m so much more agreeable than Mat,” you counter, laughing too. “Plus it’s my birthday, aren’t you supposed to be nice to me?”

She bumps her hip into yours, “annoying little sister privileges!”

As an only child, you love the relationship you’ve developed with Liana, so you’ll happily take her teasing and chirping as a sign of affection.

Mat has lunch ready for Talia and reminds you that dinner reservations are at 6, so you have to start getting ready soon so you can leave on time.

“I don’t even get a single hint?” You pout, picking at the leftover half of a cinnamon roll from breakfast.

“Here’s your hint, put on a cute little dress,” Mat kisses behind your ear and lets his hand fall to your ass, grabbing a palmful, “and let me handle everything else.”

“You’re a menace,” you grumble, leaning back against his chest. “How do I know if I’m dressed properly?”

Mat’s hands wander over your hips, flattening over your stomach and slipping below the hem of your shirt to tickle your bare skin. “Li knows where I’m taking you, she’ll let you know if the outfit is good.”

You gasp, “she told me she didn’t know! Bunch of liars!”

Mat’s laugh echoes behind you when you break away from his grip and shout for his sister, stomping out to the back deck where she’s watching Talia in the pool.

Liana’s like a vault though, refusing to tell you where you’re going, but she does agree to help you pick a dress. So, after you shower, she and Talia camp out on your bed, both on their stomachs with their legs kicking in the air. Talia keeps looking over at Liana to mimic any change in position and it’s adorable, the way she wants to be just like her aunt.

“Oh, Mommy,” Talia sighs, her chin cupped in her hands, “you look so pretty.”

“Thank you, T,” you beam at your daughter, fingers tugging gently at the hem of the short black dress. “Is it too short?”

Liana shakes her head, “nope. It would be perfect.”

You look at yourself in the mirror and smooth your hands over your hips, cocking your head at your reflection. It does look nice and you haven’t worn it in a while.

“Maybe you need sparkles, Mommy,” Talia kicks her feet in the air. “Cause then you’d be like a princess!”

Liana nods when you look over at her. “Sparkles are also appropriate,” her grin matches Mat’s and you shake your head, disappearing back into the walk-in to find a dress with sparkles. You can hear Talia chattering to Liana, telling her all about the play date she’d just had with the Martin girls and Tulsa Horvat. You flip through the random dresses hanging in the back of your closet, fingers skipping over the more casual ones and the longer ones, until you land on the tiny, sequined mini that you wore for a New Year’s Eve party. The black sequins glitter in the closet’s overhead lighting and you feel good when you pull it on, sexy and sparkly and fun.

Based on the delighted gasp Talia lets out, she thinks you look good too.

“Mommy!” She jumps up onto your bed, bouncing a little with her arms thrown wide. “You’re sooooo pretty!”

She bounces and falls on top of Liana, who lets out a little grunt and grabs Talia around the middle to tickle her mercilessly. Talia shrieks and giggles, wriggling away from Liana and rolling off the bed to beeline for you. Her arms wrap around your leg and she looks up at you with big hazel eyes, “Mommy, can I pleaseeeee come to the city? Because you look so pretty with sparkles on.”

“Nice try,” you scratch at the top of her head. “You’re staying here with your grandparents and Aunt Li.”

Talia pouts and drops her head back dramatically, before disappearing into your closet. You can hear her start to knock shoes off their shelves and clomp around in your heels. You giggle at the noise and sit down at your vanity to start doing your hair and makeup. Liana rolls towards the end of your bed to chat.

“Did you start packing for Greece?” She asks, laughing when a little crash sounds from the closet and Talia shouts out, “I’m okay, Mommy! But the shoes fell.”

You roll your eyes, knowing you’re going to have to do a major clean up tomorrow, and look at Liana in the vanity’s mirror. “Nope, been way too busy celebrating,” you smirk. “Packing is a future me problem.”

“Spoken like a true Barzal,” Liana chirps. “You’re officially one of us.”

Waving the Dyson at her so she’ll get the hint to come and curl the back of your hair, you reply, “your brother’s bad habits have definitely rubbed off on me.”

“What have I rubbed on you?” Mat pokes his head into the bedroom, grinning wickedly and ducking when you toss a makeup brush at him. He bends to pick it up off the floor and twirls it around his fingers.

“Your daughter is within earshot, Mathew,” you reply primly, smothering a giggle with your lips rolled together. Liana tugs at the Dyson, releasing another curl, and you can see her roll her eyes.

“You two are gross,” she comments.

Mat points the brush at her and replies, “you’re in our home, we’re allowed to be gross here.”

“You’re gross everywhere! Don’t think we missed the ass grab during the parade, or the way your hand mysteriously disappeared,” Liana shoots back, your cheeks flushing hot at the memory of Mat’s hand down your shorts.

Your husband just shrugs, unbothered. “I’m gonna hop in the shower quick and I should be done by the time you are,” he presses a kiss to the top of your head as he walks past, clearly used to the time it takes you to get ready.

Mat’s still ready before you are, waiting downstairs with the family while you finish off your makeup and spray yourself in a cloud of Black Opium. Jewelry adds the final touch, your wrists jingling with the two Love bracelets and Van Cleef Alhambra bracelets you’ve collected over the years and your ears studded with the stupidly large diamond solitaires that Mat (and Talia, according to the card!) had given you this morning for your birthday. You take a final look in the mirror and smile at yourself, feeling settled and excited to start your thirties.

When you come downstairs, heels in your hand, Mat wolf whistles, cheeks flushing a little pink. “You look fucking edible, baby,” he murmurs, settling his hand heavy on the curve of your hip and tugging you close to press a kiss against your lips, biting down gently on your lower lip.

“Ditto,” you giggle when he pulls away, raking your gaze over Mat’s form, from the top of his tousled hair to peek of his throat and collarbones through the unbuttoned collar of his shirt, down to the loafers he’s wearing without socks.

“Ready for your birthday dinner?” He asks, folding you into an embrace, for no real reason other than him wanting your body flush against his. You can feel his cock twitch in his slacks.

You hum an affirmative against his skin, scratching lightly at the nape of his neck, “still no hints on dinner?”

“Just that we’re going into the city,” he kisses your cheek, spinning you around and patting your ass to get you moving to the door. You pad through the kitchen, planning on putting your heels on in the car.

Talia has all four grandparents monopolized on the couch, her head in Nadia’s lap and her feet on your mom’s lap. Beauty and the Beast is playing on the TV and you giggle when you realize that your dad and Mike are engrossed in the cartoon too.

“Hey,” you call softly, getting everyone’s attention. You notice Liana’s missing, has been since she finished your hair, but there’s also no dinner being cooked so she must’ve run out to pick up the food. “We’re heading out, give me a kiss, love bug.”

Talia stands up on the couch and plants a smacking kiss to your cheek telling you again that you’re ‘sooo pretty, even prettier than Belle, Mommy! And she’s the prettiest princess,’ before giving Mat a kiss too and a hug that has her jumping over the back of the couch and clinging to him like a monkey. He peppers kisses over her cheeks and she pushes him away after a minute, nearly back flipping out of his arms to get back on the couch and curl up with her grandmas.

“Remember, bedtime is 8, please,” you tell your mom and Nadia, knowing they’re going to disregard that completely. They nod and wave you out the door, Mat’s hand low on your ass doing the most work to get you out to the car.

He opens the door for you, like a legitimate gentleman, and bobs his head along when you flip the radio to the Sirius 90s pop station. His hand falls quickly from the steering wheel to your bare upper thigh and you smirk down at it. His fingers are long and thick, tanned even though he hasn’t been spending that much time outside. He taps them against your thigh in time with the music and your stomach does a little flip, lurching like you missed a step.

“Skin’s so soft,” Mat murmurs, eyes on the road, trailing his fingers up and down your thigh, closer and closer to the hem of your dress. “Just as soft as burying my fingers in your tight, little cunt.”

You let out a little squeak at his words, heat rushing between your legs, letting them fall open slightly. Out of the corner of your eye, you see Mat’s grin widen, his fingers dipping up under your dress and stopping.

“Mat,” you huff. You clit throbs.

Pulling to a stop at a red light, he turns to face you with a raised eyebrow and a little smirk. “What’s the matter, Squeaks? Need something?”

You growl in the back of your throat. Fucking menace. “Don’t make me say it,” you grumble, his fingertips are dancing lightly against your inner thigh.

“You’re a big girl now,” Mat’s smile is wicked, “you know how to ask for what you want.”

“Mat,” you whine, pressing back into your seat as the light turns green and Mat hits the gas. Your hands grip his wrist, trying to push his hand closer to your cunt. His tendons flex under your fingers, his hand immovable. “Please, I need you to touch me.”

He slides his fingers up higher, bumping just against your covered clit and you gasp, relaxing down into the seat. “Anything for the birthday girl,” he grins, moving his fingers slightly while still keeping his eyes on the road. “Go ahead, use my hand, babe.”

It’s awful and dirty and not even close to the most depraved thing you and Mat have done in his car, but you sigh and spread your legs a little wider, the hem of your dress inching up your thighs so you can guide Mat’s hand exactly where you need it. He merges onto the Grand Central and you know you only have a limited amount of time to get yourself off.

