#Car Trunk Mats

[yingying0322]

Custom Design Floor Mats for Cars: Elevate Your Vehicle’s Interior

When it comes to personalizing your vehicle, custom design floor mats for cars are an often-overlooked but essential upgrade. These mats not only protect your car’s interior but also add a touch of style that reflects your personality. In this blog post, we’ll dive deep into the world of custom design floor mats for cars, exploring their benefits, different types available, and why investing in them is a smart choice. Whether you’re a car enthusiast or just looking to protect your vehicle, this comprehensive guide will provide you with everything you need to know.

Why Custom Design Floor Mats for Cars Are Essential

Custom design floor mats for cars are more than just aesthetic enhancements. They serve several practical purposes that make them a must-have for any vehicle owner. Here’s why:

Protection Against Wear and Tear: The primary function of floor mats is to protect your car’s interior from dirt, mud, and other debris. Custom design floor mats for cars are tailored to fit the specific dimensions of your vehicle, providing complete coverage and ensuring that no part of the floor is left exposed.

Enhanced Aesthetic Appeal: With custom design floor mats, you can choose materials, colors, and patterns that match your car’s interior. This allows you to create a cohesive look that enhances the overall aesthetic of your vehicle. Whether you prefer a sleek, modern design or a more traditional look, custom mats offer endless possibilities.

Increased Resale Value: Well-maintained interiors can significantly increase the resale value of your car. Custom design floor mats protect the original carpeting, keeping it in pristine condition. When it’s time to sell or trade in your vehicle, this attention to detail can pay off.

Comfort and Luxury: High-quality custom design floor mats are made from materials that provide additional comfort for your feet. Some options, like those from a reputable piano texture car floor mat factory, even offer luxurious textures that add a touch of elegance to your driving experience.

Types of Custom Design Floor Mats for Cars

There are several types, each offering unique features and benefits. Understanding the differences between them can help you make an informed decision about which type is right for your vehicle.

1. All-Weather Floor Mats

All-weather floor mats are designed to withstand harsh conditions, making them ideal for drivers who frequently encounter mud, snow, or rain. These mats are typically made from durable rubber or thermoplastic and feature deep grooves that trap dirt and moisture. Custom design all-weather mats are specifically tailored to your vehicle’s floor plan, ensuring a perfect fit.

2. Carpeted Floor Mats

Carpeted floor mats are a popular choice for those who prioritize comfort and aesthetics. These mats are available in a variety of colors and materials, including plush carpeting that feels soft underfoot. Custom design carpeted floor mats can be embroidered with logos or monograms, adding a personal touch to your vehicle’s interior.

3. Luxury Floor Mats

Luxury floor mats take customization to the next level, offering premium materials like leather, suede, or even exotic fibers. These mats are perfect for car owners who want to create a high-end look in their vehicle. Custom design luxury mats can be tailored with intricate patterns and textures, making your car’s interior truly one-of-a-kind.

4. Eco-Friendly Floor Mats

For the environmentally conscious driver, eco-friendly floor mats made from sustainable materials are an excellent choice. These mats are often crafted from recycled rubber, natural fibers, or biodegradable materials. Custom design eco-friendly floor mats allow you to protect your car’s interior while also reducing your environmental footprint.

How to Choose the Best Custom Design Floor Mats for Your Car

Selecting the right custom design floor mats for your car involves considering several factors, including material, fit, and style. Here are some tips to help you make the best choice:

1. Determine Your Needs

Consider the climate in your area and your driving habits. If you frequently drive in wet or muddy conditions, all-weather mats may be the best option. For those who prioritize comfort and aesthetics, carpeted or luxury mats might be more suitable.

2. Consider the Material

The material of your floor mats will affect their durability, comfort, and appearance. Rubber mats are durable and easy to clean, making them ideal for heavy use. Carpeted mats offer a softer feel but may require more maintenance. Luxury materials like leather provide an upscale look but can be more expensive.

3. Ensure a Perfect Fit

One of the key benefits is that they are tailored to fit your vehicle’s exact specifications. When ordering, make sure to provide accurate measurements or choose a provider that offers mats specifically designed for your car model.

4. Choose a Style That Reflects Your Personality

Your car is an extension of your personality, and your floor mats should reflect that. Whether you prefer bold colors, classic designs, or intricate patterns, there are custom options available to suit your taste.

The Benefits of Investing in Custom Design Floor Mats

Investing in custom design floor mats for cars offers several long-term benefits that go beyond just protecting your vehicle’s interior.

1. Longevity and Durability

Custom design floor mats are made to last. Unlike generic mats, which may wear out quickly or fail to cover all areas of your car’s floor, custom mats provide full coverage and are built from high-quality materials. This means they can withstand years of use without needing replacement.

2. Easy Maintenance

Cleaning custom design floor mats is usually straightforward. Many mats are designed to be removed easily for cleaning, and materials like rubber or thermoplastic can be wiped down with minimal effort. Carpeted mats may require occasional vacuuming, but their custom fit ensures that dirt and debris are contained.

3. Enhanced Comfort

Driving should be a comfortable experience, and custom design floor mats contribute to this by providing additional cushioning and support for your feet. Whether you’re on a long road trip or just commuting to work, the comfort of your mats can make a significant difference.

4. Unique Style

With custom design floor mats, you have the opportunity to create a unique look for your car’s interior. This level of personalization allows you to express your style and make your vehicle stand out from the crowd.

How to Maintain Your Custom Design Floor Mats

Maintaining your custom design floor mats is essential to ensuring they continue to look great and perform well over time. Here are some tips for keeping your mats in top condition:

1. Regular Cleaning

Regularly clean your floor mats to prevent the buildup of dirt, debris, and stains. For rubber or all-weather mats, a simple rinse with water and mild soap is usually sufficient. Carpeted mats may require vacuuming and spot cleaning to remove stains.

2. Avoid Harsh Chemicals

When cleaning your mats, avoid using harsh chemicals that could damage the material. Stick to mild soaps or cleaners recommended by the manufacturer.

3. Dry Thoroughly

After cleaning, make sure your mats are completely dry before placing them back in your car. This prevents mold and mildew from developing, which can cause unpleasant odors and damage the mats.

4. Store Properly

If you need to store your custom design floor mats for any reason, do so in a cool, dry place. Avoid folding or bending the mats, as this can cause creases that are difficult to remove.

Where to Buy Custom Design Floor Mats for Cars

Finding the right supplier for your custom design floor mats is crucial. You want to ensure that you’re getting high-quality mats that are tailored to your vehicle’s specifications. Here are some tips for choosing a reliable supplier:

1. Look for Experience

Choose a supplier with a proven track record in producing custom floor mats. Experience matters, as it ensures the supplier has the expertise to create mats that fit perfectly and meet your expectations.

2. Check Reviews and Testimonials

Before making a purchase, read reviews and testimonials from other customers. This can provide insight into the quality of the mats and the level of customer service provided by the supplier.

3. Ask About Customization Options

Not all suppliers offer the same level of customization. If you have specific design ideas in mind, make sure the supplier can accommodate your requests. This might include choosing specific materials, colors, or patterns.

4. Consider the Cost

https://shopic.mcmcclass.com/b5f9bdb376e24dbd9c619ac6e4262e92/20240617/image/1120022047309703671/car-mats--1.jpg

Final Thoughts: Elevate Your Driving Experience with Custom Design Floor Mats

Custom design floor mats for cars are a simple yet impactful way to enhance your vehicle’s interior. Whether you’re looking to protect your car’s flooring, add a touch of luxury, or simply express your personal style, custom mats are the perfect solution. With a wide range of materials, designs, and customization options available, you can create the perfect set of mats that meet your needs and preferences.

Investing in high-quality custom design floor mats not only protects your vehicle but also elevates your driving experience. So, why settle for generic mats when you can have something that’s uniquely yours? Start exploring your options today and discover how custom design floor mats can transform your car’s interior.

[matbaynton]

Mat Baynton as Ariel Conroy

YOU, ME AND THE APOCALYPSE (2015) 1.07 | T-Minus...

[plinkcat-gif]

covered in blood. hi guy.

[thecowboykatsuki-anon]

My seat protector for my car arrives today I’m so excited

[bad-at-metaphors]

I wonder if my customers EVER look at me while I'm checking them in and feel any level of remorse for breaking the "no pets in the loan car" rule

[criminalamnesia]

Not a request but NEW TRAITOR CHAP WHEN??? prioritize urself no rush Pookie just the ppl gotta know

part 7 is here 🙏

ALL PARTS CAN BE FOUND HERE

it was pouring rain as you slid from the taxi, the driver attempting to yell at you to shut the door as thunder rumbled overhead.

you paid him no heed; boots splashed in murky puddles as you pushed the door closed and moved towards the yellow cab’s trunk.

you could barely hear yourself think. the rain was battering the ground as if locked in a viscous war with the cracked pavement— puddles forming as the asphalt resisted with all its might. it wasn’t enough, water seeping into the ground and muddying the grass nearby, drowning it mercilessly.

you grabbed your bag, slinging it over your shoulder before shutting the trunk. you’d barely stepped back from the car before it was speeding off, kicking up water and splashing your legs.

you didn’t mind— you were soaked through to the bone, anyways. besides, you didn’t mind the storm. it was comfort— a distraction from what lay ahead.

your new team. a small, covert operations group made up of the best of the best. two sergeants, a lieutenant, a captain— and they wanted one more soldier.

the opening couldn’t have come at a better time. you’d run your course with your old squad. they’d been fine— until they weren’t. carelessness and ignorance from teammates almost resulted in your untimely death, and laswell hadn’t questioned your transfer request after hearing the tale.

in fact, she’d recommended the one-four-one to you.

you thought you’d be meeting them on base, but the captain had requested you meet them here, instead. a run-down old diner, with its bright, neon pink sign blinking down at you through the rain.

you inhaled, then exhaled. clenched your fists, then unclenched them. it was a habit you’d had since you were a child. it forced you to slow down and think, to overcome the emotions you were lost in.

you blinked. rain ran down your face, creating false tears as it streamed from the corners of your eyes. you were sure you looked a sight.

another inhale, another exhale, and then you moved towards the diner’s door. you pushed it open, stepping inside and wiping your boots on the mat in front of the door.

“I think you’re gonna need to do more than that to dry off, sweetheart” a woman’s voice calls to you, causing you to look up towards the counter. she’s grimacing, looking you up and down. no doubt she’ll be following your path through the building with a mop in hand.

“sorry,” you tell her, trying to brush some water from your jacket. “forgot my umbrella.”

the woman gave a huff, waving her hand before turning and attending to an ancient-looking coffee maker.

you take the time to glance around the diner then, noting the substantial lack of customers. only two booths were occupied, one containing a young couple tangled in each other’s arms, and the other containing a man wearing a baseball cap with the UK flag patched on it.

he looked up from his phone as you approached, seemingly unsurprised based on the grin he gave you.

“glad to see you got here in one piece,” he says as you shrug off your bag, placing it on the floor as you slide into the seat across from him.

“one drenched piece,” you say, and he gives a small chuckle.

“im kyle,” the man tells you. “don’t know what laswell told you,” he clicks off his phone and places it on the table. “but im one of the sergeants.”

you nod. “callsign ‘gaz,’ right?”

he gives a nod of his own. his phone buzzes, the screen lighting up. his eyes glance down, scan the message, then meet yours once more.

“rest of the team got held up. price is in a meeting. johnny and ghost are on assignment, but they’re due back any day now.”

“so you’re the welcome committee by default, huh?” you say, and he laughs.

“guess i am. have i scared you off yet?”

“dunno,” you tell him. “but laswell sings your praises. the captain’s, especially.”

“she sings yours, too.” kyle says.

you give a small nod, your mind racing at what laswell may have told the task force. you weren’t bad at your job— you were great at it. a great shot, a reliable solider, a tireless sentry.

your emotions got the better of you at times, that was all. attachments and bonds that formed, linking you and your fellow soldiers together in the web of warfare. tying you around the wrist and dragging you along, for better or worse. little siblings or lovers evolving from what once had been just another set of boots on the ground.

this job was all you had. you found family where you had too, and it made you all the more loyal. but when you were spurned? when the fire leapt from the pit and scorched your skin?

you weren’t quick to forgive, and you found that reasonable in this line of work. mistakes by teammates could get you killed. who could blame you for holding a grudge against an ally who had almost cost you your life?

it’s why you were here now. a new start with a new team— a team of the best, you included.

kyle’s phone buzzes again. he picks it up, the screen illuminating his face as the lights flicker overhead. the storm wasn’t letting up.

“cap’s on his way— says he’ll be here in less than 30.”

“price, right?” you recall his name. kyle nods.

“don’t tell him I told you,” he leans in, a mischievous look in his eyes, “but he’s been lookin’ forward to meeting you. maybe even more than johnny has.”

“why’s that?”

“said the one-four-one is overdue for someone else who can kick johnny’s ass. wants you to knock him down a few more pegs.”

you laugh at that, giving a small shake of your head. kyle’s lips curl into a smile. “nah, he’s just happy to have some more hands on deck. always helps to have another person that’ll watch your back.”

as kyle starts talking again, you find your nerves settling.

maybe this team could be your new family.

you looked down at your hands, noting the slight shake of them. you don’t think they’d been steady since before everything happened.

your eyes glance to the ugly, scarred stump of the finger you’d lost. simon hadn’t chopped it off prettily, and it’d been stitched up hastily. you couldn’t blame the doctor, there had been more pressing injuries to attend to.

such as the bone-deep cut to one leg, growing infected from your time spent in the chair. the scar was long, stretching from the top of your thigh to your knee. it was still pink, a sign of your body still trying to put itself back together.

your torso wasn’t much better. jagged scars and puckered knots of skin marred your image. both from before and from after.

your eyes met your own in the mirror. you barely recognized yourself. the anger within you still burned, but its flame had reduced to a simmer. exhaustion, apathy, and shame had taken its place.

perhaps that was a good thing. it saved you the energy of fighting the men you inevitably saw every day. despite your numerous pleas and demands for them to simply leave you alone, they seemed to have a hard time listening. it made you want to scream. to hurt them, digging your fingers into skin until they understood the pain behind your words.

a knock sounded at the door. you didn’t move.

a knock again. you could hear the shuffle of feet outside the door. you wished whoever it was would leave you be.

another knock, accompanied by the soft timbre of kyle’s voice.

