#Matthew Tkachuk Rising

[toffoliravioli]

translation: screw you guys for breaking up a happy marriage, i go wherever he goes

[suzufield]

I have two rats and I think it's funny how fred was an ugly pup and now that he's grown he's better looking than chucky, who was absolutely adorable as a baby 😭

[babydollmarauders]

SILENT NIGHT — MATTHEW TKACHUK

matthew tkachuk x fem!reader

12 DAYS OF KINKMAS

summary: in which Matthew agrees to walk around their neighborhood to look at holiday lights… with a catch

warnings: NSFW CONTENT, praise, slight exhibitionism, choking, daddy kink, p in v (unprotected). (2.8k words)

notes: welcome to day 6 of my 12 days of kinkmas! this is my first time ever writing for matty, so i apologize if it’s iffy.

i should’ve known nothing with Matthew could be done with pure relaxation in mind.

i thought it would be nice, a relaxing walk around the neighborhood, hand in hand like normal couples as we look at all the christmas lights that decorate each house.

but i didn’t take into account that my boyfriend is, to put it lovingly, a freak.

a relaxing walk? no, thank you, not for him. instead, he has to make things… interesting.

so here i am, hand grasping Matthew’s tightly as i walk next to him, the side of my body pressed to his, and soft breathy moans escaping my lips as he smirks beside me.

i begged him all day since he got home from his roadie to get him to agree to this walk, and he kept saying he ‘wasn’t feeling it’. until he came up with his one term, a stupid term that i stupidly agreed with.

“Matty, c’mon!” i whisper pleadingly, a shiver wracking my body from both the cold air that rises up my jacket, and the vibrations that press against my clit, controlled by the little remote that my boyfriend plays around with in his coat pocket.

“uh-uh.” he teasingly denies, turning the vibrator in my panties down a level.

the dark sky looms up above us, stars barely visible, but it doesn’t matter to me because my eyes are fixated on the bright lights that adorn each house. reds, greens, white’s, and blue’s; blow up santa’s in a few lawns; light up reindeer in others.

though it’s not snowing like it would’ve in Calgary, i’ve gotten so used to the warm Florida weather that now that it’s winter, the nip of chill in the air makes the tip of my nose red.

my teeth sink into my bottom lip so hard that i fear i’ll draw blood, attempting to hold in my sounds as we walk past another couple that must’ve had the same idea to look at the lights.

Matthew smiles politely as we pass, not giving off any hints that we’re doing anything beyond admiring the beautiful lights; but once we’re far enough away, i hear the click of a button of the remote a few times, the vibrations of the toy that’s pressed snugly against my clit rising in intensity.

my legs stop, my hand that’s tangled in Matty’s tugging him back as he continues to walk, and my jaw drops open as i let out a loud, squeaky whine.

“shhh!” he reminds me. he hastily takes two big steps forward, stopping in front of me.

his hand rises to cup my cheek, tilting my head up to look at him, his eyes glinting with a dangerous mixture of mischief and lust.

“you gotta be quiet. don’t want anyone to hear you, do you, sweetheart?” his head tilts in questioning, an eyebrow raising as he awaits my response.

i’m quiet for a moment, listening to the silence of the night before i respond.

“no, Matty.” i shake my head as my boyfriend nods his in approval, tangling his arm through mine.

he urges me along, my feet shuffling slowly across the cement as i attempt to simultaneously walk and clench my thighs together. leaning down, his lips ghost against the shell of my ear, his heated breath fanning against my cold skin, sending chills down my spine, my eyelids fluttering closed as i let him guide me.

“you’re being such a good girl for me,” his voice is deep but spoken in a hushed whisper, his hand splaying out against the small of my back. “looking at me with those pretty eyes, just desperate to cum.”

his free hand slips back into his pocket, the vibrator suddenly switching to the lowest setting, making me whimper in response.