Shouldn’t be hard since you’ve honestly been wet for Mat since you saw him in the kitchen. The combination of the open neck of his button down and the peek of his chain is enough to get you halfway to an orgasm.

His fingers slip against your clit and you let out a little sigh, wiggling your hips against his hand. Mat chuckles a little and his voice is rough when he says, “go ahead, be as loud as you want. No one’s gonna hear you.”

You don’t even really want to be that loud, all of your attention focused on getting off as fast as you can. Mat’s fingers rub gently at your folds through the fabric of your thong, the fabric soaked through to the point where you think you really should’ve thought this through and sitting in a restaurant is going to be wildly uncomfortable with a damp thong.

Little whimpers leave your mouth while you pull the fabric to the side, guiding Mat’s middle and ring fingers to your entrance. He lets them sink into you in a quick slide and you clench around his fingers, groaning at the slight stretch.

“Sound so pretty when my fingers fill you,” Mat says, crooking his fingers just right and hitting your g-spot with enough force that your leg kicks out and your knee smashes into the underside of the dash.

“Ow, fuck, oh my god,” your yelp of pain trails off into a moan when Mat pumps his fingers without warning.

His fingers rub against the walls of your cunt and you feel arousal trickle down the curve of your ass, wincing when you think about the state of the car’s seat.

“You okay, babe?” Mat asks, glancing over at you.

“Mhm,” you nod, your own fingers moving from Mat’s wrist so you can circle your clit. “Just need…I’m so close, oh my god.”

Your fingers make tight little circles around the sensitive bundle of nerves, building tight pleasure in your stomach in tandem with Mat’s thick fingers.

The pads of Mat’s fingers press - hard - against your g-spot and you toss your head back against the headrest, coming around his fingers with a high pitched moan, your cunt clenching around his fingers like a vice. He continues to stroke your walls through the trembling aftereffects and the song on the radio changes over to ‘Genie in a Bottle’ and you start to giggle as the lyrics filter through the buzzy haze of your orgasm.

“Oh my god,” you laugh, Mat’s snort making you laugh even harder. His fingers wiggle in the grip of your cunt and your spasms of laughter only serve to grip him tighter.

“What a fucking soundtrack,” Mat cracks up, laughing so loud the music is nearly drowned out. He pulls his hand out from between your legs and you whine at the sudden emptiness. His hand glistens with your come and his smirk is devilish. “Proof I rubbed you the right way, huh, Squeaks?”

You groan, laughing, “god, you’re awful, Mathew!”

“You’re laughing though,” he chirps, sticking both fingers in his mouth to suck them clean. You clench your thighs together at the wet popping sound he makes when he withdraws his fingers from his mouth.

“Fuck,” you grumble, feeling lightheaded. “You’re going straight to the bathroom to wash your hands when we get to the restaurant.”

He pumps a little Purell onto his hand from the bottle sitting in his cup holder and grins at you, “yes, Mommy.”

You narrow your eyes at him and shake your head, “oh, don’t even start that, Mat! I’m already so messy, do you have napkins or something in here?” You’re flipping open the center console as you speak, finding nothing but a pair of sunglasses, one of Talia’s Polly Pocket dolls, and six protein bars in the space.

“I think T left her towel on the backseat after her swim lesson the other day,” Mat cranes his neck to look in the rear view mirror and nods. “Yep, it’s back there.”

Reaching back, your fingers grasp the striped towel and you pull it into the front seat, shaking your head. “Are we, like, sex maniacs? Because this isn’t even close to the weirdest thing I’ve cleaned myself up with,” you snort a laugh through your nose and wipe at your thighs with the chlorine-scented towel. You roll your window down too, trying to get the smell of sex out of the car.

“Honestly?” Mat laughs, changing lanes. “We probably are, but when my wife is as hot and smart and funny as you are? Who could blame me?”

“Flatterer,” you murmur, a faint smile on your face and butterflies fluttering around your stomach. Flirting with Mat will never get old.

You toss the dirty towel back into the backseat, making a mental note to bring it into the house later to wash.

Rummaging around in the glove compartment, you withdraw your little toiletry bag and spray a little bit of the travel sized Black Opium perfume on your thighs and hair.

“What?” You ask, catching Mat looking at you.

“How long has that been in there?” He laughs, studying you while you touch up your lipstick with a miniature tube.

You smack your lips, shifting the color, and giggle at your husband. “Since the first time we had sex in the car,” your laugh grows.

The rest of the drive into the city is quiet, Mat trying to hold your hand over the center console and laughing when you push his arm away because you “know where his fingers have been!”

“Yeah,” Mat shoots back, “inside of you!”

He drives over the 59th Street Bridge and you’re still trying to guess where you’re going, even as Mat drives into Midtown. He remains frustratingly tightlipped, driving past Bryant Park and pulling into an Icon Parking garage in the middle of West 36th.

You buckle your shoes around your ankles and climb out of the car, wondering just exactly where you’re having dinner nearly in the middle of Times Square. Nothing looks familiar to you, in terms of fancy restaurants that you and Mat have discussed trying out. Mat hands his keys off to the parking attendant and takes your hand with his clean one.

“How far are we going?” You cling to his hand, skipping along in your heels. “Because these aren’t walking heels, they’re look good at dinner and then draped over your husband’s back while he rails you in bed heels.”

Mat snorts a laugh and replies, “literally down the block, babe. If we were going any further, I’d carry you.”

“Down the block?” By the time the question is out of your mouth, Mat is stopping and guiding you towards the door of the Moxy Hotel. You squint up at the neon pink sign and tilt your head at Mat, pushing the door open.

“Magic Hour,” he says in response to your unasked question. “Rooftop bar since I know those are the birthday girl’s favorites.”

You give him an excited little bounce-shimmy because he’s right, you love a rooftop bar especially in the warm days of June in New York. You’ve never been to Magic Hour, have heard of it though with its rotating seating area and miniature mini golf course.

“Well this is a fun surprise,” you beam, resting your chin on his bicep. “Go wash your hands and we can get up there!”

“Yes, ma’am,” Mat laughs, presses a smacking kiss to your cheek and scampers off, returning a few minutes later with freshly washed hands. He takes your hand and guides you to the elevators, your heels clicking along the floor. You lean against the back wall of the elevator, watching Mat’s fingers punch at the rooftop button.

“You got lucky today’s a beautiful day,” you tease. “Otherwise all those rooftop dinner plans are out the window.”

Mat’s smile curves up at an amused angle, something twinkling in his eyes. A secret? He looks more delighted than he should. “There was a Plan B,” he promises. “I’m just glad we didn’t need it.”

“What was the Plan B?” You ask, curious. But Mat doesn’t have a chance to answer, the elevator doors sliding open to reveal another hallway decorated with silver elephant heads. “Oh this is fun!”

You traipse ahead of Mat towards the doors, pointed off in the right direction by the woman at the reservation stand. He’s trailing behind you and you angle your chin over your shoulder to say something to him, pushing open the door to the rooftop.

“SURPRISE!”

The shout registers a second later and you jump, eyes wide and mouth dropped open, hands flying up to cover the lower half of your face. Mat’s laughter is at your back and the crowd of people in front of you are a blurry mess of faces and delighted cheering.

“Oh my god!” You gasp, taking a little step back instinctively, right into Mat’s waiting hands. They’re warm and solid on your hips.

“Happy birthday, Squeaks,” he murmurs into your ear, kissing your cheek. “Surprise,” his whisper is low and makes you shiver.

“Mat…” a lump of emotion clogs your throat, overwhelmed by the surprise party and Mat’s thoughtfulness. His hands squeeze your hips gently and he nudges you forward.

“Go ahead, greet your adoring crowd,” he laughs. “I’ll be around.”

You’re immediately pulled into a hug and shout with excitement and shock when you realize it’s Liana wrapping her arms around you. “Oh my god!” You yelp, hugging her back. “Aren’t you supposed to be hanging out with my kid? I was wondering why you weren’t at the house when we left.”

She grins and bounces up and down in her heels. “I snuck out and caught a ride in with Bo and Holly,” she beams, looping her arm in yours and dragging you deeper into the party. “My big sister is turning thirty, of course I wasn’t missing this party.”

Tears well up in your eyes and you lean into Liana’s side, bumping your head against hers.

“I can’t believe Mat pulled this off,” you say, completely awed. “With the playoffs and … well, I had no clue!”

“He had plenty of help!” Syd comes up behind you and wraps you in a huge hug. “Happy thirtieth, girl! Welcome to the club!”

Holly laughs and hugs you tightly. “Mat’s only two stipulations were an open bar and a neon sign because and I quote, ‘my girl loves those fuckass neon signs.’”

“He loves those fuckass neon signs!” You protest loudly. “He’s just as much of a basic bitch as I am.”

All three women nod in agreement. “Oh we know,” Liana grins, any opportunity to make fun of her brother.

