Viridity
Matthew Tkachuk x f!reader cw: +18, implied age gap, uneven power dynamics, breeding kink, mentions of children, making out, dry humping, fingering , edging (if ive missed any let me know!) 2.4k words Your husband Matthew's come back home after being gone for months and wants to make it up to you
You knew the sacrifices that came with being a WAG. The long nights spent waiting for a post-game call that on many occasions never comes. The nail beds ripped apart when you watch him get hit particularly hard on the ice. The sad faces when you have to explain why “daddy won't be home until june.”, and the resulting tears. But it's all worth it in the end. Your reward comes in the form of the few days he spends back home, the few days when you don't feel so alone in the world. A life boat offering temporary respite from the fathomless sea of sticky hands, piles of toys and questions of “where's daddy”. Your reward comes on nights like these.
You can hear him before you see him. You recognise the squeak of the front doors hinges (he’d promised to fix them last time he was home), followed by the heavy foot falls that could only belong to your husband, pausing once to shrug off what you believe based on the rusling was his coat, before continuing up the hallway towards you. You turn back to the kitchen bench, wiping down invisible stains. He doesn't like it when you meet him in the entryway, he prefers you homely, cleaning up the kids toys or folding clothes. You suspect that acting like it's just another day when he visits lessens the guilt that comes with subjecting you to single-motherhood for 90% of the year.
The thump of his half full duffle bag hitting the floor prompts you to turn, abandoning your futile cleaning to instead re-familiarise yourself with the man you married. As your eyes roam over Matthew's figure, standing still in the doorway. He's stronger than when you last saw him, filling out the arms of his black long sleeve in a way that has your mouth watering. He stands just as tall as before, however there's a tiredness weighing him down. Shoulders slumped and curly hair messy, like he ran his hands through it repeatedly before walking in the door.
“Hey.”
His tired timbre breaks you out of your trance, eyes shooting up to meet his own light blue pair. You both stand there for a second. Comfortable to just stare, no words needed to fill the still air around you both, bathing in the quiet naturalness that came easy with Matthew. He slowly starts towards you, his lack of sleep obvious in the way his steps seem to be weighed down by his own body. He drapes his larger figure over yours, laying claim to your body after being away too long. He tucks your head under his chin, inhaling the comforting scent of shampoo and something else uniquely you, a heady scent with bottom notes of domesticity and motherhood. Exactly how he likes you, barefoot with a baby in your belly and another on your hip, young and mouldable under his burley frame.
You slowly wean out of his grasp, looking up to him, before moving back into the kitchen, as he slowly trails behind you, however still keeping his distance
“Are you hungry? Me and the boys ate a few hours ago now, but I cooked way too much, so there are leftovers in the fridge…if you…?”
You pitifully trail off, he was giving you a look. A look you couldn't decide if it was judgemental or curious, either way it stirred doubt within you. You rub the marble countertops of the kitchen, trying to distract yourself from the awkwardness hanging in the air. He glances around the clean kitchen, not a dish in sight, just sparkling stone and closed cabinets. A small grin spreads across his tired face, before he finally breaks the silence.
“You really fit into this wife thing, huh? Like-”
He closes the space between you both, circling behind you as he wraps his arms around your waist, interlinking his large hands with your own. Chin on your head, front on your back.
“Some of the guys I know would kill for a girl like you waiting for them at home, you know? All pretty ‘n organised.”
He's slightly rocking you now, side to side, his hot breath hitting your ear and cheek.
“Yeah?”
It's not really a question, but you want to keep him occupied, avoid another penetrating silence.
“Yeah. I'm a lucky man. A soft little wife and two beautiful children tucked away, just for me.”
He nudges his face into the crook of your neck, leaving small pecks in his wake, moving further up until he hovers just above your lips. You meet his eyes, caught like a mouse in a glue trap in the sirupy smoothness of his voice. But as you lean in, he pulls away, leaving your body cold once again as he wanders back towards the hall. He leans on the door frame, striking his head out into the hallway, face disappearing from view for only a second before he turns back to you.