“love, you alright in there?” he was saying. you still stood before the mirror.

things had been different since you attacked the doctor. it had only been a few days, but word spread quickly through base. if people had avoided you before, you were like the plague now.

and the shame you felt was insurmountable. the pain and regret and fury were building like a tidal wave in your stomach, rising and choking the air from your lungs.

you wanted to leave this place. get away from the men you once called family, the one you once called yours.

but leaving meant the end of your career. you just had to hold out until kate arranged your transfer, that’s all. just a few more days, right?

and then this place and these people wouldn’t be a constant reminder of what had happened to you. of what it had done to you, physically and mentally.

“go, kyle,” you called out to him, breaking from your trance as you reached for the scratchy robe johnny had gifted you one christmas.

“not until i see you breathin’, love.”

you sigh, tying the robe shut and hugging the material to your body. you moved to the door, turning the lock before inching it open.

“breathing,” you tell him, watching as his eyes flick away from yours. god, it made you want to strangle him.

to yell at him, to yell at all of them— "you did this, and you should be able to look me in the eyes and see it.”

“now go.”

he looks at you again, eyebrows furrowed in worry. “will you let me in?” he asks, and you scoff as you move to slam the door.

“fuck off, kyle.”

but he’s quick, and his hand shoots out, grasping the door’s wooden edge and keeping it from closing.

“we need to talk.”

“whatever you need to say, you can say it from there,” you tell him, and he pauses for a minute before he nods.

“doc is asking about you again. she’s up and runnin’ around. said she wants to see you.”

your lips press into a thin line. you didn’t deserve that woman’s kindness, not after what you’d done to her.

you hadn’t been in your right mind, but that didn’t excuse it. you had bloodied your fists; harmed an innocent in the war between you and your own mind.

you didn’t want to see her still worrying about you when you had assured her you were fine. you had left her supervision, and then you’d attacked her. and you hadn’t stopped until simon had pulled you away.

you would’ve killed her, you know that in your heart. you would’ve killed her, thinking she was one of the men who had wanted to kill you.

“tell her im fine,” you said, your hand tightening around the door’s knob.

“i think she’d rather see that for herself,” he says.

“im fine,” you repeat. “i’ll be out of everyone’s hair in a few days, anyways.”

kyle’s eyebrows lifted in surprise. “you’re leaving?”

he knew this, they all did. perhaps they just didn’t truly believe it. all of them, every single one, still thought you’d turn around and run back into their arms.

bastards.

“as soon as laswell gives the word,” you reply. “should be soon.”

kyle doesn’t speak. he’s obviously biting his tongue— you’d seen the expression that was on his face enough to know when he was holding back, but you didn’t prod like you would’ve before.

let him keep his secrets, lies, promises, and sorries. you didn’t need them anymore.

“don’t bother me again,” you said before shutting the door in his face.

you hear him sigh on the other side of the wood, then hear the retreat of his steps. you turn back to the mirror, snarl, and grab the alarm clock from your nightstand.

you throw it into the glass, shattering it to pieces. seven years of bad luck, you think.

well, it couldn’t get much worse, could it?

kyle sighs, staring at your door for a second longer before turning away. simon looks down at him from where he was leaning against the wall, hidden from your view, his muscled arms crossed over his chest.

“surprised?” simon asks as the two of them retreat down the hallway. he makes sure they’re far enough from your door before speaking, so that you won’t hear his voice.

“we knew it was happening, price said as much after that whole thing with johnny,” kyle replies, shoving his hands into the pockets of his pants. “just thought this might change things.”

“change ‘em how?” simon says. “if anythin’, this speeds it up. they’re a liability now.”

“they’re hurt, ghost,” kyle retorts, his eyes meeting his superior’s. “that’s ptsd. not everyone’s as forgiving as the doc. they attack someone outside and that’s a fucking felony.”

“that’s not our problem, sergeant,” comes simon’s baritone reply, and kyle stops.

“you’re a fuckin’ case yourself, y’know that, LT?” he says, and simon stops. “we all played a part,” kyle continues. “but you? you would’ve killed ‘em if we never knew the truth. i know you would’ve. i’ve seen you do it.”

the men stare at each other. simon’s expression is hidden underneath his balaclava, but kyle knows it’s unreadable regardless.

mean, old ghost. heartless bastard, loyal to the mission only. that’s what the others around base whispered to each other.

kyle had seen proof to the contrary. yes, simon was loyal to the mission. but he was also loyal to his team, his family. you.

he was loyal to you.

“watch yourself, sergeant,” simon speaks, his voice a dangerous rumble.

kyle scoffs and walks off, shaking his head.

simon watches him go, his breath steady.

kyle didn’t understand him, not really. not the way you had begun to. and that was his own fault, he knows it. forever holding those close to him at arms length for fear of the worst.

he’d let you in— let you invade that space he enforced so ruthlessly. and the worst had happened.

kyle doesn’t know this is tearing him in half; none of the team does. they don’t understand that simon wants you to stay because you’re you, but he wants you gone because he can see how this is killing you.

even when he’s the villain in your story, he’s still trying to look out for you— in his own, twisted way.

he doesn’t regret it. that is cemented in his mind. but as he grapples with his own emotions, his mind in its own turmoil, he knows he wants you to be okay.

“im sorry,” he had spoken to deaf ears.

sorry for the ripping apart of your life, but not sorry for what he had done.

deep down, he knew you would never forgive them. he knew that leaving this team would be the best thing for you.

he knew, he knew, he knew.

knowing and accepting are two different things.

hope this was worth the wait! i think the next part will be the end, unless my idea changes 👀

[luci-in-trenchcoats]

He's My Man (Part 5)

Summary: Russell's taken care of the reader's problem but things take a turn and the happy couple may not be so happy after all...

Masterlist

Pairing: Russell Shaw x reader

Word Count: 6,300ish

Warnings: language, gun shot injury/past drugging/brief mention of attempted assault (not shown) mention, angst, fluff, smut, stalker, murder, self-worth issues

A/N: Thank you all for taking this journey with me with writing this new character! I might return to this world someday but until then, please enjoy the finale!

__________

When you pulled up to the dark house, you noticed Russell’s car had been pulled into the garage and covered with a tarp. You swallowed as you pulled in beside it, biting back bile when Owen parked right behind you, preventing any escape if it came to that. You’d given Russell nearly thirty minutes notice to prepare. You really hoped whatever he had planned was going to be over with fast.

“Fuck,” said Owen, dashing from his car in the downpour to inside the garage. He shook himself off like a dog and pulled off his baseball cap. You’d seen the gash on his forehead before but from the overhead light, a skull fracture was very visible. The dried blood had matted into his thick hair and, along with the other injuries, made him look half-dead. 

“Why don’t you go relax inside, honey?” you forced out when you exited, slamming the door shut loudly, hoping Russell picked up on the fact you were here. “I’ll get the bags and then I’ll take a look at those cuts.”

“Thanks, baby. Don’t take too long.” You didn’t like how he kept saying that. He’d hung off of you at the store. Even if he wasn’t a raging psycho, personal space was still a thing.

You pretended to fuss about at the trunk as he went in the door from the garage to the house. It was quiet for a beat, your gaze locked on the open door in the corner.

Two quick shots rang out and you hit the cement floor hard. Nothing could be heard over the rain, your heart hammering away in your chest. Russell wouldn’t have shot Owen, would he? No, Russell would have snuck up on him, taken him out before he knew what hit him.

So had Owen been shooting? Was Russell hurt? You slowly sat up on your hands and knees, crawling along the side of the car until you reached the hood. You peaked your head around the corner and saw a pair of legs lying on the ground through the open door. It looked like Owen so you carefully rose, flinching when Russell came bounding in from behind you.

He held up his hands, your eyes widening at the blood staining his crisp white tee. 

“What-”

“My stitches tore,” he said, turning his bicep towards you, the blood staining underneath the bandage. “Are you okay?”

You nodded, glancing back inside to where the body lay motionless. “Did you kill him?”

“Not yet,” said Russell, inching past you towards a work bench. “Although he did shoot my fucking front door. Do you have any idea how much a custom mahogany door costs? I might kill him for that alone.”

Russell opened a drawer, taking out duct tape and zip ties. He slammed it shut, pausing with his back to you.

“He’s not going to leave you alone if I let him live.” 

“I know. He’s been following me for awhile I guess,” you said. 

“I can frame him for Elpine’s murder if you don’t want me to kill him.” You leaned back against your car, Russell setting the items on the bench and joining you. “I don’t have to…you know.”

“How are you going to kill him?” you asked after a moment.

“Bag over the head. He’s passed out. He wouldn’t even feel it. Are you sure that’s what-” You went to his workbench and ripped off a garbage bag from the roll, Russell closing his eyes. “Y/N, you should stay out here. Let me do this.”

“Owen started slipping roofies into my drinks when I was fifteen.” His head snapped up as you sighed. “He drugged me twice but nothing happened because my dad was around. I had to be more careful once dad started to lose it. Owen’s a good decade older than me I’m sure you noticed. I’ve been scared of this guy for too long. I’m not asking you to kill him. I’m asking you to show me how to do this myself.”

“I appreciate how strong you are but I’m doing it,” he said, taking the bag from you. You dropped your hand, frowning up at him. He sighed, stroking your cheek with his clean hand. “Your soul has enough scars for a lifetime. Don’t add more.”

“You don’t have to kill someone for me, Russell. You don’t need that on you either. Look what you’ve already done.”

“I won’t lose any sleep over him. You can do something for me though.” You sighed, nodding once. “Go back to the store and buy some extra large garbage bags and some duct tape, got it?”

“Um, yeah. Are you-”

“Y/N. We’re on the clock. We’ll talk later,” he said, kissing your temple. “Now go.”

Three Hours Later

“To be perfectly clear, I’m doing this for Y/N, not you,” said Colter with a coldness you didn’t love. You knew Russell’s relationship with his little brother was strained but you’d thought it had gotten better over the past few days.

“Yeah, well it don’t take a genius to see you like her better,” said Russell, Colter rolling his eyes, an uncharacteristic move. “I’ll never ask you for a thing again. You never even have to speak to me. Think what you want about me. Just please do this for Y/N’s sake.”

“I already…” huffed Colter when you side eyed him with narrowed eyes. He let out a slow exhale. “Fine. You owe me, Russell. Big.”

“Colter,” you said, nodding towards his truck. You left Russell as he went back to taping the large cooler in the garage shut. You assumed he’d put Owen inside and cleaned up while you were gone at the store. The rain had paused momentarily but there was another batch of storms coming through soon. You sighed as you stopped next to the younger Shaw, Colter crossing his arms. “I’m not letting you do this. I know Russell asked but I can’t let you move a body for me.”

He narrowed his eyes, face turning into a scowl. 

“I’m not moving…Russell!” Russ’ head popped up, Colter becoming increasingly annoyed. “Tell me what is going on right now or I swear you and me are done. Forever.”

Russell sighed, throwing his head back. “I may have lied about the Y/N wanting to tag along with you so she can tidy up her place in Virginia.”

“You what?” you asked, storming over to him. “You were trying to pawn me off on Colter again? For what! Owen’s dead, there’s no one left to bother me.”

“Sweetie,” said Russell, closing his eyes. “Owen should not have made it out alive and the fact he did isn’t good.” 

Slowly Russell met your gaze, ignoring Colter behind you. “So is this how it’s going to be? Any time everything’s not perfect you’re going to drop me on your brothers doorstep at the drop of a hat? News flash, Colter isn’t my babysitter. I’m a grown woman who has seen and handled more crap than you know. I thought you didn’t think of me as a damsel.”

“I don’t but-”

“But you don’t want me around for the hard stuff. I got the message.” 

“Y/N, someone else could still be left. They could kill you-” You held up your hand, Colter heading back to his truck to give you some space.

“I think I finally understand how you’re so perfect but alone. You live this life like you’re this happy go lucky guy but it’s a mask. All you actually see is the dark side of it. Of everything. You are more than happy to step into my dark side but you won’t let me see yours? You wouldn’t let me kill Owen. You won’t let me help clean it up. Even when it’s because of me. You have to always be the hero. Honestly, thinking about it, it’s been all my shit we’ve talked about. All you say is your got a dark past but you haven’t shared diddly squat. Is this how it’s going to be Russell? Because frankly, I want more than that. I told you I don’t need you to do things for me, I just need you to help me do them.”

Russell swallowed, face going stoic. “Maybe this was a mistake.”

Your heart dropped like a rock into the pit of your stomach, Russell’s jaw clenching. “You should pack up your stuff here and go with Colter. Go back to Virginia. You’re probably right. This was just attraction, plain and simple.”

“Russell, that’s not what I was saying-” 

“Yeah, it was. Just go. Please. I’ll deal with Owen. Just go back to Virginia and start your life over away from people like us.” With that he brushed past you for Colter, ignoring his repeated calls. 

“Asshole,” you mumbled as you went inside and shoved the few belongings that weren’t in the trunk of your car into a bag. You very purposefully left every pair of underwear, bra and pajamas he’d bought you behind. The cheap sports bra and cotton underwear you’d bought earlier would get you through until you were home.

If that’s how Russell wanted to end things, fine. You were free of the mafia. Free of guys with fucked up pasts. Your options were limitless.

And thank god Colter was smart enough to not ask about your red rimmed eyes by the time you were on the road.

Five Days Later

You gave Colter a wave from your front step as he drove off down the street. It’d taken only two days to drive cross country this time. Apparently you drove faster when you were upset. Or you didn’t sleep as much. Either way, Colter didn’t ask and was happy to get to Virginia where he had a missing accountant to find.

He used your kitchen as a base of operations and you let him crash in the guest room. In exchange, Colter got you hooked up with the basics of reward work. There were some extra perils to the job being a woman but also advantages that Colter didn’t have. He went over finding jobs, finding a team, learning how to get access to tools and databases. You didn’t have a lot of confidence in going after a full fledged disappearance yet but Colter mentioned it wasn’t always people that were what was missing.

By the end of his short stay, you had information overload but were grateful for the chance to start doing something good for once in your life.