The neon sign in question is pointed out to you - bright orange and spelling out ‘Dirty Thirty’ in script, it’s attached to a fake plant backdrop and you’re informed that it’s yours to keep - and then you’re moving throughout the party, greeting guests and getting wrapped up in hugs from the guys. At some point, someone places a plastic princess tiara on your head and hands you a glass.

It’s a Bay Breeze, your favorite, and when you finally make it to the bar, there’s a sign on top that names it as your signature drink. The Squeaks Special. Mat had to have been behind that one, the only one to use the nickname, and it makes you smile.

There are a couple of other speciality drinks that are named for you - a bright orange Aperol Spritz, an espresso martini, and your stand-by of a vodka cranberry. You know you’ll be sampling each one as the night goes on. But for now you stick to your Squeaks Special, the alcohol warming your body from the inside out.

The rooftop is huge, crowded with your guests. The entire team is here, including the handful of players that have retired in the last few years. Your friends from college and grad school, your parent friends from Talia’s class. Your best friends from high school. You spend more time than you realize catching up with everyone, wondering just how Mat and the girls knew to create a guest list made up of your favorite people in the world.

Including - “Tito! Emma!” you shriek, spotting your husband’s best friend and his wife chatting with Mat at the mini golf green and making a beeline for them, wrapping an arm around each of their necks and pulling them into a three person hug. Their arms loop around your back and you wobble slightly, a pleasant buzz settling in.

“Happy birthday!” Emma squeals, keeping her arms looped over your shoulder. “Perfect weather, perfect party for our perfect girl!”

You beam, waving a hand in the air, a giggle slipping past your lips. “Because I have the sweetest, most thoughtful husband in the world,” you blow a kiss at Mat.

“How many of those have you had?” Mat laughs, reaching out to take a sip of your Aperol Spritz. He winces at the harsh taste and washes it down with a sip of his Jack and coke.

“Enough,” you shrug. Truthfully, you’re not entirely sure, but Mat doesn’t need to know that. Returning to the conversation, you say, “I can’t believe neither of you slipped up on anything. Especially when we were talking about the August visit.”

Emma and Tito’s little boy is a few years younger than Talia and you were planning a trip down to Nashville for a visit in early August, once you’re back from Europe.

“We were under strict orders not to spill the beans,” Tito laughs, clapping Mat on the shoulder. “Pain of death if we ruined your surprise.”

Mat shrugs, a lazy smile on his lips and amusement dancing in his eyes. “Half of you are lucky you got told at all, big fucking mouths,” he teases, opening his arm for you to snuggle against his side. His arm is warm over your shoulders and you loop your fingers loosely over his belt, enveloped by the scent of his cologne and the laundry detergent you just switched over to.

“Well, I had no clue,” you assure him. “I’m…I’m really overwhelmed, honestly.” You choke up a little. “I just love that everyone I love is here.”

“You deserve it, babe,” Mat kisses the top of your head, getting an “oooh” from Emma and Tito and making you laugh. You lean up on your toes and kiss the side of Mat’s neck, a faint transfer of your lipstick smudging his skin.

“Oh!” The music transitions into a club mix of ‘Believe’ and you bounce, grasping Mat’s hand and tugging him over to the space in the middle of the rooftop that’s functioning as a dance floor. “Dance with me!”

Mat laughs and follows along, resisting just slightly. “Only because it’s your birthday,” he teases.

You shake your ass at him, tossing a grin over your shoulder. “Liar! You love a good jump around dance, don’t pretend,” your voice strains, shouting over the music. Mat’s free arm locks around your waist and pulls you back to him, your ass pressed tightly against his crotch, the bulge of his cock hot against the curve of your ass. You wiggle happily against him, getting comfortable, and let go of his hand so you can loop your arm around his neck and rest the back of your head against his collarbone, grinding and dancing completely off-beat.

Somehow, while the songs change, you polish off your drink and some of Mat’s and a few little snacks that someone keeps putting into your hands. You’ve lost track of how many drinks you’ve had, know that you did a round of shots with Cal, Casey, and Matt.

At some point, you end up behind the bar, dancing absently to the music that’s playing and pouring drinks for everyone. God knows if they’re the right drinks, but no one seems to be complaining. Mat’s leaning against the bar, grinning at you.

“What?” You say, cocking your head at him and overfilling a glass with seltzer. You shake your hand off and the actual bartender pours the drink properly, handing it off to one of your college friends.

“Nothing,” Mat shrugs, “you’re just really cute.”

Heat rushes to your face and you giggle. “You’re really cute,” you shoot back, reaching over the bar to grasp Mat’s hand. His fingers curl around yours and he pushes himself forward, over the bar, so he can capture your lips with his. His tongue passes over yours and you moan into his mouth, your free hand grabbing at the open neck of his shirt to pull him in even closer. Your fingers brush against the warm metal of his chain and you tug gently at it, a growl vibrating at the back of Mat’s throat. Mat’s hand gropes at your chest, cool fingers dipping beneath the fabric of your dress and squeezing gently at the swell of your breast. You whine and deepen the kiss, pressing your chest into his hand, wolf whistles from your friends rattling around in your brain.

You pull back from the kiss, desperate for air, and Mat has your lower lip captured between his teeth, tugging gently on it. You push a little at his chest, getting him to release you, and suck in a shaky breath.

“Get a fuckin’ room!” Marty shouts, laughing.

“When has a lack of privacy ever stopped them?” Bo chimes in, sounding exasperated.

Mat grins at you and you can see that his face is flushed. “Say the word, baby, I’ll haul you off to the bathroom right now,” his voice is low, his fingers drawing aimless trails up and down your arm. Your clit throbs in response to his voice, dampness growing between your thighs.

It’s on the tip of your tongue to say yes, to nod and have his arms around you in a second, an orgasm flooding your senses before you can even be missed.

And then the opening notes to ‘Stop’ by the Spice Girls start and your eyes go wide, an excited squeal from your lips barely audible over the music. You dart around the bar, leaving Mat hanging over the counter, confused and surprised by your sudden disappearance.

Until you start shouting for Syd, Alexa, and Liana, shimmying your way into the middle of the dance floor. Mat realizes exactly what’s happening when his sister and the other two blondes join you in a line, drunkenly performing choreography to the song.

Mat cracks up and he’s in the thick of it seconds later, recording the impromptu performance, holding his phone up and sticking his head in the shot as you hold your hands out and cross them over your chest, your movements not as sharp as they could be. Next to you, Sydney and Liana burst out into giggles, Alexa shouting along to the lyrics. Mat sings loudly and off-key, barely audible over the music.

“I need somebody with a human touch,” you drag out the notes, slurring your words a little, and Mat dances next to you, thrusting his hips a little, recording everything. You turn and kiss him, giggling against his mouth. When the song ends, you fall into a pile of arms, laughing and hugging the girls.

“I didn’t think I would remember that,” Syd grins, thinking about how drunk you’d all been during the game watch party a year ago when you decided to learn the choreography to the song instead of focusing on the game.

Alexa snorts, “valuable brain cells are used up on remembering 90s choreography.”

“Big hit with your fans,” Mat waves his phone in the air, the screen playing his Insta story, your off-rhythm dancing the focus, with Mat’s face popping up in the bottom corner of the screen, his face scrunched up in a delighted expression.

You reach for the phone, stumbling a little and landing hard against Mat’s chest, his arm locked around your waist. “That’s what you post?” You whine. “Not my amazing bartending shkills…skillsh…talents?” Your eyebrows furrow, your mouth clumsy around the sharp consonant.

“My drink was all cranberry, no vodka,” Alexa chirps.

“You gave me a White Claw when I asked for a beer,” Noah grins, draping an arm over his girlfriend’s shoulders.

A handful of your other friends chime in with their wrong drinks and you stick your tongue out at the group, “you’re supposed to lie to me!”

They all refuse to lie to you and you’re too drunk to care, slipping your way off the dance floor with Mat at your back, attention span moving onto the next conversation.

You’re not sure what time it is when Mat pulls you to the middle of the rooftop again, your question cut off when everyone starts singing Happy Birthday and a huge sheet cake is wheeled out in front of you, three big sparkler candles making everything glow. A picture from your first birthday is printed on the frosting and you grin down at your own face - your mom had to have supplied the picture to Mat - blowing out the number candles lit next to the sparkler candles.

“What did you wish for?” Mat asks in your ear, kissing your cheek. One of his hands is resting on the curve of your ass and the other swipes up a bit of frosting for you to try.

You lick it off his finger delicately, knowing you’re going to hear shit from the girls during the party debriefs in the coming days, and hoping someone got a picture anyway.

“Can’t tell you,” you whisper back, “otherwise it won’t come true.”

There’s only one thing missing from your life right now and you refuse to dwell on that anxiety producing thought for the night, instead choosing to swipe frosting onto your own fingers and run them over Mat’s cheek, laughing and running off when his mouth drops open in shock. You’d lost your heels hours ago, so your escape is going well until Mat follows, considerably less drunk than you are, and captures you around the waist, your legs swinging up in the air with your changed momentum.

“Brat,” Mat grumbles affectionately into your ear, peppering kisses down the back of your neck.