“Last time I checked a two and a three year old are never this quiet-”
He then walks into the living room, his long strides and the open floor plan making it a quick journey.
“Or this clean.”
His tone is teasing as he motions towards the tidy floor and uncluttered surfaces, one eyebrow cocked. You meet him where he stands, leaning against the hard plains of his chest, his warmth seeping into you through your sweater.
“They're not, I am though.”
He chuckles at that, vibrations moving through you as he pulls you down besides him onto the nearest couch.
“They behaved for me tonight, went down easy.”
He leans one arm over the back of the couch, and the other around your shoulders, positioning you to be leaning towards him.
“My good boys, being good for their mama.”
There's an almost breathy note in his voice that pairs unfamiliarly with the admiration in his wandering stare. He doesn't often award you such genuine praise, even if it's only a glint in his eyes, so you take it in your stride.
“I don't know how you do it, all by yourself”
You raise your eyebrow.
“You handle it all so…”
He pauses, contemplating his words, a smile tugging at his lips.
“It's like you were made to be a mom. Made all pretty and perfect just to have my kids.”
You give him a tired smile, preening under his rarely awarded admiration.
He's not around long enough to see the puffy eyes, breakdowns and insomnia, but you don't tell him about that, content to play make-believe as his warped idea of you.
He grabs your waist and drags you onto his lap, so your thighs straddle his already spread legs, a deep stretch settling in your abductors. Matthew leans back on the couch cushions, angled now so he's looking up at you.
He runs his hands up and down your sides rhythmically until they settle on your hips, tracing comforting circles into your muscles as his eyes sweep over you.
“Looks good on you too.”
One of his hands leaves your hip, instead moving to splay across the fat of your abdomen, right above the band of your sweatpants. His gaze follows his hand, pausing on your lower stomach, before meeting yours again, blue eyes half lidded and carnivorous.
“You want another? A little girl this time maybe, to keep your hands full?”
You laugh at that, the idea that your hands aren't full. Like you have even a minute of free time. He frowns at your reaction, eyebrow knitting together. He never liked being wrong.
“What if I'm home more, huh? Be with the boys, free up some of your time?”
“Will you, really? Come home more?”
You try not to sound too hopeful, too childish.
“Wouldn't you like that? Us one big family again, nice and content, with another on the way?”
He runs his hand through your hair, sliding through until he’s cupping your head at the base of your skull, forcing you to maintain eye contact.
“C’mon, doesn't that sound nice? Being all warm and filled with me? Everyone knowing you're mine?”
Your own fantasy mixes with the growing hardness you can feel below you into a potent haze that leads you to the conclusion that it does sound nice. Simple. Easy, even.
And you've always wanted a girl.
After a moment lost in your own thoughts, you nod. Slowly at first then gaining vigor, and he grins. Grins like a predator, full of teeth and hungry. A wolf watching a rabbit. The hand that sits and the back of your skull pulls your face down towards his own, lips meeting yours in a desperate kiss. He's never been one for gentleness, but time seems to have made him worse. It's all tongue and teeth, but if you wanted kind and careful you would've married a different man.
You moan into his mouth as his hands clasp onto your hips, his pelvis rolling up to meet yours. The hard bulge in his jeans grinding deliciously against your neglected core.
“Feel that?”
He bucks up against you frantically, pushing a groan out of your lips.
“Feel how much I've missed you?”
You never could touch yourself quite like he did. You mewl into his mouth, the eager sound only further encouraging his movements. You quickly fall into a fevered rhythm, bodies fitting together like a puzzle piece, hips rolling, tongues interlocking. Neither realising quite how much your bodies missed each other until the dam of pent up desire finally broke, surrendering you both to your baser human instincts.