Meanwhile, Russell hadn’t reached out once. You had to assume he’d disposed of Owen. You weren’t sure why you were still waiting for a text or a call. It was pretty clear things were over. Russell was too protective and you weren’t going to let another man tell you what to do again. 

Yet, you knew you were at fault too. Russell had just killed a guy in his house for you and he knew a hell lot more about getting away with a murder than you did. Russell had points for not wanting to involve you. And you had to be an asshole and pressure him for more when there was literally a dead body at your feet.

“I’m an idiot,” you groaned, leaning against the kitchen island with your head lowered. “Why did I do that?”

The doorbell rang, your head slowly rising. You sighed as you went to it, pulling it open quickly. 

“Did you forget-” You cut yourself off when you didn’t see Colter standing there. No, instead stood Russell in a trim black suit, his hair slicked back and a bouquet of orange and red flowers in his hands. “Russ? What-”

“Let me get this out and then I’ll get out of your life forever if that’s what you want,” he said. You leaned against the door jam, Russell taking a deep breath. “Y/N, I like you. A lot. Too much probably for how long we’ve known each other. Everything you said was right. I avoid my problems because it’s a hell of a lot easier to fix someone else’s in my experience.”

He swallowed, glancing at his feet. “Owen could have hurt you at that store. He could have taken you, shown up at the house and killed you. I fucked up and you don’t seem to understand that Owen’s obsession and how fucking smart you are is the only reason we’re still here and he’s not. I told you I took care of it and I didn’t. I was angry at myself and wanted you somewhere safer than with me so I pushed your buttons on purpose. I lied on purpose so you’d get mad and leave with Colter. You deserve a good man and I’m not him. I kill people. I use sex as a way to be close to women but then never let myself be in a relationship because I don’t want them to see beneath the surface and see the shit that’s in there. I want better for you than me.”

Russell looked up, a tiny smile forming on his face. “Can we try being friends again and maybe I can become that man that deserves you along the way?”

“Russell,” you sighed. You stepped forward, cupping his cheeks, green eyes full of caution. “We can be friends. I’d like it if we were more than that, though.” 

He slowly smiled, his lip ticking up when you stroked his cheek. 

“I’m sorry for jumping down your throat. You do not have to share your deepest darkest secrets with me, never mind the first day we’re actually together. That was unfair of me. I just want you to know you can share them with me if you want to.” 

“I’ve killed a lot of people, Y/N,” he said softly. “Dozens. Some of them, most of them, I never gave two shits about. No nightmares. No trauma. That’s not normal. It’s been years since I’ve felt all that bad about killing.”

“You don’t need to feel bad about killing monsters,” you said. He closed his eyes and you leaned in, kissing his forehead. “S’that why you didn’t want me to kill Owen?”

“Moral and practical reasons,” he whispered. “I don’t kill out of revenge. I don’t think I ever have. It always has another purpose. Protect someone, protect a group or the general public from a threat. Some psych told me once that’s why I don’t struggle as much with what I’ve done as some other folks. The way I grew up helped me with that. But I do struggle with it still and you’ve struggled enough. You don’t need that on you.”

“I understand. I’m so used to being controlled and told what to do…I can never go back to that.”

“You never will,” he said, opening his eyes. You tilted your head, Russell turned into your touch to match. “I’m sure I’ll fuck things up again. We can be friends if that’s all you ever want.”

“I don’t want to be just friends. So what if we fight? That’s what couples do.” You took his hand in yours and the flowers in the other, leading him inside behind you. 

“I quit my job a few days ago.” You froze, spinning around on your heels. He shrugged, still holding your hand. “I can’t change my life without making some changes.”

“You still want to do that home brew for a career?” 

“Yeah. I’d like to give it a shot.” He spotted the stacks of papers on your kitchen table and open computer. “Colter offer you a spot on his team?”

“He did at first but I want to try doing it my way, stop patching up the bad guys and doing something good. He warned me it can be dangerous work though, especially as a woman flying solo.”

“He makes very good points,” said Russell, thumbing at your lip when you smiled. “What’s that look for?”

“Maybe you could be on my team sometimes, show me a few moves from the expert.” You started to walk backwards towards your bedroom, Russell’s eyebrows raising. “If you want to.”

“I’ll show you any kind of moves you’d like, qark.” He held his ground though, stopping you in place. You waited for the but to come, for him to push back on getting back together. Instead, he took the flowers from your hand and went into your kitchen, finding a tall glass and filling it with water. He set the flowers on the island before rejoining you, resting his hands on your hips. “I like the idea of working together as partners.”

“But…” you said, Russell kissing the top of your head.

“But you are far too kind, my queen of darkness. I was expecting to get told to get lost tonight and I have plans I can’t get out of with my friends very shortly.”

“Oh,” you said, Russell’s finger tips finding the ends of your hair and playing with a few strands. “If you have plans, we can meet up another-”

“You want to know my dark side?” Your eyes flicked to meet his, your head nodding once. “You can’t unknow what kind of man I am once you do. I don’t blame you if you change your mind about me.”

“I want to know you. All of you.” He closed his eyes and nodded.

“Go change into something discreet. Dark clothes. Leave your phone home. If at any point you want to leave, say so and I bring you right back here, understand?” You nodded, Russell backing away. “Mind if I change in your bathroom?”

“You can change in the bedroom with me.” He smirked but backed away.

“Another time. We have an appointment to keep.”

“Where are we going?” you asked, Russell glancing away.

“Don’t be mad but we need to pay Owen a visit.”

Twenty minutes later you quietly followed Russell into what looked like a decommission warehouse that should have been torn down a decade ago. The building was pitch black apart from the single light coming from the end of a hallway. You stuck behind Russell as you entered the room, stopping when you found six different men and a woman inside, most carrying a weapon on their hip or tucked into their jeans from what you could tell.

And smack in the center of the room tied to a chair was Owen very much still alive. Although…alive was being generous. He didn’t look more injured than when you’d last seen him but his color was off and his eyes were red and puffy. He wasn’t even angry when he saw you, just…scared.

“He behave while I was gone?” asked Russell to a man and woman nearby.

“Tried bribing Doug and then all of us to let him go,” said the woman. She gave Owen a nasty look before turning gentle as she looked towards Russell. “I think you scared the poor boy, Shaw.”

“Oh, who’s afraid of little old me?” said Russell, giving Owen a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “So. Owen, my friends. Friends, Owen. You’re already acquainted with Y/N.”

Owen’s gaze flickered to you when Russell grabbed a chair from the wall and sat it a few feet away from Owen, facing him. Russell sat down slowly, nodding when you moved closer so you could see both their faces.

“Why’s he still alive?” you asked quietly. Owen’s eyes widened, Russell tsking him.

“On me, big guy,” said Russell, snapping his fingers, Owen reluctantly looking at him. “You got some options. Prison. You die very quickly. Or…me and my friends can make sure you die very slowly. Your choice.”

“Why didn’t you kill him yet?” you asked again. Russell sighed, glancing down. “Russell.”

“There were some things that never sat right with me that I wanted answers to. The stuff with your family’s accident and your dad’s paranoia, him attacking you. I had a paranoid father too. I know the signs, know that they want to protect us in their own way. The coincidence of meeting someone just like me was too high so I started to dig. You mentioned Owen’s drugged you a few times in the past and tried to hurt you.”

“Yeah…I’m not following,” you said. Russell stood slowly, staring down Owen like a predator with it’s prey firmly caught in a trap.

“I figured if he drugged you, who else had he slipped something to? What good man, good doctor, could a prescription drug running family slip into his drinks? The more I researched, the more my friends helped, the more we found.” Russell clenched his fists by his side, knuckles turning white. “Should I tell her Owen? Or do you have the balls to tell her yourself?”

Russell ripped off the tape over his mouth, Owen wincing as he breathed deeply. Russell was on him like that, grabbing his throat, not squeezing but adding enough pressure that it was going to be uncomfortable. “I told you to talk, you sack of shit.”

“Y/N, this guys is lying. I never did anything to you!” Russell’s jaw clenched and you watched him squeeze, only backing off when you laid a gentle hand on Russell’s shoulder. 

“He’s psycho!” said Owen, Russell backing up a step. You looked up to him, Russell’s face unreadable. “Y/N, baby-”

“Shut the fuck up before I stab you in your spine,” you said. Owen’s jaw snapped shut, a flicker of something in Russell’s eyes. Pride? Amusement? It quickly flittered away, replaced with worry when you held out a hand. “Can I have your knife?”

Russell slowly took it out of his pocket, handing the engraved handle out to you. You flicked it open and took a seat in the chair, holding it pointed down at the concrete floor.

“Owen. Tell me the truth and I won’t kill you. I swear. But I can get the answers from you if you don’t cooperate. Don’t make me get my boyfriend’s knife bloody.”

You heard a muttered damn from someone behind you, your focus on Owen. He sagged in his seat and closed his eyes.

“Our old fixer wanted out, wanted to go to the feds so my dad had him killed. I was eighteen and he told me to start earning my place as successor. He told me to find a new fixer. Your dad was one of the best doctors in the city. Things were…arranged. Two weeks later we-” 

Russell smacked the back of his head. Hard. Owen grunted, shaking it out.

“Two weeks later I…put a hit on your family. Your mom and brother specifically. We only needed one kid to survive and I thought a girl would be easier to control. I started drugging your father that night with antipsychotics to create paranoia,” said Owen, his head hanging low. “I orchestrated the whole thing. We fed him the drugs for years, it made him stay close if not a little extreme. It kept taking more though.”

“Do. Not. Skip. Ahead,” growled Russell, grabbing a fistful of Owen’s shirt.

“O-okay. I-I…I started thinking about how to get your dad to stick around once you grew up and you were pretty and smart and I thought you’d be happy with me.”

“How old was she when you decided this?” barked Russell. Owen whimpered, trying to curl in on himself. “Fifteen you disgusting waste of space.”

“You started drugging me then,” you said. Owen shook his head.

“Not with that stuff. Just roofies. But not enough for you to be completely out of it. Your dad started keeping a closer eye on you and I tried waiting for you to come around on your own but it was so hard when you went away to college. I knew I couldn’t let you run off like that again so…” Owen’s shoulders shook, mouth snapping shut.

“So you roofied her, attacked her and she fought back. Her father protected her and you fucking killed him for it. Your dear old daddy found what you’d done and wasn’t happy, was he? He covered up your murder and blamed her father knowing Y/N wouldn’t remember a thing. Y/N was forced to go to med school and learn crap she didn’t want to all while daddy had you banished away from her. You tried to keep tabs on her but it wasn’t until dad died that you could finally take Y/N like you wanted. It’s pure fucking luck I showed up when I did to make sure that didn’t happen. Would you like to tell Y/N about the fucking padded door locks and bars on the window in her old room back at the house? About your plans for her?”

Russell grabbed Owen’s hair, forcing his head up. Owen was trembling, whispering apologies and saying how he didn’t mean it, over and over.

“So…you killed my family…and tried to assault me more than once over the years…and were planning on keeping me as a…pet in the house until I magically fell in love with you. I think that sums it up,” you said. You stood up, handing Russell his knife. “I’m not going to kill him.”

“Thank you,” sighed Owen in relief. “Thank you. I-I knew you’d be able to forgive me-”

“Oh, I don’t forgive you and I wouldn’t be thanking me,” you said, smiling up at Russell. ““Papa Elpine and a few guys made it out I heard. Bobby was his favorite son, right?”

“Y/N! I killed Bobby! They’ll-” Russell shoved some tape over his mouth and hummed.

You crossed your arms, Russell tilting his head at you. “You know they’re going to torture Owen to death.”

“I said I wouldn’t hurt him and I’m keeping my word,” you said, Owen shouting under the tape. “I’d tell you to confess but Elpine’s connected. He’d just have you killed in prison. So. Elpine it is.”

“You sure?” asked Russell. You pursed your lips, Owen pleading with his eyes. Everything in you wanted to say yes, let him get what he had coming. 

So why couldn’t you say it? 

You looked to Russell, nodding. “Get rid of him, please,” you mouthed.

“Look away,” said Russell. You turned around, Owen panting hard before there was a loud crack and the room was still. Russell’s hand found your shoulder, rubbing it softly. “We took care of Elpine’s guys. You know that.”

“I just wanted him to be as scared as I’ve been. I-I just…why’d it have to be my family?” You found his face, Russell smiling sadly.

“I’ve asked myself that question a lot over the years. Best I came up with is you got to try and let it go. The world’s good and bad and that’s all there is to it.” He wrapped his arm over your shoulder, walking you towards the door. You nearly looked back but he blocked you with his body. “No. He’s gone for good, you don’t need to give him anything more. I’m sorry for not killing him back in Washington. I just thought you deserved the truth. Your dad was a good man.”

“Thank you,” you said, closing your eyes. “I wish I realized that sooner.”

“Come on,” he said, walking you out to the hallway. “Let’s get you home.”

One Month Later

You smiled from your chair when Russell let out a single tiny snore from the couch across from you. He hadn’t gotten much sleep the past few days and honestly, it was kind of adorable the way this incredibly dangerous man made the cutest cooing noises while he slept.

“You’re staring at me,” he mumbled without opening his eyes a few minutes later. You looked around, holding up a finger. “I can feel you watching, like a creeper.”

“Well, you make these cute sounds when you sleep,” you said. He smirked, slowly flicking his lazy eyes open.

“And who’s fault is it that I haven’t been sleeping, hm?” You shrugged and slid down in your chair with your book, grinning behind the pages. “I can see that smile, you know that?”

“Don’t blame me for the amazing orgasms you give,” you said, flicking your eyes over the top of the book, Russell propping himself up on his elbows with a predatory gaze. “Down boy. Later.”

“You better,” he said, plopping back with a huff. “Remind me to never help Frank with a favor ever again.”

“Frank helped you with Owen,” you reminded him. Russell scoffed.

“All he did with Owen was stand there and look scary. I didn’t make him build a fucking deck in the pacific northwest in forty degree weather.”

“Aw, is baby boy cranky?” you teased. He growled, playfully tossing his pillow at you. “You guys should wrap up tomorrow, right?”

“That’s the plan. Then I’m going back to waking up at a humane hour,” he said, forcing himself to sit up and stretch out with a few grunts. “How long was I out?”

“About an hour and a half. You needed it,” you said, flipping a page. Russell glanced over to the dining table, taking in the decorated spread. 