“Do something about it,” you challenge him, pressing your ass back against his crotch.

Mat’s hands tighten around your waist and you let out a little sigh, relaxing into his grip. His face is buried in your hair, lips working over the nape of your neck. Every so often his teeth scrape against your skin and you shiver, barely aware that he’s carrying you back inside, into the little hallway with the silver elephant heads on the wall.

“So needy,” he mumbles, pressing you up against the wall, kissing your cheek and letting his hands slide over your stomach and down to the bare skin of your upper thighs. “Lucky for you I’ve never been able to resist you.”

“Mat…” you whine his name, choking off in a gasp when his fingers find your clit and expertly roll the sensitive bundle until tears well up in your eyes and arousal soaks your panties. It doesn’t take long for your orgasm to build, Mat’s middle finger teasing between your folds and his thumb and index finger working your clit.

“Come on, baby,” he grins into your shoulder, never stopping his movements. “Got a party full of people waiting for you, come on my hand and you can get back out there.”

You clap your hand over your mouth to muffle the high-pitched moan Mat drags out of you, your orgasm hitting like a tidal wave, your come drenching Mat’s hand.

“Good girl,” he praises you through the rolling waves of your orgasm, pulling his hand from between your legs and taking a little step back so you’re not crushed between his chest and the wall. “Back to the party,” he chuckles and pats your ass with his clean hand, guiding you back out to the rooftop.

Your legs are shaky and you’re grateful that you’re barefoot because the post-orgasm leg weakness wouldn’t have combined well with your heels and the alcohol you’ve had to drink. Mat isn’t at your side and you assume he’s gone to wash his hands, but you don’t have a chance to really wonder where he’s gone or worry about it because you’re drawn into a drunken mini golf competition with Noah, Alexa, Bo, and Holly. Bo and Noah are the only ones who manage to do a halfway decent job, you and the girls giggling and sending the colorful golf balls rolling off the fake green.

The party winds down in the early hours of the morning and you find yourself tucked up on Mat’s lap, his hands warm on your back and outer thigh while he cradles you. Your cheek is pillowed on his chest and you’re half having a conversation with Holly, half falling asleep.

“I think the party’s over,” Mat chuckles, looking down at you.

“No,” you whine, “I don’t want my birthday to be over.”

“Hate to break it to you, Squeaks,” Mat’s lips are against your temple, “but it’s almost 2am. Your birthday’s been over for a couple of hours now.”

“That sucks,” your voice is muffled by Mat’s shirt and you yawn. “It was the best birthday.”

The last stragglers for the party get up when you and Mat do, hugging you goodbye and heading out into the night. You and Liana lean heavily on either side of Mat and he grumbles about trying to find his wallet in his pocket while you’re leaning on him.

“I literally can’t move,” you yawn, jaw cracking. You’re not as drunk anymore, but the exhaustion is settling in.

“Hop on,” Mat laughs, bending his knees slightly so you can climb onto his back with a happy little squeak. Your arms lock around his neck and you rest your cheek against his head.

“You smell like a bar,” you mumble, strands of Mat’s hair moving with your breath.

Mat’s heading out of the Moxy, nudging Liana along with the hand that isn’t propped under your ass to hold you in place. “Better than my post-game smell, huh?” he laughs. “Li, come on. Walk.”

“I wanna be carried too,” she complains, limping along in her heels.

“Car park is literally next door,” Mat rolls his eyes, bouncing you up higher onto his back when he feels you start to slip. Your thighs clamp tighter around his waist and Mat grunts a little.

“Can still smell your cologne though,” you continue, the heels in your hands dangling against Mat’s chest. “I like this one. Smells so good.”

The cool night air hits your face as Mat walks out onto the sidewalk, free hand wrapped around Liana’s wrist to keep track of her for the thirty foot walk to the Icon Parking lot. You snuggle up tighter against Mat’s back, eyes closing while he walks. Mat’s chuckle vibrates your chest and he sounds amused when he says, “you staying awake back there, Squeaks?”

“Mhm,” you hum. “Awake, totally awake.”

“Yeah, okay,” Mat scoffs, paying for the parking and stepping off to the side where Liana’s sitting on a little bench with Holly to wait for the car.

It doesn’t take long, probably because it’s after two in the morning and there’s only a few people waiting for their cars - Bo and Holly included. You wave at them as they climb into their car and drive off.

Mat loads you and Liana into the car and you’re on the road back to the Island before you know it. Your head rests against the window, feet tucked up under your body.

“Can we stop for McDonalds?” Liana asks from the backseat, poking her head in between the seats and giving Mat a wide eyed flutter of her eyelashes.

“Fuck no,” Mat rolls his eyes and you laugh. “We’re going right home and to bed because some of us have a five-year-old that gets up with the damn sun.”

Liana punches Mat’s arm, “you’re no fun.”

“We have pizza rolls in the freezer,” you tell her, turning in your seat a little. “And I think a bag of those honey bourbon Perdue nuggets.”

“Oh, you’re my favorite sister for sure,” Liana sighs happily and leans back in her seat. “Pizza rolls and chicken nuggets, the food of drunk champions.”

The drive home takes about thirty five minutes, the shortest a drive home from the city has ever been, and you wander across the lawn barefoot when you get home, the damp grass soothing against your sore feet. Liana makes a beeline for the freezer once Mat opens the front door and asks if you want a snack.

You shake your head, “I’m beat. Thanks for helping Mat with the surprise.” You give her a huge hug and she returns it, the pair of you doing a faint drunken sway in the middle of the kitchen.

“Anytime,” she grins, accepting a goodnight hug from Mat too.

“Clean up your mess,” he demands, fake-sternly, as he follows you up the stairs.

After a very quick joint shower that was actually just a shower, you crawl into bed next to Mat, pressed up against his side tightly. “Best birthday ever,” you yawn into his chest, nose brushing against the fabric of his shirt.

“You deserve it,” Mat yawns back, kissing the top of your head. “Can’t wait to see what you’re gonna do for my thirty-fifth.”

You snort a laugh - Mat had gotten a slightly delayed thirtieth birthday last year due to the playoffs. “Mmm,” you hum, “let’s see how good you are the next four years.”

He murmurs a reply, but you barely hear him, asleep before his sentence is finished.

——

Your bedroom is bright with sunlight when you finally wake up, miraculously without the nausea and throbbing headache that usually accompany your hangovers. You sit up and push the tangle mess of your hair off of your face, smiling faintly when you hear noise outside of the bedroom door.

“I’m awake,” you call out and Mat wanders in, Talia perched happily on his hip. He looks tired, but there’s a smile on his face. Talia’s beaming and flings herself out of Mat’s arms to land on the plush mattress before crawling up to curl in your lap. She’s got a packet of the Nature’s Bakery fig bars you’re all obsessed with in her hands, tearing into the wrapper.

“Hi, mommy,” she chirps. “I had so much fun with Nana and Pop and Granma and Granpa. But Aunt Li wasn’t here, did you know that?”

You smooth a hand over her dark hair, “I think she was playing a little trick. But she’s down in the basement, she stayed over last night.”

“Really?” Talia’s eyes go wide. “I’m gonna go share my pig newtons with her.”

Mat steps to the side as she barrels past him, shrieking for Liana as she goes. He laughs and flops onto the edge of the bed, hooking a hand around your ankle. “Li’s gonna love the Hurricane Talia landfall,” he laughs. “I could hear her puking when I went down to make coffee.”

Sympathy for your sister-in-law has you wrinkling your nose. “Maybe we should’ve stopped her?” You ask, reaching out to run your fingers through Mat’s hair. You yawn widely, jaw cracking, and roll your neck to ease some of the ache.

“She’ll get distracted by the parents on her way,” Mat shrugs. “They’ve got breakfast going, whenever you’re ready to join.”

Surprisingly, you’re hungry, so you roll out of bed and press a quick kiss to the corner of Mat’s mouth and pad off to the bathroom. You can feel his gaze on your ass and add a little extra sway in your step, just for him.

“Thirty never looked so good,” he calls after you, making you laugh.

After such a perfect start, you’re looking forward to seeing what thirty has in store for you.

#mat barzal x reader #mat barzal #mat barzal fic #mat barzal x you #nhl fic

315 notes · View notes

sissydiaperloverzoe · 10 months

Text

What Diaper Discipline elements do you want?

This list is to help you think about the elements of Diaper Discipline you want and can also be used by a partner to list elements they’re comfortable with.

Reblog with what you’d pick!