“not yet.” Matthew tsk’s shaking his head as he resumes the walk, guiding me along down the sidewalk.

he glances down at me, flashing a bright and innocent smile; as though he isn’t holding the essential key to my orgasm in the palm of his hand; as though he isn’t torturing me with pleasure in this very moment.

his eyes flit up, gazing behind me, and entirely too quickly, his smile turns mischievous, a playful glimmer in his eyes.

“hey, look,” he sing-songs, “there’s sasha’s house. and the lights are on! we should stop by and say hello, shouldn’t we?”

he nods his head towards the house behind me, “we’ve been meaning to invite him over for Christmas dinner, right?”

his hand slips into mine, pulling me along towards his captain’s house, and my eyes widen, shaking my head.

“no!” i try to speak lowly, but my word turns into a soft moan as the vibration against my clit gains intensity. we get all the way across the street before i can speak again, “Matthew!”

he halts in his tracks, turning towards me with a raised brow at the disuse of his nickname.

“i am not going to face your captain right now!” a cheeky grin spreads across my boyfriend’s face, teeth on full display, and i already know he’s about to test my limits.

“why not?” he questions playfully, biting his lips to hold back a chuckle.

“y-you know why not!” i hiss back, my hips jerking slightly as he lowers the intensity of the toy just a little, “i am not facing him with a fucking vibrator in my underwear!”

“hmm,” Matty hums, nodding understandingly, but his lips still hold a mocking smile. his finger hooks under my chin, tipping my head back to look into my eyes, “well then; the faster we walk, the faster we get home, which means the faster you can cum all over my cock.”

my body trembles in desperation at the mere thought, my hand reaching up to grasp his in determination before i begin walking as fast as i can muster under the circumstances.

Matthew follows me, speeding up his pace as he begins to laugh, “so needy!”

his teasing leaves me unphased, my feet only shuffling back towards our house even quicker. but the faster i move, the more intense the vibrations get against my clit, urging me to slow down.

“M-Matty, please!” i cry, spinning around to face my boyfriend, “you win! i can’t take it anymore! i wanna go home!”

frustrated tears threaten to spill over my waterline, a pout etched into my face as i gaze up at him, towering over me.

“we can go home,” he hums sincerely. stopping beside me, he holds his arm out for me to entangle mine with; before lowering his lips towards my ear one last time, “right after this.”

my brows furrow in confusion, pulling my face back to look at him, but it doesn’t take long for me to understand his words.

the vibrator begins to hum, my body falling into his, as he proudly holds up the little purple remote, the tiny little LED numbers at the top reading ‘10’.

“highest level, darling. just let it out.” Matthew smirks, arms encircling my waist, holding me flush to his body as my legs turn weak.

the vibration against my clit is the most severe it’s been all night, my legs instinctively pressing together. but it doesn’t help at all, rather making the sensation stronger, which in turn makes my legs give out entirely.

Matty holds my body up, leaning down to capture my lips in his, effectively releasing my bottom lip from its jail between my teeth. with our lips pressed together, my hands tangle into the hair at the nape of his neck, moans pouring from my mouth and into his as my toes curl inside my combat boots.

eyes squeezed shut, the knotted chord that’s been tangling in my stomach snaps, my orgasm bringing flashes of light into my dark vision, blood rushing in my ears.

and just as quick as it hits, it’s gone; the vibrator powered off entirely with a simple click of a button from Matthew’s finger.

i breathe heavily as i come down from my release, pulling away from my boyfriend’s lips as he lifts me off the ground. my legs loosely wrap around his waist, his hands holding my ass as he begins to walk, eyeing his path from over my shoulder.

“i thought i wasn’t-”

i’m cut off by Matty speaking over me, “coming until we got home? yeah, that was the plan.”

he shrugs, fingers gripping tighter on my ass as he hastens his movement.

“but, you seemed so… tense,” he chuckles, “call it an early christmas present.”