“You set a place for Colter?” he asked. 

“Yes…right next to Dory’s,” you said, closing your book and setting it aside. “You still think he won’t come?”

“He’s not the kind of guy to come to a housewarming party. Especially his brother’s housewarming party. We still haven’t talked since…” 

“I know,” you said, standing and pulling him to his feet. He was still sleepy as you ruffled his hair, Russell turning into the touch. “I’m excited to meet your friends and family properly.”

“They want to know all about you, that’s for sure,” he chuckled. “You can’t imagine the amount of shit they’ve given me after I said I’d never settle down.”

“I moved in a week ago. We’re a ways from settling down,” you said. He titled his head, smiling at you. “Don’t give me that face.”

“What face?” he teased, leaning in close, dipping his head, kissing under your jaw.

“Shaw! Do not give me a hickey! I do not want them seeing-” You sucked in a breath, brain going fuzzy when he nipped at the soft flesh. 

“Too bad, qark. If I have to have hickeys all over my neck then so do you,” he said, suckling the skin. A buzzer went off in the kitchen and he groaned when you slipped away so the rolls wouldn’t burn. “Y/N…”

“Saved by the bell,” you said, taking out the pan and leaving them to cool off. Russell was by your side quickly, hands on your hips so you couldn’t escape. “Okay. How about you can give me as many hickeys as you want later if you’re a good boy this afternoon?”

“Hm, I do like being your good boy,” he said, squeezing your hips. “Deal.”

“Good. Where do you keep-“

The doorbell trilled, your heads turning towards the front windows. A familiar pickup truck was out front, Russell raising his eyebrows. You nodded for the door, Russell cautious as he answered. Colter stood on the front porch with an awkward forced smile and a pink box.

“I uh, picked up some dessert for dinner later,” he said offering the box. Russell took it, setting it aside on the front table. “You going to invite me in?”

“I thought you…” Russell shook his head and opened the door wider, letting his younger brother inside. Colter gave you a brief smile before clearing his throat.

“I uh, can help you get ready or cook. I just…last time we talked Russell…”

You smiled to yourself when Russell closed the gap between them, giving Colter a strong embrace. “Let's leave that shit behind us. Thanks for coming, Colt.”

“Yeah,” said Colter, returning it for a moment before the boys broke apart. “How’s the girlfriend situation working out for you?”

“I’m telling you man, find the right girl, you’ll never want to go back to being a loner,” said Russell, giving you a smirk. “They do come with a lot of rules though, fair warning.”

“I asked you to put the toilet seat down, Shaw,” you chided. 

“Like I said, rules,” teased Russell. You picked up a knife by your cutting board, narrowing your eyes. “We should help before she starts using that on us.”

“Yes you should,” you said, Colter shrugging out of his jacket and boots, joining your side after washing up. “Can you cut up the veggies into strips?”

“Can do,” he said, swapping places with you. You smiled when Russell took the dessert box and started to arrange the treats on a platter over on the dinning table. “I’d like to apologize for my behavior the last time we were all here.”

You frowned as you peeled a bag of potatoes into a bowl. “You mean when I lost my cool on Russell? You have nothing to apologize for Colter. We were asking you for a favor. Again. I’m honestly surprised you don’t hate me. I know you value your alone time.”

Colter was quiet, chopping neatly and pushing the scraps into a discard bowl. “Did Russell ever tell you how he got that gunshot he went to you for in the first place?”

“Someone kidnapped Doug. He went to save him.”

“Did you know I helped him with that?” You shook your head, setting the peeler down. Colter had stopped dicing, a barely there smile crossing his face. “If it weren’t for my brother asking for my help with his friends, I’m not sure we ever would have spoke again.”

“I know there’s a complicated history there.” He hummed, watching Russell across the room. “It means a lot to him that you’re trying too.”

“S’all we can do is try, right?” he said, going back to his cutting. “So. My brother is clearly head over heels. What about you? Should I expect a wedding invitation soon?”

“Uh, no,” you said, laughing to yourself. “We’re certainly not traditional but we’re nowhere near ready for that. We’ll see how living together goes for awhile before we talk about anything like long term plans.”

“Yet you moved in already.” You rolled your eyes. “Just an observation.”

“For convenience sake. Russ is looking into land for the brewery around here since he left his job and apartments in town are limited.”

“Right. I’m sure that’s it. Silly me,” he said. You held up your peeler to him, Colter raising his hands. “Russ, I think I broke one of your girlfriend’s rules.”

“It was nice knowing ya,” said Russell with a chuckle. “Give him a swift death for me, qark.”

“Qark?” asked Colter as you turned your attention to the potatoes. 

“Queen of darkness. Now hurry up with those so you and Russ can have some alone time before dinner.”

Six Hours Later

“This is going well,” said Russell to you in the kitchen as laughed and a smoky scent filtered in from the back porch. “Everyone really likes you.”

“I suppose I have met them all before, except for Dory. She’s such a sweetheart. I don’t know what I was expecting but-”

“She was much younger than us when our dad died. After she went to live with our aunt and uncle. She’s tough but normal in a way Colter and I won’t ever…” You rubbed his back, his strong arm wrapping around your waist to keep you close. “Did you like, drug him? Or bribe him? I seriously can’t believe he’s still here let alone came.”

“Of course he came. No matter what’s happened in the past, he loves his big brother.” Russell tucked you into his side, smiling when you rested your head on his shoulder. “I found a job in Wyoming. Missing prized show dog. I was going to head out in the morning, see if I’m any good at this.”

“You’ll be wonderful,” he said, kissing the top of your head. “Be safe though.”

“I will be.” You turned in his hold to face him, wrapping your arms around his back in a hug. “It’s been a long time since anyone cared if I was safe. It’s nice. This weird little family you have is…I’m jealous to be honest.”

“You shouldn’t be. It’s yours too.” You raised your eyebrows, Russell raising his own, eyes going wide. “No! No, I don’t mean like, officially yours. Like metaphorically. I’m not ready for anything official. Someday but so not right now.”

“Me either,” you said, the tension running out of his face. “I want to know who we are without our old jobs, how to be a happy queen of darkness.”

“We’ll figure it out together,” he said. “Speaking of which, I got you a present for helping organize all of this and cooking for ten people after literally just moving cross country. I know it was stressful so I wanted to make it up to you.”

“I don’t need a present, Russ,” you said, a sneaky smile forming on his face. “Oh. This is a present for the both of us.”

“I got you a new pair of jammies, the lilac set this time,” he said. Russell’s smile grew as yours did, his arms lifting you off the ground, bringing you to eye level. “You deserve all the good things in life, qark.”

“I think we got something pretty good starting right here,” you said, kissing him once, Russell humming.

“I couldn’t agree more, baby. Couldn’t agree more.”

__________

[dabisbratz]

SOFTSPOT — aizawa shouta x male reader

w.c: 3.3k

a/n: alternatively titled: sonny projects onto a reader insert for 3k+ words straight i’ll never get used to writing dirty talk. got carried away.. whoops..

genitalia terms: cock, dick, hole, boypussy, cunt

WARNING: amab reader, praise, degradation, spitting, dirty talk, crybaby!reader, himbo!reader, fingering, anal, nipple play, chest mentions, use of the words ‘tits’ in a mocking manner, dumbification, mutual masterbation, sadism, humiliation, creampie

“Shooo!” You whine, purely instinctual as you shove impulsively purchased gym-mats, equipment, and protein powder into the trunk of your car. Your pro-hero boyfriend isn’t even there, probably off on patrol somewhere, but you can’t help but call for him when you need help…. Even if it’s with a simple task. He’d offered you some exclusive time to workout at U.A’s gym, even after hours, but you preferred the public ones. More motivation that way, you’d put it. Your bottom lip quivers, plump and pouty as you open a jar of discolored powder. You inhale strongly, handsome face distorting in disgust. Ah, well, at least someone else got some good money off it.

Sweat clings to your forehead, sticky on your skin and clinging embarrassingly to your chest, your sleeveless hoodie soaked. It’s a bit uncomfortable, nothing you can’t manage, just a little colder in the winter air.

The trunk of your car slams, loud as you childishly stomp over to the driver’s seat, despite already forgetting what you were so upset about. You don’t pull out of the gym parking lot just yet, instead opening your phone to see if your boyfriend had found the time to respond to your post-gym selfies. The messages remain on read, and you know Shouta would never ignore you, but your eyes can’t help but water from the neglect. You miss him.

So, like any sensible boyfriend, you call him.

Shouta is a capable man; capable of many things. He can swing through the streets of Japan in the blink of an eye— in his sleep, even. He can knock out a villain in record time, with nothing but his fists and maybe an afternoon nap. He can pick you up right where you stand, lift your legs over your head and fuck you like you weigh nothing. But a simple text back is too much?

It rings once, twice…..a few more times, before you finally hear the gruff voice you’ve been yearning for. Instantly, your mood changes, glassy eyes dry within seconds and a large, genuine smile spilling down your face as you glance at yourself in the rearview mirror. “Hello?”

“Sho-Chan!” You beam, loud enough for anyone within a ten mile radius to hear your excitement. Wiggling in your seat, you squeeze your cellphone between your shoulder and ear, starting the car and setting off to go home. Aizawa makes a sound at that, low in his throat and it rumbles in your ear. Damn, if only you kept your earbuds in! “I missed you… a lot!”

“An old man like me?” You frown in response, Shouta isn’t even old. You shake your head profusely, even if he can’t see you, completely missing the rustling sounds in the background of the call. “…Surely you’ve found someone your old age good enough for you at that gym you like so much.”

“Wha— Don’t even joke like that!” You huff, body lurching forward at the red light you almost forgot to stop at. So mean, always pushing your buttons. Your seatbelt is snug against your chest, dipping between the pillowy skin of your pecs. He’d never admit it aloud, but it was most definitely Shouta’s favorite body part of yours, squishy and soft and thick. He’s always touching you there, his large, pale hands digging into the skin until it hurts. He chuckles, hearty but breathless, like he’s preoccupied. You bite your lip, worried. “Uh, Sho?”

As capable as he is, Shouta is also a very weak man. He’s weak for puppy eyes, big and blown out and teary. He’s weak for warm hands, with nails that scratch his back and massage it the following morning after. He’s weak for pictures of you, all smiles and teeth. He’s weak for crying, the sound of hiccups and sobs leaving his pretty boys’ mouth while he tries to fit a cock in his needy holes.

He can see it now, your eyes widening with worry and concern, tears threatening to fall down your face, your eyebrows knitted as you stare at the road ahead of you. With a dragged out sigh, Aizawa groans, mocking as he says: “Sho-Chan’s gonna need your help, baby.”

“Oh!” You’re good at that— very good, even. You’re always eager to help, especially if you’re helping Shouta. It’s the least he deserves, after all. You straighten up in your seat, though you’re already nearing the reserved parking space in front of his house. Seriously, you add, “Anything, I promise. M’almost home.”

There’s a groan on the other side, a spark traveling down your spine and straight to your cock in response. You know that groan, reserved for handjobs and particularly sloppy blowjobs— like when Shouta holds your head in his hands and uses your throat, burying his cock down to the hilt, until all you can taste is him, your nose buried in his dark happy trail and and curly pubes. He’s always been a bit too big for your mouth, instead opting to slap his cock on your tongue or across your cheek when your jaw started aching too much.

“Mhm, bet you are… Waitin’ for Sho to tell you what to do, sweetheart?” You hum in affirmation almost immediately, unbuckling your seatbelt and hopping out the car with a much hastier pace. The cold, outside air makes the hair on your neck stand, your nipples hardening. “Such a good boy. Why don’t you play with your nipples while you tell him how your day was.”

You pause where you stand, eyes widening as your cock twitches in your sweatpants, straining against the fabric. In public, no less, making a distinct print in your pants as you try to cover your erection with one hand. You let out an incredulous laugh, frantically surveying the area as Shouta huffs in your ear. His request isn’t exactly that, more like a command— because you just can’t tell him no.

“I- I worked out a lot,” Switching hands between covering your dickprint and holding your phone, you swallow hard and nod to yourself. Your hand trails up your side, then to your chest, where you gently massage the plush skin of your pecs. Your middle finger gently— slightly, swirls around the sensitive bud of your nipple, a small whimper forming in the back of your throat. “Bought some, um… Um.. Protein powder.”

But you can’t just sit there, not when Shouta is almost right in front of you, his hands on your skin, his fingers inside you, his cock down his throat— he’s right there, just a few steps and a single lock away. And, God, how you hope he takes care of you when you get there. There’s a guttural noise in your ear before it’s briefly cut off. your phone vibrating in your hand as Shouta hangs up, the front door swinging open before you can even knock.

“These tits,” Is the first thing Sho’ says, slamming the door behind you until you’re trapped between it and his tall body. You want to protest, to whine and stomp your feet because they’re certainly not tits, but your need to please is much stronger. Instead, you whine, your head falling forward as you melt in his hands. His hands roam your chest, calloused palms pushing them together obscenely. You squirm, pouting. “Could play with them all day. Would you like that, hm?”

He knows you would.

“Hear how wet my dick is? Fuck, you don’t even know what you do to me,” He’s overwhelming your senses, his stubble brushing against your chest as he takes a perky bud into his mouth, grazing it with his teeth. Shouta’s no stranger to using his mouth— in fact, you might just share an oral fixation in common. Your eyes flutter closed, your knees buckling as he licks a flat, long stripe over your sensitive nipple. “Going stupid on me already?”

You shake your head, your cheeks puffed out as he looks up at you through his dark lashes, his equally dark bangs obstructing his vision. You’re so cute, huffing and puffing quietly as a wet patch grows on your pants, right where your tip leaks through your boxers. Your natural smell is stronger, and your chest is still glowing with sweat from your workout.

“Sho, listen I–”

Shouta’s eyebrows furrow, his jaw setting as his other hand rolls your unoccupied nipple between his fingers. Your mouth snaps shut. Staring back at him is too much for you, his eyes darkening the more you make contact. You feel like prey, and Aizawa is the unrelenting predator.

You blink away, a startled gasp leaving your lips when his strong hand grips your jaw and sets your gaze back on him. His smile is devious, his canines sharp and glinting under the ceiling lights. You can’t hold onto anything around you, not the doorknob or the doorframe, so you settle for Shouta’s sleeve, ballling your hand into a fist as he flicks your nipples to watch your tits jiggle in response. So embarrassing!