Let us know in comments if we’ve missed anything ❤️

Diaper Wearing:

Disposable Medical Diapers

Disposable ABDL Diapers

Pull Ups

Cloth Diapers

Diaper Usage:

Wetting

Messing

Frequency:

24/7

Forced Usage:

Bulk forming / Fibre

Suppositories

Oral Laxatives

Enemas

Castor Oil

Catheters

Locking Clothing / Pant

Hollow Butt Plugs

Anal Stretching

Toilet untraining

Checks & Changes:

Partner checks if you need changed exclusively (you can’t ask for changes)

Partner changes you into dry diapers

Partner changes wet diapers

Partner changes messy diaper

Partner does all changes (Not allowed to change yourself)

Partner changes in public (i.e. back of car / disabled washroom)

Adult Baby Clothing:

T-shirt and exposed Diaper

Plain Onesies

AB Onesies

AB Rompers

AB Footed Sleepers

AB Pyjamas

AB Play Clothes (Shortalls, Dresses, etc)

Spreader pants

Mittens

Booties

Bonnets

Adult Baby Accessories:

Pacifier

Bottle

Sippy Cup

Bib

Baby Blanket

Teddy

Chew Toys

Diaper changing bag

Adult Baby Furniture:

Changing Mat

Diapers on display

Changing Table

Crib

High Chair

Playpen

Bouncer

Public Wearing / Usage:

Wear diapers in public

Wet diapers in public

Mess diapers in public

Wear diapers around friends & family

Wet diapers around friends & family

Mess diapers around friends & family

Wear diapers at work

Wet diapers at work

Mess diapers at work

MDLB / DDLG Behaviours:

Being called Baby

Sweet talk (being talked to as if a small child/baby)

Must hold hand in public at all times

Calling partner Mummy/Daddy

Diaper pats

Helped to get dressed/undressed

Bottle feeding

Pretend breast feeding

Spoonfed adult food

Spoonfed baby food

Baby talk

Crawling

Bondage:

Locking Diaper Covers / Plastic Pants

Locking Mittens

Pacifier Gags

Bed Restraints

Straight Jackets

Full Fixation Restraints

Chastity:

Male chastity cage

Self-imposed chastity

Punishments for masturbating in diapers

Punishments:

Time-Outs

Denied/delayed diaper changes

Forced pacifier use

Chastity

Laxatives

Bottom stuffing with a butt plug

Restrained

Loss of adult privileges

Masturbation & Sex:

Vibrator though diaper

Butt plugs

Diaper humping

Prostrate massage (combined with Chastity device)

Pegging

Cuckolding

Sissy:

Pink AB Diapers

Girly AB Onesies

Female AB clothes (dresses, etc)

Full sissy attire

Fake breasts / bras

Makeup & painted nails

Exposure:

Private photo album

Anonymous social media account (faces hidden & identify keep secret)

Attending ABDL events

Visiting ABDL shopS

Public diaper exposure

#diaper training #diaper discipline #diaper pee #diaper dependent

645 notes · View notes

carhatke-space · 1 year

Text

Carhatke 7D Car Floor Mats

If you Are Looking For More Durable And Premium Look Car Foot Mats Then Carhatke 7D Car Floor Mats Should Be First Choice For You In India. All Over India Shipping is Available

#car floor mat #foot mat #car foot mat #car accessories #carhatke #cars #car modifications #classic car #car headlight #auto mirror #folding relay

3 notes · View notes

carfashiongurgaon · 10 months

Text

Guide to Selecting the Best Foot Mat for Your Car

When it comes to elevating your driving experience, Car Fashion is the leading Car Accessories Gurgaon Sector 14 understands that every detail matters, and one detail not to overlook is the foot mat selection for your car. Choosing the right Car foot mat not only enhances the aesthetic appeal but also prolongs the life of your car’s floor. Here is your comprehensive guide on how to select the best foot mat for your car, ensuring style, durability, and comfort.

1. Understanding Your Needs

The first step to select the best foot mat for your car is to understand your specific needs and preferences. Do you prioritize aesthetics, functionality, or both? Car Fashion offers an extensive range to suit varied tastes and requirements, including 5d, 7d, and 9d car mats in Gurgaon.

2. Evaluating the Car Floor Mat Price

Cost is a critical factor when choosing a foot mat. Car Fashion assures that customers receive value for their money, offering options that blend quality and affordability. Evaluate car floor mat prices while considering longevity, style, and the protection they offer to your vehicle's floor.

3. Prioritizing Quality with GFX Mats Gurgaon

Quality is non-negotiable when it comes to selecting the right car mat. Car Fashion recommends opting for Carmate Mats Gurgaon for those who prefer top-tier quality and aesthetic appeal. Carmate Mats are renowned for their durability, ensuring your car’s floor is shielded from dirt, water, and daily wear and tear.

4. Assessing the Fit

A good car mat should fit your car’s floor perfectly. Car Fashion ensures the mats are tailored to fit the specific make and model of your vehicle. Whether it's 7D car mat Gurgaon or 9d car mat Gurgaon, a precise fit is paramount to avoid any slipping or movement while driving.

5. Checking the Material

The material of the foot mat plays a pivotal role in its functionality and longevity. Car Fashion offers mats in a plethora of materials, each serving a unique purpose. Whether it is easy-to-clean synthetic, luxurious leather, or eco-friendly natural fibers, select a material that aligns with your lifestyle and preferences.

6. Comparing Different Models

Car Fashion offers a diverse range of models, each designed to meet different needs and preferences. Compare the 5d, 7d, and 9d car mats in Gurgaon to discern which one aligns with your requirements. Each model offers a different level of protection, style, and comfort, ensuring there is something for everyone.

7. Examining the Design and Aesthetics

The design and color of the foot mat should complement your car's interior. Car Fashion provides various design options that add a touch of elegance and personality to your vehicle. From minimalistic to lavish designs, choose a style that reflects your personal taste.

8. Exploring the Best Car Mats Gurgaon

Your quest for the best car mats in Gurgaon ends at Car Fashion. The diverse range ensures that every car owner finds the perfect mat that blends style, comfort, and durability. By choosing the best, you elevate your driving experience and maintain the pristine condition of your car’s floor.

9. Reading Reviews and Seeking Recommendations

Before making the actual purchase, read reviews and seek recommendations. This will provide insights into the reliability and performance of the foot mat. Car Fashion values customer satisfaction, ensuring every product meets the highest standards of quality and style.

10. Selecting a Reputable Seller

Finally, buy from a reputable seller like Car Fashion, where quality meets style. A trustworthy seller will provide authentic products, clear information, and excellent customer service, guaranteeing a seamless buying experience.

Buy the Right Car Mat in Gurgaon

In the pursuit of elevating your driving experience, choosing the right foot mat is crucial. By considering the fit, quality, price, and design, you can select a mat that is not just visually appealing but also functional and durable. Whether you are seeking the luxury of a 9D car mat in Gurgaon or the practicality of a good car mat in Gurgaon, Car Fashion has you covered, offering the best car mats in Gurgaon that promise to enhance your car’s interior while providing optimum protection to your vehicle’s floor.

Looking for Car Mat in Gurgaon?

We are one of the main car mat shops in Gurgaon. You will get a big range of car mat and car accessories at our store. To know more about us, you can reach us here.

#Best Foot Mat for Your Car #Buy Best Foot Mat for Your Car #Best Foot Mat for Your Car in Gurgaon #Buy Best Foot Mat for Your Car in Gurgaon

0 notes

your-highnessmarvel · 10 months

Text

Repairs

Requested by @talesofreading : Would you write something where you're a close friend of Steve and one time as your Bike needs some repair, he tells you to bring it to Bucky as he's good in fixing it. You're hesitant first as you have a bad crush on him but you decide to do it. So when you get there he's wearing a muscle Shirt, is all dirty and Looks pretty hot with his metal arm. So after you watch him fix your bike you can't resist the way he also Looks at you, so it happens that you end up in his shower together with some passionate smut. Later then he asks you for a proper date? 🤭

AN: omg this was sooooo good to write omg

Warnings: SMUT SMUT SMUT, piv, oral (f receiving), fingering, language

*gif not mine

MASTERLIST

"Yep, totally busted," Steve said, looking back up at you from where he knelt next to your smoking bike.

You put a hand to your sweaty forehead. Both of you had been at this for the better part of the afternoon, trying to figure out what was wrong with your motorcycle. Steve was in his white wifebeater, stained black from oil and grim, nails coated in dirt. He'd sweated right through his shirt and even his jeans were full of mud and dirt.

You'd sweated your fair share as well, competing with dirt under your nails and sweat right into your hairline. you didn't look any better, but you didn't care; this was your best friend, after all, and you had no reason to try to impress him.

"You know what?" Steve said, putting his tools back into his box. "You should go see Bucky."

You immediately rolled your eyes.

"He's good with bikes, y/n," he commended, seeing the way you shook your head.

"Is this another ploy to set me up with your grumpy best friend?" you retorted, crossing your arms over your chest.

Steve got to his feet, dirt-stained hands going right into his pockets. "I mean it, y/n," he said, almost scolded. "I'm not as savvy with bikes as he is. He'd do it if you said I sent you."

"Then come with me!" you said. "Every time I'm alone with him, there's this awkward silence and all he does is grunt as a response."

Steve smiled. "I wish I could come, but I've got a date," he answered.

"Yeah, right," you grumbled. You watched him carefully, your best friend and mentor, and something along the edges of his eyes was curious.

He was shy.

"Who is she?" you asked.

He shrugged. "A girl that I saw at the library." He cut that off pretty short, picking up his tools, his towel, and throwing the keys back at you. "Now, get to Bucky's before it's nightfall."