“i don’t wanna cum for christmas!” i pout, but when he looks back at me with a singular raised brow, i backtrack, “well, i do. but, i also want a stanley cup!”

Matthew snickers as he steps up the stairs towards our front door.

“yeah? join the club.” he jokes and i smack his shoulder as he unlocks our house, opening the door and stepping inside.

“you know what i meant!” i roll my eyes, “i want a custom one a red one, like Panthers red, with your number on it.”

he smirks, letting me slide down the front of his body as i lay my feet flat upon the hardwood floor.

“i think i need a shower.” i huff, kicking my boots off before i turn to face my boyfriend again.

Matthew stands in the same spot as before, now eyeing the wet spot on his shirt from where my pussy was pressed against him after my release.

“you? look at me.”

i shrug, looking up at him with innocent eyes, “well, you did promise i could cum on your cock when we got home. you didn’t say where in the home.”

my boyfriend stares me down with a blank expression, blinking slowly as he processes my words, before clasping my hand with his, hurriedly pulling me towards our bedroom.

i giggle as i run through the house behind him, following him into our bedroom, where we’re quick to rid ourselves of our layers of clothing. i keep my panties on, walking into the bathroom before i peel them off, setting the vibrator in the sink to wash later.

i turn around just in time to watch Matty turn the shower on, water cascading down and pinging off the tile of the walk-in shower, splashing up against the panes of glass that surround it.

i step towards him, eyes scanning his toned body until i reach the part i yearn for.

his cock is hard; no longer straining against any fabrics, it stands in the air, tip flaming red and glistening with precum.

“oh, you’re so desperate, aren’t you?” he smirks, his hand pressing against my lower back as he ushers me into the steaming shower. “your eyes haven’t left my dick, it’s like you’re willing it to fuck you.”

my sight finally flickers back up to his face, warm water splashing upon my back as i stare up at him with soft eyes.

“i am.” i whisper, my voice low and sultry.

Matthew steps forward, closing the shower door behind him and pulling me towards him with a hand on my hip.

his erection presses against my hip, his voice deep and lust filled as he speaks, “all you to do is ask, darling.”

my thighs press together, eyelids falling hooded as i gaze up at him.

“Matty?” i start, an encouraging hum coming from his lips, “will you fuck me?”

“turn around, angel.”

i spin around, back facing him as water falls against my chest. he turns us to the side, his hands gripping my hips and pulling my ass back towards him, his cock nestling against it.

he bends my upper body forward, my arms instinctively stretching out in front of me, my wet hands slapping against the wall. Matthew steps back, kicking my feet apart before his right hand leaves my hip.

i squeak out a moan as his thick fingers swipe through my folds, gauging my wetness and lubrication from my orgasm just ten minutes ago.

“you think you can take me?” his lips, press against the top of my shoulder, peppering wet kisses up the side of my neck as i heave out of a shaky breath.

“yes,” i moan, nodding my head as best i can, “yes, daddy.”

Matty groans at the name, his hips bucking against mine and causing my jaw to drop. i peer back over my shoulder, watching as his hand wraps around his length.

he guides his tip through my wetness, spreading my cum around as lubrication before he lines himself up with my entrance, pressing forward and taking great pride in how my walls swallow him in.

“fuck.” he grunts, listening to my strangled whimper as he eases into me, “doing so well f’me, princess.”

the painful yet pleasant sting of his thick cock stretching me open causes my arms to shake, dropping forward with my forearms against the wall now. the new angle proves well when he finally bottoms out inside of me, the tip of his dick prodding against my g-spot.

“oh my god.” i cry out, my hips grinding back against him as he pulls out slowly, biding his time before he makes a swift thrust back in. his muscular thighs smack against the backs of mine, the sound echoing with the water that sprays down upon us.

his arm wraps around the front of my waist, holding me up as he fucks into me. his thrusts start slow but harsh, gradually picking up until he’s slamming into me at an unforgiving pace.

my tits bounce, my entire body jolting forward with each thrust, and i know at the rate he’s going, i won’t last long.

a broken sob carries through the bathroom as i press my cheek against the wall, barely able to keep my head up as i arch my back, allowing a deeper angle and an even better positioning for him to hit that soft spot inside of me.