“Look at that, sweet boy, letting me use you how I want, letting me take what I want. Good boy.”

Your body feels warm as you keen— scorching hot, even— while Shouta chuckles at the sight, purring low in his chest. You love making Shouta happy- you live for it, love blooming in your chest as you nod along. You’re a good boy! Shouta’s good boy! He said it himself! You could feel the rumble of his voice in your sternum, where he was hunched over before lowering himself to remove your shoes, your pants, your hoodie.

Your boxers are ruined, almost like you had cum in your pants before he even thought of touching your cock. He swats your shy hands away from your crotch, cooing as flustered tears well in your eyes. Even with the fat crystals threatening to spill he can see your cock jump, especially when it lands right atop your belly button, a trail of sticky precum correcting you to your underwear. Such a crybaby.

“Spit on it.”

“I— Spit?” You blink once, twice, three more times as you try to process the demand. Your cock throbs, unbearably needy, as you look down at it. When you glance back up Shouta looks expectant, but patient as he watches you connect the dots. He does it first, untucking himself from his pants to spit down on his palm, then rubbing said spit into his big, veiny cock.

Ah.

It’s more pathetic than anything, your lips parting as you spit down on your cock. It’s more akin to drool, a long trail of spit slowly trailing down your lips and chin until it pools at your head. Wet and slick, your fingers twitch as you wrap your hand around your dick, toying with the slit just like Sho’ does. It feels better with his hands though, and you sigh impatiently. No one does it like he does,

“Need…need your hand.”

You need a lot of Shouta’s things these days. You need his fingers, deep inside your hole while he toys with your chest. You need his hand, warm and right and too good when he fists your cock. You need his dick, thick and barely able to pass the rim of your hole. It hits every spot just right, so big and so deep, sometimes accompanied by Shouta’s thumb if you’re feeling extra greedy. You need him to make decisions for you, when you’re too cockdrunk to remember your words. When you’re too stupid to decide anything for yourself.

You’re sure you’re crying by now— it feels like it, you can feel wet streaks on your face as Shouta takes his cock in his hand and rubs it against his own, heads squelching together and precum mixing together as you keen into his touch. His other hand, less dominant, reaches your neck, holding you steady against the door as you rut into his hand like a puppy. You hear yourself choke on a moan, a strangled and pathetic sound that has Aizawa’s dick twitching against yours. Loud and wet, your head falls back against the door with a quiet thump, much to your hero’s amusement.

There’s too much warmth; his hands, his fingers, his cock. You’re nodding along to nothing, eyes darting everywhere and nowhere all at once. Your body pulses, long strokes to your cock making you whine pitifully. Aizawa’s pupils are blown wide, his pink tongue darting over his equally pink lips as he watches you crumble in his hands, leaning into the hand around your throat. It snakes down your chest, lower against your belly button, and around your waist.

At this rate you’re going to explode.

His big, long fingers reach your ass, kneading the plush skin between fingers. You can feel him pulling your cheeks apart, his hands greedy and strong and harsh, when he lets go to place a hard smack to the exposed skin. Shouta laughs when you whine in return, squirming when he grabs your hip so hard it hurts.

You try so hard, proud of yourself as you try to warn Shouta of what’s coming next, of the cum about to shoot straight across your stomach, it takes every ounce of self control you have to scrape together the words you want to say— you have to say. His tight, wet grip has your toes curling, your balled fists reaching up for the dark bundles of hair draped along Aizawa’s shoulders. His middle finger, inching closer and closer to your rim.

“Oh, fuckfuckfuck, m’gonna cum, waitwait, Shooo.”

“Mmm, hold on, sugar. Gonna get one out of you with my fingers in this cunt,” There’s something cold and sleek pressed against your taint, gradually warming up the more it circles your rim. There’s nowhere for you to go— forward is into Shouta’s arms, your cocks bumping together lewdly, backward are his fingers; long, thick, calloused and deep. You let out another hiccup, going with the latter of the two as his finger disappears inside you. Grunting along. Shouta’s fingers reach impossibly deep inside you first try, your hole swallowing him up with little resistance. “Did you fuck yourself before you got home? Shoved those needy fingers in your hole because you missed Sho-chan’s big dick pulsing inside your hole? T’aww.”

“Uh-huh, mhm, yeah,” Another mindless, breathless nod while in the back of your head you find yourself pouting. It’s not a cunt and you certainly don’t find that phrase hot at all! You move to nuzzle your forehead against his stubble, moaning out tiny sounds with each brush to your prostate. Shouta lets you drool on his shoulder, eyes squeezed right as you buck your hips into his. You’re sobbing into his ear, thighs trembling against the door as he spreads your cheeks apart, and cool air meets your hole. “Hmmph..”

“Turn around for me, show me where Daddy fucks you. Where his dick goes.” That’s a new one. But he’s right, it’s a perfect fit— even if it needs some prep. He fills you up just right, keeps you stuffed on his cock till all you can do is whine and cry, bounces you up and down until you’re both satisfied. You’re in love.

So you turn, dizzy and wobbly on your legs and unabashedly eager to be good for your lover. He keeps you upright if anything, basically manhandling you until you’re where he wants you, back arched against the door and your cheek squished below the peep-hole. Your hands travel down your chest, down to your hips where they swerve back, palms resting on the swell of your ass. A hungry, animalistic grin graces Shouta’s lips as he watches you spread your cheeks apart once more, the puffy hole winking back at him. You try to smile at him, messy-faced and dopey.

Cute.

There’s more spit now than you remember, warm and sloppy as Shouta rubs it into your hole. Your cock strains painfully, desperate for release, but somehow your overwhelming need to feel full is stronger. And full you’ll be, as Aizawa’s balls tighten, his cock sliding across the crack of your ass, then around your hole. There’s an obscene smack of the head against your rim, then the sound of Shouta sucking in a deep breath through his teeth.

“Shh. Let me in, let me in, baby.” His dick enters slowly, making you sniffle in response. You try your hardest to relax, to sit still and let Sho’ take you how he wants, but you can’t help it. He presses into your hole like he owns it, deep and heavy as his thighs meet the bottom of your backside.

“Take it like you were made for me.”

His balls slap against your own slow, at first, then quickly and sporadically increasing in speed at the expense of your throat. It’s almost like he’s fucking you there too, deep enough that you can taste his precum at the very back of your tongue. His strong arms wrap around your body, hands squeezing your large chest while you bat your wet eyelashes.

“Fuuck, you take it so well. Love watching that greedy fuckin’ hole suck me in. So fuckin’ wet n’ sloppy, ugh, such a good pocketpussy.”

Your rut against the door, pounding against it with each forward thrust, your cock threatening to spurt any second. Shouta’s grumbling something in your ear, something you can’t make out through the foggy haze, but you feel yourself tighten up in response anyway. You babble through your tears, wailing loud and incoherent and something along the lines of ‘I’m Sho’s good boy,’ but who’s keeping track.

“Too— hmm.. I can't.” Shouta’s hand caresses your cheek, curling into a lazily formed fist as he gently knocks a knuckle (though it’s more like the fat of his hand) against your forehead. He makes a sly comment about how hollow and empty your head sounds, a dark and rich laugh erupting from his mouth.

“S’it too much, honey? My dick’s just too much for that tiny little hole,” Your cock jumps against your tummy, twitching until it can’t anymore, cum shooting straight out your tip until you’re drooling on the door, eyes rolled behind your head as Shouta continues using you— you’d only gotten tighter, after all. “That’s too bad. Come on— you can take it, let me stuff it full. Bet you’re so proud of yourself too. Proud of that slutty fuckin’ boypussy.”

Your toes curl, thigh muscles clenching tight as Aizawa keeps you upright, lifting your boneless body up and down, his cock disappearing inside you. Even as he pulls out, your body pulls him right back in. But he’s clearly reaching his limit, his dick pulsating inside you with vigor as he spurts a thick, sticky load inside you around your rim.

He pulls out completely with a hiss, watching his cum slowly trickle out, thick globs collecting at the back of your thighs. He’s the only thing holding you up, your strong legs suddenly jello in his grasp. You make no effort to move, letting him manhandle you onto the couch. His hands are warm in contrast to the wet cloth you don’t remember him grabbing, but it feels good and cool against your skin.

“Sho-Chan..” You whine, not nearly as high in your throat as your moans. “Kiss me.”

[zoeythegoodgirl]

Drive

It's been 12 hours. Your wife has been driving you to your mother-in-law's for some reason that's been long forgotten. You haven't seen another car in what feels like years, and you're on the verge of sleep when your wife's voice brings you back.

"Babe, I'm bored," she complains. "Can you do something fun for me?" You begin to ask what she means but are interrupted by the feeling of her hand on your thigh, slightly raising the hem of your skirt. "Put on a show for me," she demands. "When I speed up, you stroke faster. When I go slower, so do you."

Your face turns bright red, and you try to squeak out a response, but she stops you before you can say anything. "Babe, there's no one out here but us. When was the last time you saw another car? Now do as I said. No stopping and no cumming until I say."

Obediently, you slide your panties out and put them in your wife's expectant hand. "When you're done, you'll get these back. And remember, you're not done until I say." The most pathetic whimper leaves your lips as you begin stroking. You immediately feel the pressure of your wife pressing on the accelerator, and you gasp and try to keep pace.

Very quickly, though, she relents and slows the car down, slower to when you started. It doesn't feel like much respite, though, as the long slow strokes very quickly bring you to the brink. Completely without thought, you begin to beg for release. "Babe," she admonishes as she speeds back up.

Your whines become even more pathetic as your strokes increase in intensity. Soon, you're at the point where, if you keep going, you'll spill your load all over the floor mat. Surprisingly, you feel the car pull over and stop. "Out" is the only word that leaves your wife's lips. Embarrassed, you step out, trying to hide how much your skirt is tenting out from your body.

Your wife directs you to the trunk, shoving you down on it before you can say anything. Your skirt flies up, exposing your girlcock, which begins to strain against the wind. Before you can say anything, you can see your wife frantically pulling down her pants. Faster than you can process what's happening, you feel the dewy pressure of your wife taking you into her, causing you to moan louder than you wanted to.

Desperately, you try not to cum, wanting to calm your wife so you can get back into the car. Words are the last thing you can grasp, as your moans escape your lips uncontrollably. Even as a car passes, your wife doesn't let up. Suddenly, her lips rush to meet yours, and you feel her clench around you. It's too much for you to handle, and you feel yourself throbbing inside her as the both of you cum.

As you come to, you notice it's gotten a bit brighter out than when you started. You think about how long you've been going for, and wonder how many cars passed without you noticing. The embarrassment is almost more than you can handle, but you can't hide your face. Your legs are incredibly wobbly, and you need to hold onto the car in order to get back into your seat. Your wife drops your panties in your lap, but you're too exhausted to put them back on.

"Some traffic, huh," she giggles as she begins to drive off again.

[holylulusworld]

The inventor

Summary: You try to make the hunter’s life easier.

Pairing: Dean Winchester x GN!Reader

Warnings: crack!fic, fun, grumpy Dean

A/N: I saw the idea with a hula-hoop on social media and had to turn it into a fic.

“I got a new idea!” You exclaim as you run inside the library. Since Dean and Sam saved you from a werewolf and took you in, you try to help them. You are their research buddy and their personal inventor.

“Not again,” Dean groans. He rolls his eyes as you carry your invention book, your laptop, and a plastic bag filled with God knows inside the library. “I try to drink in silence. Please don’t let anything explode again.”

“Oopsie!” You giggle. “Dean, that was an accident. It was your fault, though. You tickled me, and I dropped the liquid fire I invented.”

“You didn’t invent anything, Y/N!” Dean mutters under his breath. He wanted to celebrate another successful hunt with booze and watching porn. Now you are placing a construction plan in front of him. “What this again?”

“A salt-filled hula-hoop ring! You know, like a salt ring, but you can carry it around because it’s inside a hula-hoop!” You excitedly tell Dean about your newest invention. “You can put it around a person and keep them safe from ghosts while you gank the monster. “Oh, it will work with demons too.”

Dean snorts. “I don’t think this will work. The hula-hoop will weaken the effect. We don’t put a box of salt in front of a person to protect them, either.”

“But—” You harrumph. Dean just had to ruin yet another idea to improve their hunting arsenal. “A box is not the same as a hula-hoop!”

“I won’t carry that thing around.” Dean points at the construction plan. “We will stick to salt rings.”

“Water—wind—spit. Anything can break a salt ring, but not my hula-hoop salt ring!” You won’t give up. “Maybe we can try it out on the next hunt! OR WAIT!!!” You gasp as the next idea floods your mind. “Let’s summon Crowley. We can check if he can break the salt ring!”

“No.” Dean cuts you off. “This is not handy, and just stupid!”

“Your face is stupid!” You grab your construction plan and storm out of the library, cursing Dean’s birth.

“SAMMY!” You’re panting while chasing after Sam. He tried to enter the library for research, and now you are hot on his heels. “What do you think about wearing silver rings on every finger to punch werewolves and ghouls in the face? I could make you some. Maybe secret compartment rings. I can put salt inside.”

“You want us to wear rings on every finger? We can’t do anything with rings on our fingers. What if we want to shoot a werewolf, and the huge secret compartment rings get in our way?”

You sigh. Damnit. You worked on the first ring for days and didn’t think about using a gun while wearing it. A fine inventor you are…

“How about car mats with a devil’s trap? This way, no demon can enter your car,” you proudly point at Baby stand in the garage. “That’s a good idea, right?”

“Uh—I hate to tell you so, but we already have a devil’s trap painted to the roof of the trunk. And trust me, no dirty demon will enter my car on my watch.”

You purse your lips. “Fine, let any demon sneak into your car, Winchester.” You storm off, cursing loudly as you decide to never help them again.

“DEAN! I got an idea!” You run inside the kitchen, a water gun in your hands. “LOOK! A water gun filled with holy water and some salt!” You grin proudly. This is it, the idea of the century. Even Dean must see this is the only way to defeat demons.

“Hmm…” He grumbles. Dean eyes the colorful water gun. He shakes his head and turns to walk out of the kitchen. “That looks like Barbie’s gun. I won’t use it.”