Bucky lived way out of the city, into the utopian suburbs. You found it funny that this was the life that Bucky chose. After everything you'd heard from him, you'd pictured him in a dingy, half-lit, half-crumbling one-bedroom in Manhattan. Not in the outskirts of the city.

Thank God your car could pull a trailer, or else you'd have had to ask Bucky to meet you at your place, and that just wasn't happening. The thousand-year-old soviet asset was known to be a judger of literally everything.

You pulled into Bucky's parking space, the garage to his tiny little house open, like a black mouth ready to swallow you in. By this time, it was nearing four in the afternoon, and the sun was searing, hot and humid, and with just a foot out of your car, you were already sweating.

You closed the door loudly, maybe trying to announce your presence so you didn't have to knock on the door.

"Hey." It was Bucky, coming out of the shadows of his garage. It took you a second to get the hinges in your jaw to work because, damn.

You'd always thought of Bucky as a man who passed as good looking. Well, when you met him, he was still in heavy therapy and on government surveillance. He still had long, matted brown hair and a face dragged down by sorrow.

But now. Now he'd taken to cleanly shave his hair, leaving a few inches of thick, curling locks on top of his hair, not totally covering his ears. And even though he was slimmer than the last time you'd seen him - he hadn't been working out as much - he still looked... better. Real better.

"Hey," you said, awkwardly waving at him. He was carrying a white rag, cleaning his hands from oil or dirt or whatever else he'd been doing. "Steve said I could come to you if I had problems with my bike?"

He pursed his lips. He came closer, out of the shadows and into the mid-afternoon sun, and you got a good glimpse at him. Golden skin, scars matting his hand, his knuckles. He was wearing a muscle shirt, the kind that was maybe a bit too small for him, molding to his muscles, straining across his metal bicep.

You'd never really seen the arm before. Only flickers of his hands or fingers, but never the entire machine.

You licked your lips, something squeezing in your lower belly.

"What's wrong with it?" he asked.

you shrugged. "Dunno."

He glazed his eyes, rolled them. "Alright, take it down and bring it into the garage."

With a tiny sigh of resentment - he wasn't helping you - you unlatched the ties of your bike and rolled it into the garage. it was darker, a little cooler, inside. As you settled your bike in the dead center of the room, Bucky brought two stools, effortlessly carrying them around.

He sat on his and motioned with a wrench for you to sit beside him. Even though you'd sweated all day in your black t-shirt, and God knows whatever he'd down today, there was something terrific about sitting this close to Bucky.

His tanned fingers worked to open up the bike, his metal hand working the wrench.

"Ah," he said, poking around the engine. "I see what's wrong."

"Is it fixable?" you asked.

He chuckled. "Don't worry, darling," he whispered.

You swallowed the heat climbing up your throat, watching him get to work in silence. Unlike Steve, Bucky didn't tell you what he was doing or why; he just did it.

It took longer than expected. And the more he worked, straining against your bike, the sweatier he got, the more figetting you did.

His flesh arm was glistening with a thin layer of sweat. His hand was veined, strained against the metal piece he was holding aside. His fingers were dirty with grime and dust. Even that God damned muscle shirt was stained with dirt and sweat and grime.

By the time he was done, a light sheet of rain was coating the ground outside. It was pitter-pattering against the cement, a slow drone of rain against the tin roof. Almost comforting.

"You can't take your bike out in the rain," he said, putting everything back in its place, stowing his tools and his rags.

You gulped. "Yeah, I'm sure the rain will let off soon." You dragged your sweaty palms onto your jeans nervously. It caught Bucky's eye.

He stood, dragging your eyes up to his figure. He was so tall, so wide at the shoulders, sweating in his shirt, hair a mess.

"I've got beer inside," he said, throwing the rag in the corner of the garage, placing his tools on his self-made wooden desk. Then he turned to you and gestured to the front door. "Come on."

You followed him out into the rain, walking quickly up the steps and into his home, which smelled of him, something woodsy, and air freshener.

You were humid, rain dotting your skin as you took off your sneakers and followed him into the kitchen. The air conditioning was making you cold.

his home was cozy but so boyish. No decorations but a huge TV. A grey couch with not pillows or blankets. Empty liquor bottles as props over the refrigerator, which droned on and on. There was only one magnet on his fridge, and it read "I love NY!" Which was ironic because Bucky didn't love anything.

"Here," he said, offering you an ice cold beer, but it did nothing to warm you up. You leaned back against his kitchen counter, sipping on your beer, watching him poke around the inside of his fridge. The yellow light cast on his face like a glow, and he hummed when he found what he wanted.

By the time he took out the rolled up cheese, he saw you shivering by the sink.

"I'm sorry," you said, settling the beer down. "I'm just a bit cold from the rain."

He hummed, slamming the cheese rolls on the kitchen table.

"We ought to warm you up," he said, diving back into the fridge to get a beer, which he opened and took a five good gulps before he wiped his wet mouth.

"Yeah," you chuckled, pressing your hands against your arms, searching for heat.

The super soldier, immune to any heat or cold or anything really, stood before you with his sticky muscle shirt molding to every nook in his muscles. His arms, his chest, down to his abs. Water had made it almost see-through, and you felt like a perv watching as he breathed, watching his muscles contract beneath the fabric.

"You should take a shower, y/n," he said, tone low.

You startled, eyes dragging from his abs to his face in a split second. Did you smell? Was that why he'd said that?

"You're shivering, poor thing," he said, clucking his tongue, taking another wild swing of his beer. And you noticed that he was eyeing you took, at your jeans sticking to your thighs, your hips. At your wet shirt glueing to the curve of your waist and breasts.

He set his beer down and offered his hand. "Come."

On some instinct you'd never registered before, you took his hand, flesh fingers warm and calloused.

He led you into a small bathroom with no windows. where various male paraphernalia was strewn across the sink. He pulled the shower curtian back and started the shower and you just stood there like a fish out of water; mouth slightly agape, your hand still loosely holding on to his.

"Bucky?"

He hummed.

"I don't get it," you said.

He returned his gaze to yours, satisfied with the steam rising from the shower. He gave you a small, tight smile. "Get undressed," he said, gesturing his chin at you, dropping your hand.

You stood there like a statue, examining him; from the hard jawline, the seriousness in his eyes, the way his skin pulled back when he moved his mouth.

Then, harder this time, "Get undressed or freeze, sweetheart."

The nickname, the pet name, sent a wave of fresh heat right into your face.

He watched, then slowly, he smiled. Like a rpedator trying to win its prey without having to sink teeth into flesh.

He took a tiny step towards you, watching your breath hitch, and he slid metal fingers under your shirt, pulling it up until it came right off your head. Your hair flopped back down over your shoulders, covering your bra.

He bit his lip. You watched, entranced as he moved to unbutton your jeans and slide them down your legs. He was agile because he took your panties off with it.

He came back to his full towering height, and he brushed your hair behidn your shoulders, exposing your chest, your full flesh to him.

He snaked an arm around your waist, and you gulped, the feel of his hands, burning metal fingers, was like a lightning bolt had erupted under your skin.

"You're so beautiful," he whispered, close to your ear, his breath in your hair. "So fucking gorgeous." He slid his metal hand up and then your bra was sliding off your arms.

"Let me touch you, y/n," he whispered in your ear. You gulped, nodded. "Use your words, sweetheart," and his voice was rugged, wretched, as both his hands slid careful fingertips up on your ribcage.

"Yes, Bucky," you whispered.

He huffed against you. And then his metal hand engulfed your breast, knead it the way he wanted, and his lips found your neck. You whimpered, taken by surprise by his sudden act of devotion. His tender fingers pulling your nipple, drumming against your ribs, lips leaving a wet trail of kisses up your jugular.

When he kissed you, his mouth was warm and wet, and he molded his lips to yours carefully, like he didn't want to scare you off.

You kissed him back just as carefully, confused and distraught, unaware that for years, Bucky had been yearning for this opportunity. For this moment where he finally had you alone.

Quickly, the kiss became rougher. Your hands pulled at the soft, thick strands of his hair and he pulled you aainst his with his metal arm around your waist. He nipped at you, teeth sinking into your bottom lip, groaning as his flesh finger felt you.

He skimmed along your navel, until he could cup you in his palm. You squeaked, taken by surprise. "Easy there, princess," he whispered against your mouth. "Just wanna make you feel good."

He dove right back for a kiss, delving his tongue behidn your teeth while his fingers started working circles around your clit.

You had realized how riled up he'd gotten you, like a hardwire ready to snap.

You bent like a bow in his arms, moaning against his mouth as his fingers continued to circle your clit in slow, languid circles. And when he prodded farther, where you most ached for him, he moaned against your mouth when he felt just how soaked you were.

"Fuck, y/n," he groaned, pulling his mouth from yours.

You almost whimpered at the lost of contact, but he picked you up so effortlessly, so quickly, that you hadn't registered that you were now sitting on the edge of the sink until you couldn't see him anymore. All you could see was the steam rising from the shower, clogging the bathroom, settling on your skin in dotted water drops.