“M-Matty! daddy!” my body shakes, only being pushed further towards my limit with the sound of his groans as he fucks into me, my walls pulsing around him.

“that’s it, princess,” his hands slides up my front, roughly clutching at my breast before continuing its travels, wrapping around my throat. “you gonna cum for me?”

he uses his grip to pull me upright, my back against his chest as my head tips back, laying on his shoulder. his hand tightens gently around my neck, the rush clouding my head as my breath catches in my throat.

i make a feeble attempt at a nod, but it’s more of a jerky movement than anything. his cock prods against my g-stop repetitively, his hips smacking against my ass.

his grip loosens enough for me to gulp in deep breaths, the pressure in my stomach building and building with each passing second. his free hand falls down to my swollen clit, a singular thick digit rubbing against it as his pace never falters.

“i’m gonna c-cum.” i pant out through shaky moans.

“cum for me, princess.”

his name falls from my lips like a solemn prayer, my toes curling against the wet tile underneath them as my eyes rolls back in my head, the pressure in my stomach finally relieving in a blast of pleasure.

Matty doesn’t stop pounding into me, his thrusts just growing more desperate as he chases his own high, simultaneously riding me through mine.

“shit, shit, shit!” he curses, his thrusts faltering as he reaches his orgasm, releasing inside of me with ropes of cum.

he stills, his hand falling from my neck, and instead both of them gripping my hips as he slowly pulls out of me. a gasping breath falls from me as i’m left clenching around nothing, the feeling of emptiness bittersweet.

“god, you’re a fucking dream.” he hums, spinning me around and pulling me into his chest.

a lazy smile spreads across my lips, pressing a kiss to his pec as my eyelids flutter.

“i think i really need a shower now.” he laughs at my response, turning so my body is completely under the warm water.

i step back, tipping my head back to let the water soak my hair and body before i peek an eye open to glance at him. his eyes are stuck on my breasts, tongue darting out to lick his lips.

“are you gonna help me get clean or what?” i cock an eyebrow at him, his eyes snapping up to look at my face.

“i think… if i do that, i can’t be held responsible for my dick’s reaction.”

a boisterous giggle erupts from my throat, my hands reaching out to grab his, and i pull him under the water with me.

“well, the night is young,” i sing-song, “and you were gone for a long time.”

“i was gone a week.” he chuckles.

“mhm, and i usually get about 5 orgasms a week… i think we’ve got some catching up to do.”

[fannyyann]

Tkachuk tells NHL.com how change in approach lifted game for Panthers

Forward no longer playing it safe, becomes ultimate clutch player in Florida

FORT LAUDERDALE, Fla. – There was a time in Matthew Tkachuk’s life when he played it safe. It’s hard to remember now, hard to get that image out of your head, the one where he is crushing opponents and taking over Stanley Cup Playoff games and literally walking off the ice after scoring a game-winning goal in the fourth overtime of Game 1 of the 2023 Eastern Conference Final. 

It’s hard to remember there was a before. 

But there was.

Once upon a time, like most mortals, Tkachuk didn’t want to make a mistake. He didn’t want to be blamed. He didn’t want to err, to let down his teammates, the fans, himself. It was a time when he wasn’t quite as confident, wasn’t quite as assured -- if that can be believed -- when he didn’t know that, for him, safe was the riskiest play of all. 

“I think maybe earlier in my career, being a young player, not wanting to be the guy that made the mistake, [I] maybe played a little bit safe in the high-pressure situations,” Tkachuk said. “Just trying to play it smart and, honestly, safe’s a perfect word for it. 