“I can spray it black,” you offer. “It will look cool. Dean! Wait!” You chase after Dean, determined to convince him to use the water gun from now on. “It will work!”

“Nope,” he shrugs when you tell him he’s a jerk. “I won’t use your toy gun. Just stop inventing shit.”

“One day, I will invent something to shrink your dick!” You yell after Dean, making him chuckle. “You’ll see Winchester. One day you will wake up and whimper, oh no, my dick is tiny, and I need a magnifying glass to find it!”

Dean laughs while walking toward the library. You follow him, telling the hunter how much better all your inventions would make his life.

“If you invent something to turn dust into a pie, I’m game.” He grins when you look at him with glassy eyes. Dean wants you to invent something.

“I’ll turn every dust mouse into the most delicious pie!” You exclaim before storming out of the library. “You’ll beg me to give you a slice.”

Dean watches you leave the library; he cocks a brow, wondering if you can turn dirt into a pie.

Tags in reblog.

[bobawitch]

Birthday Wishes | M.S

a/n: just a little fluffy situation where reader thinks her bday will go unnoticed but matt plans a little date

cw: some mild angst/abandonment issues, fluff

wc: 883

Birthdays were never an anticipated event for you. Most of your birthdays sucked in full honesty. Like your 15th birthday, sitting with your friends when you heard a loud slam. You quickly ran downstairs, your friends standing at the edge of the stairs to gather the situation. You were met with the sight of your mother in tears, soon you heard the engine of your step dad's truck pulling out and leaving. Safe to say that birthday was assuredly ruined. That was only the tip of the shitty birthday iceberg, honestly you barely even celebrate it anymore. Sometimes you’ll get a free drink or two from a bar or cafe but never a party. That brings you to today, your 21’st birthday. You had gotten a free coffee from Starbucks and now you had settled into your couch and put on a movie. The sky had grown dark and you were cozied in a blanket with one of your boyfriend’s hoodies. And speaking of your boyfriend your phone buzzed. You picked up the phone and paused your movie before speaking. “Hey Matt, what’s up babe?” “Come outside we’re going on a trip.” “Hm? Matt I’m in sweats I-” “Don’t worry, you don't need to be dressed up for this.” You sighed, he had that kind of tone that you knew if you didn’t come outside he’d march in and bring you out on his shoulder.

With this in mind you put on the smallest amount of makeup and changed into a better hoodie before walking outside. There stood Matt Sturniolo, your boyfriend of 8 months. You smiled and walked up to him and hugged him. He huffed out a laugh before wrapping his arms around your waist and squeezing. “Hey babydoll. You look cute.” You smiled, looking up at him and pressing a kiss to his cheek. “Thanks love, you look as handsome as ever.” He chuckled and patted your head before grabbing your hand. “Ok ok come on, I have a surprise for you.” He spoke softly as he walked you to the car, opening the door for you like he always did. “Ooo, I’m excited. Random surprises all for me.” Matt smiled as he began to drive. Overall it was a pretty calm drive, Matt had a few moments of brief road rage before calming down. Soon the two of you were in an empty field outside of the city. 

“Y’know Matt this is a really good place to kill me haha.” You joked before turning to him. “Maybe that’s what I’m doing. You’d never see it coming.” You laughed at Matt’s comment before stepping out of the car and looking around. Matt followed you out of the car before walking to the trunk of the car and pulling out a big blanket and a basket filled with food? You looked over at Matt and he smiled. “Happy Birthday babydoll.” Your face quickly blossomed into a dark blush and you felt tears pricking your eyes. You moved over to your boyfriend and quickly hugged him, letting a few tears fall down your cheeks. You grasped onto his hoodie tightly and let happy tears stream down your face. “Thank you..” You mumbled into his chest before he pulled you off him. “Of course baby. You deserve to be celebrated.” He then grabbed your hand and pulled you out in front of the car. He laid down the blanket and set the basket down. It was filled to the brim with all of your favorite snacks and even your favorite soda. You sat down on the blanket and basically tackled Matt to the ground, laying on top of him and peppering kisses all over his face.

“What’d I do to deserve you.” You mumbled between frantic kisses. Matt giggled, gripping onto your hips as you cuddled into him. “Ok ok ok baby baby I brought you out here to stargaze not be attacked.” You flicked his nose at that comment before resting your head against his chest. “This is perfect, I love it.” Slowly you rolled over so you could look up at the sky. Matt wrapped an arm around your waist and pulled you close to his side. You moved to grab a bag of chips, opening them and offering some to Matt. You both sat in near silence before you set the chips down and looked up at Matt. “I thought you forgot about my birthday.” Matt quickly turned his head to you, shock edged deep in his gentle features. “What? Baby I would never forget your birthday. I put it on my next 3 calendars the second you told me.” Something about his words just healed a part of your heart. You pulled Matt in by his cheek, pressing your lips to his in a deep passionate kiss. Matt kissed back, shifting to hold you closer to him. When he finally pulled back he stared into your eyes, tucking some stray hair away from your face. “I love you so much Y/N, happy birthday my love.” You smiled and pushed your fingers into his hair pulling him back into another kiss. “I love you too Matthew.” You pressed another kiss to his cheek before laying down again. “This is the best birthday ever.” “Only the best for my girl.”

[impala-dreamer]

Save Me - Part One

A Short Story

~ Sometimes, when life seems the brightest, shadows creep in. After announcing their engagement to the world, Jensen's fiancé is kidnapped. With the help of a friend, she tries to fight her way back home to him.~

Jensen Ackles x F!Reader, Dean Winchester

7,160 Words Total. Part one: 3,209

Warnings: My kind of Super Angst. Blood. Injury. Kidnapping. It's really sad...

A/N: Written for @jacklesversebingo "No one's coming to save you. Get up!"

PART ONE ~ PART TWO

Impala-Dreamer’s Masterlist  ~  Patreon  ~ Published Works

Her thoughts were hazy; her head throbbing from the repeated blows. The blood that had trickled down her neck had dried and she could feel how matted her hair was around the wounds.

Her muscles ached, her skin was bruised and broken in more than one spot. The cramped trunk she’d been forced into and the bumpy ride had nearly crippled her. She’d tried to count the turns they took, the miles they raced across, but disorientation and fear had been too much to overcome.

Wrists and knees bound in scratchy, rough rope and eyes blinded by a scarf, Y/N was led from the car and dragged up a few stairs. She could hear a lock turn and the hinges of a door creak. Boots on a wooden floor; the heavy breathing of her captor.

The house was warm. Heat was pulsing up from hissing radiators and the smell hung heavy in the air, mixing with the stench of stale cigarettes and rotting trash. Still, she was grateful for the warmth. January in Indianapolis was freezing and the trunk hadn’t exactly been insulated.

“Where are you taking me?” she whimpered, cringing as the fingers around her upper arms dug into her flesh.

There was no answer.

“Please! Don’t do this. We can work something out.”

When she refused to take another step, she was yanked forward and thrown into another room. Her sneakers squeaked and she recognized the sound of cheap linoleum flooring under her rubber soles.

A kitchen. Knives. A backdoor, maybe.

She twisted against the tight hold. “Please, just let me go. I swear to god I won’t go to the cops. No charges pressed. Please. We can get out of this mess.”

The giant hand gripped her harder and Y/N groaned at the pain.

“Why are you doing this to me?”

A gruff voice shouted by her ear. “Shut up!”

She bit her tongue but refused to give up. “Let me go!”

With all of her strength, she pivoted to the right, shoving her elbow hard into the solid body behind her. She heard a pained grunt and the hand holding her released. She spun around the other way and tried to run, but it was no use. Still tied, her knees buckled and she began to fall.

The hands were back, yanking her harshly back onto her feet. She screamed and fist collided with her jaw. Sparks erupted in the blackness of her vision, pain spread across her face.

“Told you to shut up!”

Y/N held her breath and squeezed her lips shut.

Tugged forward again, she stumbled deeper into the kitchen and heard a door open. Cold air hit her face and she shuddered.

“Where are we going?” Tears soaked into the blindfold. “Please…”

Hands released her and Y/N teetered on the edge of what felt like the top of a staircase.

A basement.

She panicked.

“No, no, no!”

“I told you to shut the fuck up!”

His fist connected with her temple and Y/N fell. She counted four stairs before every sensation and thought vanished.

“You sure we should be doing this here?”

Y/N looked over from the edge of the bed at Jensen who was fixing his hair in the mirror. He was primped and picture perfect for a busy day at the convention. Tight black tee under a denim jacket, immaculately ripped jeans, and brown boots. Add to it all the longer hair and a beard- he looked a little too good.

He caught her eye in the mirror and smiled. “I do. I think this is the best place to do it.”

Y/N squirmed nervously and lifted her left leg onto her knee so she could retie her sneaker for the tenth time. Her engagement ring glimmered and she sighed happily at the diamond.

It was perfect.

He was perfect.

And yet-

“What if they don’t like me? Or they get mad, or-”

Jensen spun around and dipped his chin, looking at her with a stern gaze. “Then I’ll kill them. All of them.”

His voice had dropped to a deep, rough growl and Y/N laughed.

“OK, Dean.”

Jensen exhaled loudly and straightened up, returning to himself. He closed the space between them with two long strides and fell to one knee. He took her hand, the same hand that he’d held two weeks ago when he’d asked her to marry him.

“I promise,” he said softly. “They’re gonna love you.”

Her cheeks warmed and her tension eased.

“How can you be sure?”

Green eyes beamed as he smiled.

“Because I love you.”

Pain woke her.

Stabbing, white-hot pain that spread through the entirety of her left side. Though she couldn’t tell where it manifested from, several points along her body had made contact with the concrete floor and spikes of pain radiated from each one.

Her cheek was smashed against the frozen floor and her nose ached. Gingerly, she rolled onto her back. The scarf over her eyes had shifted a bit and she could see a faint stream of light surrounded by creeping shadows.

The air was frigid and damp, and smelled like mold. She shivered as the cold seeped through her thin clothing and into her soul.

Fear wrapped itself around her lungs and squeezed. Her breathing quickened, her sore jaw trembled. She tasted blood, felt every bruise, every splinter of bone. Her mind raced, trying to make sense of the last twelve hours.

Late evening. The convention center. Walking from the loading dock to the back parking lot. Low hanging ceiling; giant yellow lights. Cars jammed in every spot. A dirty white van. A shiny black Explorer. An old gold Camry.

The Camry.

Something heavy hitting her head. Her ears rang. The warmth of blood oozed across her scalp.

She could feel the trunk closing around her, the thin upholstery. The stink of gasoline wrinkled her nose.

Her chest burned. Her throat closed.

She screamed.

“Somebody help me! Help!”

She thrashed against the ground; ropes still would tight around her wrists and legs.

“Help!”

Turning her face back to the concrete, she wiggled her forehead against the stone, pushing the blindfold up and away from her eyes. She blinked into the darkness and let out a hopeless cry.

The basement wasn’t big, but it was old and dark. Light streamed down from the door at the top of the staircase but she’d rather not have any.

Cobwebs hung from the ceiling, spiders lurked in corners, ghosts swept like cold breath over her skin.

“Please…” Tears flowed freely, dripping down her cheeks and onto the floor. She let go, sobbing into the darkness, lost and terrified. “Help me…”

The stage was bigger than she thought it would be; the curtains heavier. She stood off to the side, hiding in the wings while Jensen awed the crowd.

He really was something magnificent. With a tiny smile, he could captivate a crowd. One well-timed wink could send them to their knees, have them swooning and begging for more.

Y/N watched happily as he answered questions and animatedly told a few stories about his work on The Boys. He had a million stories and she would never get tired of hearing them.

She could feel the hour waning and nerves crept up her spine. She steadied her breathing and twirled the platinum ring on her finger. It was too big, she thought, but it didn’t matter. It could be a lump of camel dung and she’d love it. He’d given it to her.

Finally, Jensen cleared his throat and threw a glance over his shoulder at her. It was time.

“I’m sure most of you have heard the rumors,” he said, microphone clutched in his left hand. “So, I thought we’d put them to rest right now.”

The audience’s anticipation was nearly tangible. Hopeful silence rang through the room.

“If you’ll indulge me, I’d like to introduce you to my fiance…”

Right arm extended, Jensen gestured to Y/N and she took a deep breath before stepping out into the bright lights.

Her hands were numb. The skin around her wrists was bloody and stinging. In a panic, she twisted her hands, chewed on the knots, screamed through her teeth.

The desperate cries rang off the leaky stone walls and bounced back at her. She was sure that no one outside would be able to hear her, even if they weren’t in the middle of nowhere.

She had no idea, really, where she was. She did know that they had driven for a long while, and most of the journey had been on uneven, unpaved roads. Surely, they were well outside of the city and anywhere there might be neighbors nearby to hear her pleas for help.

Giving up and afraid of breaking her teeth on the knot, she rolled onto her knees and carefully shuffled over to the stairs. The wooden banister was old and unfinished, just bare wood hammered into place. She rubbed the rope against the edge, hoping to fray the strands and break free.

“What are you gonna do once you get those ropes off?”

Y/N froze and looked around, searching the shadows for the source of the familiar voice.

“Hello?”

“You got a plan?”

“What?” She squinted into the shadows but there was nothing there. She was alone.

“I said, do you have a plan to get out of here?”

“Who’s there!”

A deep, kind laugh. “You know who it is, Y/N/N. What you don’t know is how to get out of here.”

Her heart raced. She did know who it was, but she wouldn’t admit it. If she was hearing his voice, she was going insane. Or she was concussed, which seemed more likely.

Can you go crazy from that?

“Depends on how hard they hit you, I guess,” he said.

Y/N grit her teeth and tried to ignore him. She went back to work furiously rubbing against the post.

“Keep going, you almost got it.”

She sighed. “Go away.”

Another laugh, softer, under his breath. “You don’t mean that. You need me.”

Y/N groaned and kept at her task. Tiny specks of dust and fibers danced in the faint light and she picked up speed, forcing it harder into the wood.

The rope snapped before she could steady herself and she fell forward, smashing her forehead into the corner of the post.

“Fuck!”

Dizzy, she tore the broken twine away and sat back on her ass. She kicked her legs out and untied the rope around her legs. Finally able to move, she jumped to her feet.