And Bucky, on his knees, pulling your knees apart. His eyes, hooded and so blue, looked up at you as he kissed the inside of your thigh.

"One leg on my shoulder, baby," he ordered, his metal hand under your thigh, helped you move until you were almost straddling his face. "That's it, good girl," he groaned, biting into the plush of your thighs.

The angle sent you backward, back against the cold mirror, and one hand hanging onto the edge. Ready to plummet or fly, you couldn't tell.

His mouth teetered around your pussy, kissing along your thighs, until he settled over your clit and gave you one long swipe of his tongue.

Your head fell backwards, eyes closing, hips searching for his mouth.

"You taste so sweet," he cooed, pressing another long lick from your hole to your clit.

A strangled moan escaped your clenched teeth when he sucked on your clit, one of your hands digging into his hair and pulling him where you wanted him.

The room was filled with the filthy sound of Bucky getting his fill, lapping you up and sucking in your clit like a man starved. Both hands leaving ink-blue marks in your hips.

He worshipped your clit, flicking and sucking to a rhythm that had your thighs shaking against his face, with you pulling his hair by the roots. He sucked and fucked your hole with his tongue until a knot formed right under your belly button and exploded in white hot lightning.

As your orgasm washed through you in waves, rocking against his face, a moan hitched in your throat.

Bucky held your thighs open, refusing to let them close, and lapped up his fill.

When you were but a trembling, babbling mess, Bucky it into your thigh, kissing up your knee until he was standing between your legs. His eyes were hooded, pupils blown, mouth red and glittering, swollen from the kisses he'd lain on your clit.

"Come 'ere," he groaned, grabbing you by the back of the neck, bringing you upright on the counter. He brought his mouth to yours in a feverish, harsh kiss that left you dizzy and scrambling to keep up with him.

You pushed him away, grappling at his shirt, pulling it over his head. You gorged on the sight, on the tanned skin exposed, the scar where his metal shoulder meshed with his flesh. You touched the tips of your fingers to his metal shoulder, skimming down to his hand.

He took your mouth again, pressing you back into the mirror, hands in your hair, on your breast, skimming down back to your dripping hole.

He entered one flesh finger, pressing against your walls, so slippery and warm. He hummed, feeling your breasts against his chest as you bowed your back at the sensation.

You patted him through his pants, feeling him warm and hard against your touch. He hissed at the sensation, nipping at your mouth.

He continued to move his digit in and out of you, pressing his palm to your clit. You continued palming him, pressing against the impressive length of him until he groaned and took himself out of his pants, dropping them at his ankles and kicking them away.

Your mouth opened in a small 'o' at the sight of him, hard and thick, tip dripping precum.

"Too much for you sweetheart?" he asked, pressing his forehead to yours, thumbs on each side of your jaw.

You shook your head, gulped, saw the faint smile that crossed his face. He watched you with keen eyes as he lined himself with your soaked heat.

He pressed his thumb against your mouth, kissing you, as he slowly inched in. He watched you take it, watched as your mouth opened, brows curving upward.

"Don't give up on me baby," he whispered, nipping at your mouth, pressing open-mouthed kisses to your jaw.

He slid himself to the hilt, grabbing your hip in a bruising grip, metal hand pressed against the foggy mirror over your head.

You gasped, latching onto his shoulders for dear life as he pulled back and thrust back into you, feeling you clench and flitter around him.

You whimpered, body pressing up against the mirror with one harsh thrust from his hips.

"That feel good, huh?" he asked, boring his eyes into yours, keeping a slow, languid pace with his hips. "Tell me, y/n, that feel good when I fuck you?"

You nodded, feeling him slick, sliding into you with ease, stretching your walls and hitting that spot deep in you that made you writhe.

"Yes, Bucky," you answered, breathlessly, scratching at his flesh shoulder.

He groaned, taking your mouth with his, speeding up his thrusts, making your head catch on the mirror. You moaned against his mouth, giving up full control of your body to his, at the mercy of every thrust, every change in rhythm.

"Taking me so well," he grunted, hiding his face in your shoulder, bruising grip on your hip helping him thrust himself deeper into you. Then he pulled himself up, face hovering over yours, searching your gaze wildly. "You like it when I fucked this tight little hole?" he asked, and again, his tone was scratching the surface of something wilder.

You nodded, feeling a knot form in your belly, your thighs closing around his hips. His mouth stretched into a smile, pounding deeper and faster into you. "Yeah, you do," he said, almost mockingly, pressing a sweaty forehead to yours. "I see the way you always look at me," he grunted, kissing your mouth, humming at the moan that left your lips.

"Bucky, please," you whispered, eyes falling shut, your orgasm on the brink of breaking.

"I feel you, y/n, come on," he grunted, keeping a harsh, pounding pace until your legs shook and your orgasm broke through you in waves. "Fuck, that's so tight," he breathed, chasing his own end, pounding into your tightening hole.

A stuttered moan left your lips as you clung to Bucky, rocking into your orgasm with every thrust, feeling the wave of pleasure reach your toes. His metal hand came slamming onto the mirror beside your ear, cracking into the glass as he pounded into you, breathless and wordless until he gave you a few sloppy thrusts and he was spending himself in you.

He stayed there a few moments, breathing with you, kissing you softly until he pulled out of you. You stuttered, a breath hitched in your throat, as you felt him leaking out of you.

He met your gaze, leaning back to examine his work, and then he slowly helped you to your feet. You giggled at your loss of coordination, hearing Bucky chuckle too as he helped you into the shower.

You let the warm spray wash his seed from the inside of your thighs, soak into your hair.

"Warm enough?" he asked, chin on your shoulder.

You chuckled. "I've been warm enough for a little while."

He hummed, placing both hands along your waist. He helped you wash up, lathering your skin and hair, helping you wash out the suds.

"Are you okay?" he asked, pressing tender kisses to your shoulder. "You're quiet."

"Yes," you answered, looking over your shoulder at him. "Are you?"

He smiled, eyes low. He raised his brows. "I am now," he whispered.

When you were done with the shower and you were both drying up, Bucky tied his towel around his waist and watched you put your hair up in a towel.

"What?" you asked.

He snorted. "It isn't like me to do...this," he said, leaning against the sink. His chest was wet, glistening spots lingering down to his abs. It was enough to make you want to do this again.

You smiled but didn't answer, focused on getting your towel around your torso.

"Do you want to go out to dinner sometime?" he asked, and you looked up, met his eyes across the steamy bathroom, and smiled.

"Yeah, of course."

#bucky #bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky smut #bucky x you #bucky x yn #bucky x y/n #bucky fic #smut #bucky fanfic #bucky imagine #james bucky barnes #james bucky buchanan barnes #winter soldier #the winter soldier

517 notes · View notes

wintfleur · 4 months

Note

omg heyyy, I’d love to read something of how they would react if Juliette, mat and Quinn are out on a date night, and then when they’re out they get swarmed by paps and they’re kind of taking up their personal space and Juliette starts getting anxious??🤍

ᥫ᭡ Lights, camera, acción!

﹕─┈ pairings ( Mat barzal x Leclerc f1 driver oc! x Quinn Hughes )

°. — details ( g; angsty. w; angst, the paps being fucking creeps. Mentions of the paps trying to see under Julie’s dress. wc; 2.2k )

au masterlist - everything for the AU is under #🍂 ͡ ꒱ Juliette Leclerc

˖ ་ 💭 roro’s notes ( hi lovely , tysm for sending in a request !! This is like the first fic I’ve really written for this au so I had so much fun !! So sorry it took so long to get out !! Hope you all enjoy it , and please let me know what you guys think !! )

˖ ་ 💭 roro’s notes ( also !! I know this is a bit unrealistic because of the privacy laws and restrictions on professional photography in Monaco . . . but let’s just pretend those don’t exist for the sake of this fic please )

“We watched that last time” Quinn complained as he set down his glass of wine on the fine white tablecloth. The linen was so soft, softer than some blankets that he's slept on in the hotels he's stayed at, but he didn't expect anything less from the very nice restaurant Juliette had taken them too.

He licked his lips, cleaning them of any remnants of the red wine that he knew wouldn't be able to pronounce correctly. What he did know was that his girlfriend sounded incredibly hot pronouncing it and he knew Mat felt the same way with how he bit his lip and adjusted in his seat, turning his attention towards the beautiful view of the sunset covered sky that they got from sitting on the patio.

“So? Then we can watch the second one” Mat was quick to come up with a solution to their ongoing problem of picking a movie for tonight. Mat wanted to watch The Hangover again, Quinn didn't, and Julie was not going to get between them on this topic again.

“What do you think sweetheart?” Mat turned his playful glare away from Quinn and to Juliette who had her elbow on the table, her chin in her palm as she watched the two playfully argue with a fond smile on her red lips, her own glass of wine long forgotten.