Your hands run down his hard chest, caressing all the new divots and ridges, enjoying the sculpted masterpiece that is your husband. Your fingers finally find themselves lodged between your writhing bodies, fiddling uselessly with his belt, the empty feeling between your legs driving your every movement. Once he realises your goal Matthew hesitantly breaks the kiss, sucking your lower lip into his mouth before finally parting, a strand of saliva connecting you both.
“Nah, nah,”
One of his hands finds your wrists, stopping you in your tracks. Your brows furrow, a noise of indignation rising up your throat, however as he ruts his hips up into yours again, white-hot pleasure disbands any feelings of irritation.
“Want you on my cock so fuckin bad right now,”
He's mouthing at your jaw, leaving red marks in his wake that you'll care about in the morning. He'll just laugh at you, admiring his brand. His ownership.
“But it's been what - months? I've been gone so long -”
Matthew pulls you down, adjusting your position until he's laying on top of you, cold hands moving underneath the waistband of your sweatpants. So close but still too far from where your body calls for him.
“I probably need to open you up again, don't I?”
You always feel lost without him, unsure and vulnerable. You imagine it's how Eve felt. Cast into cold existence, ripped from the warm embrace within the cavity of her lover's chest. But he's here now, above you, and so all is right once again. His hand travels under the elastic of your panties, swiping through your slit teasingly. A brazen glint lights up his eyes as he gathers your slick, circling your entrance with his forefingers.
“Baby if I knew you were so desperate for me I would've come home sooner.”
You slap his shoulder as he chuckles, opening your mouth as if to chide him but any sounds dissolve into an embarrassingly pathetic whimper as one of his thick fingers breaches your entrance. Fuck you missed this. Missed him.
It doesn't take long before he can add another finger, his wide palm rubbing against your clit leaving you writhing and wanting for more. Your neck and collar are covered in raw blotches where Matthew has left his marks, abandoning his post only to occasionally whisper a good girl into the shell of your ear or gently tease you. His deep, tired voice only turns you on further. He pauses the scissoring motions of his fingers, leaving you lost for a moment until his thick digits curl, hitting the small spongy spot inside you that has your back arching underneath him. He chuckles at that, continuing to massage your gummy walls.
“Fuck, I love how sensitive you are” despite his cocky tone, the words comes out as almost a pant. He’s just as desperate as you are.
The overwhelming combination of stimulation has you gasping for air, grinding down into his hand chasing further friction.
You weave your fingers into his orange curls, dragging his face up from the crook of your neck, open mouths meeting once again without rhythm, fueled only by wanton desire. Your pleasured noises grow in volume the closer you feel yourself get, manicured nails (you got in a throwaway attempt to impress him) dig into his muscular back. A groan falls out of his mouth and into yours, as you notice him hard and throbbing against your upper thigh.
You feel that familiar chord within you tighten, finally the mind numbing pleasure you've been chasing is in sight. Your hips rock grind into his hand with no regard for how needy you must look, the only thing occupying your thoughts being your own release.
Just as you get there, one foot over the ledge, ready to fall headfirst into bliss, he pulls away.
His hand leaves your pants, smearing his wet fingers across your stomach in the process of standing up. You're frozen for a moment, confused by the sudden movements (or lack thereof), mind reeling and foggy from the abrupt loss of pleasure. He locks eyes with you before turning around, and walks slowly yet purposely across the hardwood floors. A stupid, dazed look is clear on your face as you peek at him from over the back of the couch, propping yourself up on to your elbows, not trusting your legs enough to get up fully. You were never good at hiding your emotions, especially not from Matthew, he always left you disoriented. Second guessing even yourself. Once he reaches the hall he stops, rubbing his non wet hand over the door frame, before looking over his broad shoulder at you.
“You comin’ to bed?”
His laugh is almost mocking as he watches you scramble off the couch, unsteady, a fawn taking its first steps. You follow him as he disappears down the dark hallway, heavy footsteps leading the way.
Like a moth following a flame, devoted to its light. Uncaring of the burns left by the heat.
Ahhhhh thanks for reading! hope you enjoyed and if you notice any mistakes no you didnt.... - B