The sudden movement was too much for her head and she fell onto the steps, palms crushing into the damp wood.

“Be careful…”

Y/N rolled her eyes at the phantom voice and crawled on aching hands and knees up the steep stairs.

Once at the top, she held her breath and pressed her ear to the door, listening.

If anyone was near, they made no sound.

Carefully, she stood up and grabbed the knob. Praying for release, she turned the brass but it caught halfway around. She turned it again and again hoping something would change, but it was locked.

“Hello!” She beat against the door, kicked it hard. “Help me! Hello!” Fists pounded, her throat tore. “Let me out!”

Someone on the other side kicked at the door and it rattled in the frame.

“Shut the fuck up!” he bellowed, scaring her even more.

Y/N jerked back from the door and felt all hope drain away as boots thudded across the linoleum and the lights went out.

To her surprise, the audience cheered. Smiles beamed up at her from the front row, applause washed over her.

Timidly, and with Jensen’s encouragement, she stepped up to the microphone stand and smiled.

“Hey, guys.”

Her cheeks were burning, her eyes squinting in the stage lights. She raised a hand to shield her face from the glare and looked out into the room. Every seat was filled and fans stood along the back wall. It seemed everyone at the con was in that room, watching Jensen give his big announcement.

She tried to take the mic but her hand was shaking terribly. Jensen came to her aid and pulled it from the stand. He kissed her cheek.

“You’re gonna be great,” he whispered. “They already love you, just go with it.”

Already, people were queueing up on either side of the stage, ready to ask a question should the lines be opened again.

“How’s it going?” she asked, receiving a loud cheer in reply. “Yeah, me too.” She laughed and took a shy step back. Her heart was racing, her lips hurt from smiling.

Jensen watched her with bright, loving eyes. He placed his big hand on her lower back and gave a gentle push.

His touch calmed her instantly. She turned to look up at him and everything else faded away. She’d be fine, he was with her. Always.

“Well, show them,” he said into the mic.

Y/N laughed and rolled her eyes.

“Go on…”

With dramatic, mock reluctance, she extended her left hand and showed off her new ring. It sparkled in the lights and the fans went wild.

She checked the door three more times. She twisted the knob until her palms were raw. She kicked at the wood until her legs ached.

In the darkness, she felt her way down the stairs and collapsed onto the floor. Her head was pounding and a sharp, unending ring blasted loud in her ears.

She lay on her right side, shivering and sweating at the same time. Her face was clammy and her eyes felt as if they were on fire.

“You have a fever,” he said. “That’s not good.”

Y/N turned towards the voice and gasped.

Leaning against the staircase railing was a ghost of her imagination, a handsome vision in a denim jacket and ripped jeans. Red flannel peeked out beneath the jacket and his pockets were full. His jaw was shaded with light stubble; his hair was short and fluffed upwards. His forehead was creased and he crossed his ankles and arms, staring down at her.

She shook her head but her vision wouldn’t clear. He was blurry but obviously there.

“Dean?”

He chuckled. “Who else?”

She sighed painfully and closed her eyes. “You’re not real.”

The apparition pushed off from the post and shrugged. “I’m more real than anything else you got right now. Who are you gonna talk to? That rat over there?”

She cringed. “What!”

He laughed outright and rubbed at the back of his neck. “You’re gonna have to toughen up real quick, Sweetheart, if you’re gonna get out of this.”

“There’s no way out of this.”

Dean crouched down, set his forearms on his knees, getting close to her. “There’s always a way out. You may not like it, but there’s always a way.”

Something caught in the back of her throat and she coughed hard. Violent pain erupted across her middle and she screamed, folding in on herself.

Dean’s worried hands floated over her body; his face contorted with helplessness.

“Hey. Hey! You’re OK. Just breathe.”

She coughed again and her limbs spasmed, twisting inwards.

“Hey! Y/N/N, come on.”

She imagined she could feel the heaviness of his hand on her shoulder.

“Shh… It’s a broken rib… or six. You’re gonna be OK.”

Her eyes were wide, her skin paled. “Can’t… breathe.”

“Hey, hang on… Stay with me!”

Another cough let loose a spray of crimson from her lips and Y/N’s eyes rolled back.

Dean’s voice echoed in her head and everything else faded away.

He kissed her on stage. In front of everyone. In front of a thousand cameras flashing and videos rolling. He kissed her hard, dipped her over his arm.

Y/N was embarrassed and thrilled and in love. It was hard to contain or sort through the emotions running through her, and when they walked off stage together, she started to cry.

Jensen spun around and bent down to reach her eye level.

“Baby, no… what’s wrong?”

She shook her head and tried to look away, but two giant hands framed her face and held her there.

“What’s going on?” he asked, green eyes flooded with worry. “Did I do something?”

She smiled and sniffled. “No. No, Jen, you didn’t. I’m just…” She took a shaky breath. “I’m so fucking happy.”

She took a shaky breath and lifted her head from the frozen concrete. The chill had entered her bones, chilling the marrow and numbing her digits. Her joints ached; the breaks in her body stung. She wiped at the dried blood on her mouth and tried to sit up.

It hurt too much to move.

“I’m thirsty,” she croaked. Her throat was raw and her voice crackled.

“You gotta get outta here.”

She growled. “Ya think? How?” She pushed up on one arm and glared his way.

Dean was standing in the dark next to the stairs. Hands shoved in his pockets; bottom lip tugged harshly between his teeth.

“I don’t even know where ‘here’ is!”

He sighed. “I know.”

“Or who they are!”

He pursed his lips, took a breath. “I know-”

“Or why the fuck I’m locked in a basement!”

Dean rolled his head on his shoulders, looking for answers on the ceiling. “That’s it.” He snapped his fingers and looked down at her.

“What’s it?”

“Why are you here?”

She rolled onto her ass and slowly tucked her knees to her chest. Every movement hurt, but it was better than freezing to death laid out like a ragdoll.

“I already said, I don’t know.”

He dropped his chin, narrowed his gaze. “Think.”

She shook her head. “I have no fucking idea.”

“They haven’t touched you,” he noted.

She scoffed. “Um… I don’t know if you recall that I’ve been bludgeoned and shoved into a trunk and beaten and-”

Dean held up his hand, surrendering and asking for patience. “I mean, they haven’t… touched touched you.”

“You mean like-”

“Yeah.” He scrubbed a hand down his face.

“So they’re not gonna like… rape me or anything. That’s good.”

“Doesn’t seem like it.” He scratched his head. “So why are you here? What do they want from you?”

Y/N shrugged and winced at a new found pain. Her neck was stiff, her spine tingled.

“Think!”

She startled. “I don’t know!”

“Think. What’s missing?”

“I don’t-” Her head hurt. Her vision unfocused.

“Come on, kid. Think.”

“My… my ring.” She reached for the diamond, but her finger was bare. “My ring is gone.”

Dean hummed. “Yeah. But what’s still here?”

She took stock of herself, struggling to remember what she’d worn that morning and what was left.

“My necklace,” she answered, touching her clavicle. “My jewelry. They didn’t take anything else.”

Dean came closer as he led her thought process along. “So, they…”

She swallowed hard. “This isn’t a robbery or anything. They don’t want to rape me. They… It’s got something to do with you.” She looked up into green eyes and a hard expression. “I mean, with- with Jensen.”

TO BE CONTINUED... Part Two

2024 Forever Tags (Always Open! Send an Ask!)

@alwaystiredandconfused @babysimpala @beardburnsupersoldiers @chenshemesh1 @cosicas-cuquis @deans-baby-momma @deanwinchesterswitch @feelmyroarrrr @foxyjwls007 @hobby27 @impalaspixie @jackles010378 @kazsrm67@k-slla @leigh70 @lyarr24 @nancymcl @peachy-vans @pizzagirlxnsfwx @rachiem4-blog @sexyvixen7 @suckitands33 @the-wounded-healer05 

[starry-hughes]

hey mat(t)hew

mat barzal x reader, matthew tkachuk x reader

warnings: cheating, angst, mentions of sex, more angst, barzy ends up heartbroken but so does tkachuk, inspired by the song hey ben (games we play & hoodie allen)

summary: matthew finds out you have another boyfriend who happens to be closer to him than he would have ever guessed.

navigation

I got some things that I've been meaning to get off my chest. Been holding on to this so long, I've never been so stressed. 

Mathew Barzal was never expecting a text from a random number addressing him as Mathew. He didn’t even know who this was. Why was this person addressing him as if they knew one another, as if they had something in common?

“Hey Mathew… hate to be the bearer of bad news..”

That’s how the text started. 

And this might just weird you out, But I flagged you down to say, I know we haven't met, But we've got tons of friends in common, And lying isn't me, so I'll just be completely honest. 

You had wanted to get out of Fort Lauderdale since you were a teenager. As soon as the opportunity presented itself, acceptance to NYU and funding from your parents, you were in New York. The plan wasn’t to find a job right out of graduation and work for a company based in Fort Lauderdale. Luckily, you didn’t have to return there often, just for the occasional, one-time-a-month trip, your job letting you work remotely for the most part. 

Your life was perfect. A college degree, a job, and a hot boyfriend, Mathew Barzal. Your life was enjoyable, being a hockey girlfriend and successful. It wasn’t that Mat was a bad boyfriend. He was great. He would buy expensive gifts, tell you that he loves you, everything you could ask for. 

Both traveling for work, it wasn’t out of the ordinary to go down to Florida for work while Mat was traveling as well, he’d be on the West Coast while you were down in Florida, sitting through boring meetings. He’d text you good morning and good night, call you if he could, and tell you he loved you. 

You weren’t sure what had gotten into you. Maybe it was the fact that a minor argument had happened while you were packing to leave on your work trip of the month and Mathew was staying in New York for the week. You were staying at a rental house, paid for by your company, it was a nice place in a nice area: Sunrise, Florida. 

Hey Ben, I'm sorry, but I might have slept with your girlfriend I was under the impression she was my girlfriend. Don't worry, it won't happen again. But, hey Ben, I can't make any promises. 

Matthew Tkachuk had been on the Florida Panthers for a short time when he stumbled into you. You were on a jog, needing to clear your head about your rocky relationship back home. Matthew was rounding his car, walking to the trunk when you jogged by and startled him. You ripped out your headphones, huffing an apology. “It’s okay,” Matthew flashed a smile at you, “I’ve never seen you around here.” 

With your hands on your hips, you suddenly feel something, lust. “Just here on a work trip, can I help you with groceries? Since I startled you.” He had completely forgotten about the groceries in his trunk, the Publix bags staring at him. 

You ended up sleeping with Matthew Tkachuk that night. 

You felt guilty. Horrible. But the sex was too good. It would be a secret, one you wanted to take to the grave. A one-time thing. You’d delete his number, forget his name and the way his beard scratched your thighs. 

Hey Ben, I'm sorry, but I might have slept with your girlfriend. I guess she went and fucked around with both our heads, I think I might have ruined your day. Hey Ben, I'm sorry that you found out from me. 

Mathew didn’t notice anything was off. You had decided not to tell him. You got home and everything was fine. He apologized, gave you a pretty necklace and told you he loved you. Everything was fine. 

Except when your phone would buzz in the middle of the night. You had hidden WhatsApp in one of your app folders, Mathew believed it was for work. Matthew, from Florida, would send texts, saying he was thinking about you, thinking about the night you shared. 

You knew it was wrong, but when your boyfriend fell asleep next to you, you were texting Matthew. Scandalous pictures of your clevage exchanged when Mathew was on a roadie, texts regarding your next visit to Florida, and he was totally convinced you lived in a studio apartment in New York City. 

You let it continue. Every trip for work, you would spend your nights, telling Mathew you were going to bed, and then ending up in Matthew’s bed. You even had the excuse in your head, their names were the same, it wasn’t like you were moaning someone else’s name during the night. You could use autocorrect as an excuse, telling your boyfriend that your phone corrected his name from Mathew to Matthew. 

It wasn't that Mathew was a bad boyfriend. He gave you love through gifts and kind words. But with Matthew it was different, everything was different. He wasn't telling you that he loved you but he cared. Mathew was soft and Matthew was rough, polar opposites. And having one was not good enough for you apparently.

Your fault in everything was never paying enough attention to your boyfriend’s career. He didn’t mind it. Mathew was fine if you missed his game and didn’t even care to watch from home. You didn’t bother asking Matthew what he did for work, but god there was just something familiar about his face. You shrugged off all the feelings though. But, you let Matthew call you his girlfriend, it was easier to say than situtionship. You told him you didn’t have a social media presence and he fully believed you. 

And I know we've never met But we have so much in common. If you don't believe me, check to see my skeleton in her closet. 

Matthew had found out through someone else. His teammate, Sam Reinhart, next to him on the plane to Dallas, scrolling through Instagram. Matthew saw your face, saw you smiling in the picture, Mathew Barzal kissing your cheek, a piece of jewlery on your finger. And his stomach dropped. 

How do you tell someone you’re the side piece? Matthew fell down the rabbit hole of Mat Barzal’s social media, finding your private Instagram, the one you claimed you didn’t have. Pictures and pictures on Barzal’s Instagram, featuring you, featuring you and him in the summers, Italian vacations, wearing a WAG jacket during the playoffs. 

Matthew’s jaw clenched, he was better than Barzal, hell his team made it further in the 2022-2023 playoffs. He was obviously better at something, why else would you be calling him every time you were in Florida. He knew it was wrong at the end of the day, he didn’t stand for cheaters, and he wouldn’t be a dick and keep his knowledge to himself. 

A couple of texts later, Matthew was granted Mathew’s number. “Hey Mathew… Hate to be the bearer of bad news… but, I think you should know this. I kinda slept with your girlfriend.” 

And I know you'll find the dirt behind The dates and times, the alibis The text she sent November 9th. I dare you, ask to read it. 

Mathew Barzal didn’t want to believe it at first. He had just proposed, everything was perfect in his opinion. He wanted to believe it was a prank. He didn’t want to think his girlfriend, who was sleeping besides him in his shirt was cheating on him. 

Matthew Tkachuk was angry, he was upset. He knew if he was in Mat’s spot, he wouldn’t want to believe it either. But suddenly everything became so clear. How he ignored the shoes in the background of your picture, how he once saw you answering a text about spending the summer in Coquitlam. How you would suddenly text him more the nights that the New York Islanders play. 