“I think” Juliette leaned closer to the two as she spoke slowly, the chill air of Monaco giving her bare arms and legs goosebumps. She watched as both of their gazes fell to her cleavage, lingering on the necklace with their initials decorating her neck. She could tell by the way both of their breaths hitched that they thought she was going to turn there night towards a different direction. Julie gave them a teasing smirk as she continued “That I'm going to pick the movie tonight”

“So, what you're saying is that we're watching twilight again?” Quinn teased with a smile as he leaned back in his chair, just itching to slip out of his whitebutton up shirt that Mat had picked out for him. Julie had a habit of watching the same group of movies depending on the time of the year and how she felt. And she was really feeling Edward Cullen as of late.

“I'll even let you guys pick which one!” Julie giggled as she reached for her glass, taking a large sip of the expensive wine. Mat and Quinn could definitely tell that the wine was starting to get to her, she was far more giggly than usual. And with how she kept on nudging her stiletto foot against their leg, touchy as well. Two Telltale signs that she was tipsy.

Mat and Quinn got lost in their own thoughts as they looked at their girlfriend who sat across from them, their thoughts very similar. Julie looked so ethereal under the fairy lights that hung across the patio, her smile and the look in her eyes were driving them crazy. They both desperately wanted to go home . . . or at least make it to the car.

Quinn cleared his throat and turned the conversation into a different direction, he could see the look in Mat’s eyes, and they still had to wait for their desert to arrive, and mat wasn't one with patience. Julie slowly sipped on her wine as she listened to her boys talk, tilting her head to look out at the night sky with watchful eyes, just taking in the sweet moment of being with her lovers, in her home city.

The sweet moment was ruined when she felt a cold chill run down her back, and it was like the calm air around them totally shifted into a tense and uncomfortable feeling. She felt like she was being watched. She looked back to Quinn and Mat who were smiling all lovey to each other, neither of them seems to have the same feeling she did.

She sat up straight in her chair and quickly looked around the empty patio when she heard the subtle sound of a clicking. That anxiousness and fear started creeping up in her bones at the thought of them being watched, please not again. She cut off their conversation with her anxious tone “Did you hear that?”

Mat and Quinn were quick to halt their conversation when they heard the desperation in her voice, a look of worry coming across both of their faces. Quinn was the first one to speak up while Mat reached across the table to rest his hand on Julie's trembling hand that rested on the table, caressing her soft skin with his thumb “No, what did you hear?”

“I could have sworn I heard a camera click” Julie frowned as she looked behind her one more time, all she could see was the building next door and a little bit of the busy street. She couldn't see anything from the ground level. Quinn also looked around and he couldn't see much from where they sat “Maybe you misheard?

Click!

The throuples heads all snapped towards the sound, Mat moved his hands from Quinn's thigh and Julie's hand and stood up from his chair and walked past the empty table next them to see over the protective railing. His eyes widen when he sees a man standing next to a light post on the street, a big black camera in his hands, pointed right at them. Mat clenched his fists as he hissed in anger “What the fuck”

“Come on we're leaving” Quinn sighed as he stood up from his chair, holding his hand out to help Julie up. Julie was quick to get up and hold onto Quinn's arm, the world slightly spinning from her getting up so fast while being tipsy. Mat flips the man off before turning around and making his way back to the table, pulling his wallet out and leaving several bills on the table, not caring if he overpaid, it would be a nice tip.

He followed them off the balcony and through the restaurant to the back exit that led to where her car was parked. Julie leaned against Quinn's side as he led them towards the door, mat was practically seething as he walked behind them, he hated how insensitive people were, it was disgusting how the paparazzi's treated Julie.

Mat rested his hand on Quinn's lower back as he moved in front of them to open the door for them, he was angry, but he still made sure to smile at them both as they walked out of the door. Quinn could see the anger in mat’s eyes, and he could see the anxiety in Julie’s, he hated how such a good date night turned sour because some people were such fucking creeps.

Quinn wrapped his arm around her shoulder, and she snuggled closer to him, his body warmth protecting her from the chill breeze of Monte Carlo. Mat quickened his steps so he could walk on the other side of Julie, his shoulders were tense as he kept on looking around them, hoping that his gut was wrong and that there weren't more paparazzi.

They were quiet as they walked to the small car park, but the silence was quickly gone as they turned the corner to the car park. Julie let out a gasp of surprise and stepped back in shock at the loud shouts and flashes from the pictures being taken. Quinn was quick to gently pull Julie behind him, hiding her from the paparazzi that stood next to their car waiting for them.

“Juliette! Juliette smile!” The paparazzi all screamed their names, shouting out questions and demands. The three of them knew better and kept their mouths closed, not giving them any attention that they desired. Julie winced and closed her eyes; every loud click and shouts made her flinch and move closer to Quinn who was leading her towards the car.

Mat quickly pulled out the keys and unlocked the car for them to quickly get in, standing behind them protectively as the paparazzi's moved closer to them, they were surrounded, and mat was doing everything to hold back and not shove them away. Julie squeezed her eyes shut and trusted Quinn to lead her, her heart felt like it was going to shoot out of her chest. The flashing lights and the shouting made quick work to give her a headache, the wine in her bloodstream not helping.

Quinn quickly opened the backseat door and helped Julie in the car while Mat got in the driver's seat. Quinn quickly stood behind her as she got in when he noticed one of the paparazzi crouching down, hoping to see up her dress. Quinn sent him a heated glare before getting in the backseat with her and closing the door. Mat quickly locked the doors and started the car.

Julie slumped in the middle seat, leaning her head back with her eyes still closed as she tried to calm down. Quinn moved closer to her and softly brushed her hair out of her face, leaning down to place a soft kiss on her forehead as he whispered “It's okay honey, they can't get to us in here. Your safe”

“Those fucking creeps, there lucky i didn't run them over” Mat hissed angrily with a scoff as he pulled out of the parking lot and into the streets. Quinn kisses Julie's forehead again as she cuddles into his side, Quinn says Mat's name in a calm town, wanting him to calm down before he gets too worked up.

Mat lets out a heavy breath telling himself to calm down, he quickly looks in the rearview mirror and frowns when he sees the upset look on Julie's face, Quinn was playing with her trembling fingers, knowing that it would help calm her down. Mat asks softly, "Sweetheart, are you okay?”

“I’m sorry that I ruined our date night” Julie murmured sadly, so quietly that Mat almost didn't hear her from the front seat, Ignoring her boyfriend's question. Juliette had terrible luck with the paparazzi, they never left her alone, to the point where she’s had to move twice from the fear of her being watched at her home. A fear that made her anxiety even worse.

Mat’s heart broke at how dejected she sounded, and he wished he could just give her a big hug and kiss all her sadness away; he would make sure to do so when they got home. It hurt both of their hearts to hear those words coming out of her mouth, especially when it's definitely not her fault. Quinn frowned and continued to play with her hands and hair “it's not your fault angel, please don't say that”

“Yeah, it's those assholes' faults, besides we have a whole lot of night left” Mat was quick to reassure her, they hated seeing her upset and sad. Mat made eye contact with Julie through the rearview mirror when she lifted her head from Quinn's chest. Mat sent her a flirtatious wink “And i know a lot of ways we can enjoy out night”

A small chuckle leaves Julie’s lips at Mat’s flirting, he never failed to make her smile. Both of them smiled at the sound of her laughter, happy to have cheered her up. Quinn pressed a quick kiss to her temple before saying sweetly “There’s that pretty smile we missed so much”

Julie felt her heart flutter as she tilted her head to look up at Quinn, he looked so handsome. He had some stubble from not shaving this morning, his longer hair was a little messy, and God that smile on his lips. Quinn looks down at her with a teasing smirk before glancing at mat “Awe look Shes blushing too”

“Where did your dirty little mind go sweetheart?” Mat teased as he leaned back in the driver's seat, his right hand falling in his lap as he drove with one hand. He glanced at her through the rearview mirror as he continues to speak “I was talking about us cuddling on the couch watching twilight and eating some sweets”

Quinn laughs along with Mat when Juliette lets out a loud groan at their teasing. She playfully pushed Quinn away, but he just grabbed her hands and pulled her closer, she was practically in his lap now. Quinn gently cupped her chin and pulled her into a soft kiss. Julie hummed and closed her eyes, her hand coming up to cup his jaw as the kiss got heated. Julie could taste the wine on his tongue, and she wanted more.

Mat bit his lip to hold in his groan at the sight of the making out in the back of the car, having to stop himself from pressing hard on the gas to get home faster. Julie slowly pulled away from the kiss and sat back in her seat in the middle, crossing her arms over her chest with an embarrassed pout “I hate you both”

“No, you don’t” Mat smiled as he pulled into the street that led to the apartment building where Julie's penthouse was located. Julie scooted forward in her seat, leaning forward between the driver and passengers' seat to place a quick kiss on his before falling back in her seat with a surprised squeal when mat suddenly drove over a bump, Quinn had grabbed her, and his look of worry turns into a smile at the giggle she let out.

“No, no i don't”

˖ ་ 💭 roro’s notes ( this is so poorly written omg I’m gonna sob 💔 )

°. — taglist ( @lovings4turn @toasttt11 @cixrosie @ru-kru @alwaysclassyeagle @theopenlocker @lavisenri @callsignwidow @willowpains @winterbarnesblog @yoontwin )

©️WINTFLEUR

150 notes · View notes