November 9, 2022 

“I’ll be in Florida tomorrow.” You had texted him. 

November 9, 2023

“You okay?” You texted when you realized he hadn’t texted you back in a while, leaving your last flirty text on read. 

The screenshots of the texts made Mathew sick to his stomach. In less than a month, he’d be in Florida, sharing the ice with Matthew. He didn’t know if he could make it through a game with this knowledge. The two boys had agreed on telling you they knew. 

Hey Ben, I'm sorry, but I might have slept with your girlfriend. I guess she went and fucked around with both our heads. 

Sweet revenge for them both came December 2. You had panicked when Mathew told you he’d be in Florida at the same time you’d be on your work trip. You couldn’t just go and sleep with Matthew at the same time you fiance was in the city. The large diamond ring on your finger suddenly feeling very heavy. 

“How about we stay at the house your company rents you?” Mathew pressed a kiss to your lips. Even though he was about to change things, he still kissed you. “In Sunrise?” you squeaked. “Yeah, it’s not that much further from our arena.” 

You felt sick the whole time, making an excuse to Mathew. He was just in town for the night, just for the Panthers game. Then he’d be gone. “I’m going to shower,” you kissed his cheek. He nodded and as soon as you disappeared from sight, he texted the man down the street. 

“Mat? Baby? Have you seen my hairbrush?” your hair was wet still, you were so focused on drying the tips of your hair that you didn’t even realize Mat had removed his duffle bag from the bedroom. And the engagement ring you left on the dresser had been removed. 

You could have laughed at everything. At the end of the day, it was your doing. “Hey baby, did you know Matthew lives down the road? He plays with the Panthers, knows Reinhart.” 

It was ironic. Your perfect life crumbling in front of you. It was your fault. Why did it hurt? The room was painfully silent as your mouth went dry and the food you’d eaten hours before seemed to be ready to exit out of your mouth. “I, I-” you stuttered, tears filling your eyes as Matthew nodded, jaw clenched. 

“Well,” Matthew’s voice boomed, “I should go, considering you guys probably have a lot more to discuss.” Matthew brushed by you and let himself out. There would be no hard feelings between the two boys. 

“Mat baby I didn’t-” 

“I’ll be back on Long Island Sunday night. I’ll pack your things.” 

“Mathew.” 

He shook his head, eyes full of tears of betrayal and hurt. “No, you don’t get to fix this. I saw the texts, I know everything.” 

“Mathew please,” you dry heaved. “Was it worth it?” Mat’s words laced with venom, “I hope it was worth it.” 

[cowboybarzy]

Hi can you write a fic for part 4 of unexpected. Where Reader brings Myla to her first Islanders game? You can be creative and add more to the request I just couldn’t think of anything else to add to it. 😂

hii!! tysm for the request!! sorry it took so long but then I thought it’d be more fitting to post it at the actual season start!

so I decided to do more one shots of this series than actual longer parts, so feel free to keep sending in requests if you want to see more :)

word count: 620 part of the unexpected series

"Oh no, baby girl, don't fall asleep. You're gonna miss your daddy's first game," you whispered to you daughter as you rocked her in her carrier, trying to keep her awake, but that only seemed to make her sleepier. She looked so adorable cuddled up against you in a fuzzy beat suit and big noise canceling headphones. And now at five months old, she started to look a lot more than her father. Her eyebrows bent like his, her eyes shined green at times, and her smile was just as crooked as Mat's. You took a quick picture of her and sent it to Mat, hoping he'd still see it before he had to go on the ice.

"How's she doing?," Sydney Martin came up to you, her own to kids attached to her.

"Sleepy." You laughed and stroked her little cheek, before bending down to little Winnie, complementing her cute Islanders outfit. She twirled around for you, loving the affection and you had a vision of baby Myla in a few years cheering for her dad.

It was the first official game of the season for Islanders and for that occasion the girls decided to rent out a suit, especially because of all the kids around. You hung out with the other, mingling with Mat's family as well who flew out here for the home opener.

For warmup's you went down to the ice level where Mat stopped to say 'hi' almost immediately after stepping on the ice. His grin was enormous when he saw you two standing there. He was so proud to have you here and his daughter at her first game. He tried his best making silly faces at her to get her to laugh or even smile, but she didn't seem to recognize him and eventually the sleepiness got to her.

Unfortunately, you couldn't quite enjoy the game like you usually do, not wanting to disturb sleeping Myla, so you did away at the back of the suit following the game on the big TV with a virgin cocktail. You were joined by some of the other girls with smaller children so it wasn't too lonely.

After the game, you made your way to the car, too tired to mingle more. You put Myla in her car seat and spent some time soothing her back to sleep after she woke up because of the transfer. A while later the trunk opened, making you jump, and Mat popped his head in dropping his bags. "Hi!"

"Hi," you whispered excitedly as you turned back to face him. He closed the trunk as quietly as possible, but instead of jumping right in the driver's seat, he stopped by Myla.

"Hi, pretty girl," he whispered pressing soft kisses to her face. "I'm so so happy you were here tonight."

"She can't hear you."

"So?" He stuck his tongue out at you, before finally climbing in the driver's seat. "Hi."

He grabbed you face and kissed you deeply. "I'm happy you were here, too."

"You did good."

"Might have had something to do with who was in the audience." You smiled and got another long kiss from him. "Alright, let's go home. I'm beat."

"Me too. I don't really remember the last time we stayed up so late." You both chuckled.

"Oh, look." As Mat was hooking up his phone to the car he showed you his new wallpaper. It was the picture of the three of you his mom had taken earlier during warmups. A loving warmth spread throughout your body and you leaned over to kiss him again. You would never get tired of your little family. "Seriously though, how did she do tonight?"

[wheelsgoroundincircles]

1957 Chevy

The Legendary ��Black Widow” 1957 Chevy: A Piece of Racing History

When it comes to legendary cars, the 1957 Chevrolet, also known as the “Black Widow,” holds a special place in the hearts of car enthusiasts. However, few people know the intriguing story behind this iconic vehicle. In this article, we will take you on a journey through time and explore the fascinating history of the Black Widow.

The Secret Support Behind the Scenes

In the 1950s, car manufacturers were prohibited from directly promoting racing. Nevertheless, behind closed doors, Chevrolet found a way to support the racing community. They collaborated with a company called SEDCO to build a limited number of race-ready 1957 Chevys. Only 18 of these incredible vehicles were ever produced.

Unleashing the Beast

To create the ultimate racing machine, Chevrolet started with the lightest model available, the no-frills 150 utility sedan. They then equipped these cars with high-performance drivelines that would leave their competitors in awe. The Black Widows proved to be astonishingly fast, setting records and securing multiple victories on the track.

Restoring the Legend

One particular Black Widow has undergone an extensive body-off-frame restoration, meticulously recreating its original glory. The attention to detail is impeccable, resulting in a pristine body that is arguably even better than when it first rolled off the factory floor.

Exquisite Exterior

Painted in the iconic Black Widow colors of Onyx Black and India Ivory, the exterior of this restored beauty is nothing short of breathtaking. Every panel is laser straight, and the gaps are precise. There isn’t a hint of rust or damage to be found. The flawless paint job has been polished to a mirror-like finish, allowing you to see your own reflection. It’s like holding history in your hands.

Interior Simplicity

Inside the Black Widow, you’ll find a minimalist design that emphasizes performance over luxury. There are no frills, not even a back seat! The rear windows are stationary, and amenities such as armrests, visors, and even a dome light are absent. However, this simplicity only adds to the car’s authenticity and racing pedigree.

Attention to Detail

No aspect of the Black Widow’s restoration has been overlooked, including the trunk compartment. Painted in glossy white, it exudes cleanliness and attention to detail. A reproduction mat, seat divider, and weatherstrip have been added to complete the authentic look. Even the spare tire matches the original style with its 6 lug pattern and reproduction Firestone tire.

The Heart of a Champion

Under the hood lies a highly detailed engine compartment that exemplifies show-quality craftsmanship. The 283 cubic-inch V8 engine has been built to its original 283 horsepower specifications, complete with a correct factory fuel injection setup. Not only does it look stunning, but it also performs flawlessly. With a responsive throttle and a distinctive idle, this powerhouse truly embodies the spirit of a race car.

A Masterpiece Underneath

The detailed restoration extends to the underside of the car as well. The chassis has been meticulously prepped and painted in a smooth gloss black finish. Every component has been rebuilt, replaced, restored, and detailed to match the original specifications. The Black Widow features front and rear sway bars, as well as the unique duplication of two shocks at each rear wheel for enhanced performance.

A True Muscle Car

With its completely rebuilt brake system, all-new fuel system, and Flowmaster dual exhaust, this Black Widow not only looks and sounds like a classic muscle car but also performs like one. The spotless Chevy Orange engine block, lower plug wire shielding, canister-type oil filter, restored starter, and dated 1957 transmission all contribute to creating an authentic driving experience. The floors, braces, and rockers have been meticulously restored to their original factory red oxide primer finish.

[thisapplepielife]

Written for the @steddieholidaydrabbles December challenge.

Best Part of the Day

Prompt Day 17: Platonic Stobin | Word Count: 1000 | Rating: T | CW: None | Tags: S4, Platonic Stobin, Ride to School, Pre-Steddie

Steve honks the horn, and sips from his mug of coffee. It won't fit in his cup holder, so he has to rest it on his thigh. He honks again, and a minute later Robin rushes out of the front door of her house, towards his waiting car.

Arms flailing, she screams, "Hold on, I'm coming!" 

It makes Steve chuckle. She's the one about to be late to school, not him. He's graduated. Family Video doesn't open for another two plus hours. He's got plenty of time to kill this morning, but he knows she doesn't want the tardy. He knows her like the back of his hand. The front of his hand? 

His whole hand. For sure.

Robin fumbles with the trunk, and he watches as she unlocks it. It was just easier to give her the damn spare key instead of him having to get out every morning and unlock it.

She finally piles into the front seat, with a huff, "What are we waiting for? You're gonna make me late, dingus!"

He rolls his eyes.

"Good morning to you, too," he says, handing her his mug of coffee. He might as well. She's gonna take it from him, sooner or later. She always does. He opens the console, and hands her the bagel that he's wrapped in a paper towel, before leaning to look back over his shoulder, reversing them back onto the street. 

He glances at her out of the corner of his eye, and she's alternating between drinking coffee, and eating the bagel. Getting sesame seeds all over the floor mat. He'll have to stop by the car wash and vacuum it after he drops her off.

"There's an away game tonight," she says, done with the bagel, and now holding his coffee in one hand, putting her mascara on with the other. He watches, not sure how she's doing it one-handed.

"Yeah, the kids have told me a thousand times, like I've somehow suddenly forgotten how a basketball schedule works since graduating," Steve says, annoyed.

"I have to ride the activity bus to the game, but if you can forge me a note again, I'll ride home with you. Dibs on the front seat," she says.

Steve laughs. He's been roped into taking Dustin, Mike and Max, and Dustin's gonna hate that she's called dibs, but fair is fair. Dustin can have the front seat on the way to Hartford City. 

They head down the highway, and Robin tells him about her morning. He nods, listens, and analyzes more about Vickie than he ever imagined possible. It's a ritual at this point. She pines. He gives advice she won't take.

They argue. They banter. 

Rinse, repeat. 

Day after day, morning after morning.

But it's often the best part of his day.

He's trying to explain exactly why she should just go for it, when Steve catches movement out of the corner of his eye, and realizes they're about to be broadsided by a van, that as far as Steve can tell, has no driver.

Steve slams on the brakes, stopping short as the van whips onto the highway from a side road, cutting him off. The driver's head just barely popping into view, mere seconds before he needed to make the turn.

"Watch it, asshole!" Steve screams, slamming his hand on the steering wheel. 

"Uh, Steve?" Robin says, and he turns to look at her, and she's wearing the coffee. Brown splotches staining her white blouse, running all over his leather seats. 

"Are you hurt? Did you get burned?" he asks, patting her arm down, like that'll help.

"Well, it doesn't feel great! But I think I'll live," she says. "But I don't have time to go back home and change, I'm going to be so late. Detention for me, yay," she says sarcastically.

"Take off your shirt," Steve says, and she cuts him a look, "Not like that, Jesus, Robin. I don't want to see your boobies."

He snaps his fingers, and gives her the hurry up motion.

So, she does, and he takes off his shirt, too, and stretches his hand out to offer it to her. She takes it, and slips it over her head. It's too big, but she says she doesn't care, because that's the style, apparently.

"Thanks, dingus," she says, and he slides his arms back through the holes of his vest. No shirt underneath. He looks ridiculous.

At the school, they both get out, and Robin digs out her notepad, and turns around. Steve lays the notebook on her back, and writes the note, forging Mrs. Buckley's signature to get Robin off the activity bus on the way home. 

"There, done," he says, swatting her on the back with the notebook, and she takes it and rushes towards the building, turning back towards him.

"Thanks, Steve! See you tonight!" she yells and then she turns and runs away from the parking lot faster.

"Yeah, yeah," he mutters, but he smiles as she goes.

"Nice fashion statement, Harrington," Eddie Munson interrupts, as he climbs out of the same goddamn van that caused this whole problem in the first place. He should have known Eddie "The Freak" Munson was involved.

Steve looks down at his bare chest.

"Well, I had a shirt until you cut us off and Robin spilled coffee all over herself," Steve snaps.

"I don't know what you're talking about, that doesn't sound like me at all. I'm a great driver," Eddie says, digging around and coming up with a black, metal lunchbox.

His drugs. Steve knows all about Eddie, and his dealing business.

"Yeah, sure you are," Steve snips, turning to get into the driver's seat. He has no interest in engaging with Eddie Munson at ten 'til eight in the morning. No goddamn way.

"Nice to see you, King Steve," Eddie snarks, walking awfully slowly towards the school for someone that nearly ran them off the road to get here today.

What a dickhead.

Notes: Eddie definitely saw Steve in that no-shirt/vest combo and when presented with the opportunity to see it again in the Upside Down, and in his own vest no less, he took it, lol.

If you want to write your own, or see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @steddieholidaydrabbles and follow along with the fun!

If you want to see more of my entries into this month-long challenge, you can check them out in my Steddie Holiday Drabbles tag, right here!