“And then a couple years ago, I was like, why not make the play when nobody else wants to try to attempt it because they’re too nervous [about] what bad’s gonna happen? And I’ve seemed to go the other way, in the extreme other way, and that’s seemed to work the last few years.”

Tkachuk pinpoints it exactly, to 2021-22, his final season with the Calgary Flames, before the trade, before he landed in South Florida and became a genre-crossing star, before he helped propel the Panthers to the Stanley Cup Final last season. 

“I was like, ‘Why not?’” Tkachuk said. “Why wouldn’t you want to be the guy that can make that right play at the last minute of the game or whatever? … I’m like, I’m capable, I feel like I’m a good enough player where I can be confident in myself no matter what the situation is. And that’s just kind of kept going.”

The Panthers and Tkachuk will need it to keep going, as they head to the playoffs having hit a tough skid of late. The Panthers, who are set to face the Boston Bruins at TD Garden on Saturday (3:30 p.m. ET; ABC, ESPN+, SN, TVAS), are 3-6-1 in their past 10 games, including a 6-0 win against the Ottawa Senators on Thursday. 

They are second in the Atlantic Division, four points behind the Bruins, having clinched a playoff spot on March 28, a far cry from last season when the Panthers clinched with a single game remaining on their schedule. They then fell behind 3-1 in the best-of-7 first-round series against the Bruins. That was when they -- and Tkachuk -- came roaring back to force a Game 7. To win that Game 7. 

“I knew what he could bring on a stage like that, but I don’t think the whole rest of the world knew what he could do,” brother and Senators captain Brady Tkachuk said. “So for him to show what he was all about is pretty cool. And I think he’s got another level to his game.”

Paul Maurice thinks he knows why. 

The Panthers coach has seen a handful of players in his career who are elite, who might even rise to the level of potential Hockey Hall of Fame players. And when he’s viewing them, he notes something, something that seems to be common to all of them.

“I watch them and they have a higher expectation of the result,” Maurice said. “And the analogy I used [was] when that guy goes in and buys a suit, he expects it to fit right and it’s going to look good. He has an expectation of the result. 

“With Matthew, it seems to me, it’s tied, there’s four minutes [left], he’s excited about that situation because he has a really high expectation that something good’s going to happen because over the course of his life, that’s exactly what’s happened. It wasn’t a lottery. It’s just he’s gone out and made it happen, so he wants to and believes it can. 

“I never sensed any arrogance on him. I truly have not. It’s not like, hey, give me the puck, I’m the shooter. He just thinks when he hits the ice, it could happen, and his life has told him that it could happen. So why wouldn’t you enjoy the hell out of that?”

Oh, and he is. 

Not only has South Florida been a revelation for Tkachuk, so too has the team, which has entered into the top echelon of the NHL. He has figured out himself and his game, not only that he can -- and will -- come up big in the biggest of moments, but that he can also adjust to fit what the team requires, mold his game to the situation. 

Asked if he is a chameleon, he readily agrees. 

Especially in the playoffs. 

“I look at those types of playoff games differently,” Tkachuk said. “Like some people if they’re not producing, they’re not doing too much to help their team, whereas one of the good things that I’m able to do is recognize what my team needs out of me on that particular night or that particular shift. 

“There are some nights when offense comes second and all I’m trying to do is run around, be physical, try to forecheck and try to gain my team momentum like that. Even if teams are keying in on me or really focusing on me, there’s ways to make an impact.”

No one can argue with that. The Bruins still bear the scars -- some literal, some figurative -- of what Tkachuk did to them in the playoffs last spring. 

In the final four games of the first-round series, Tkachuk had eight points (four goals, four assists) to help them win the best-of-7 series. 

Boston forward Trent Frederic, who traces his understanding of Tkachuk back to basement games as kids in St. Louis, said that he thinks that, likely, had Tkachuk not been on the Panthers, the Bruins would have advanced. 

But he was. They didn’t. And now it’s not hard to believe that many teams are uninterested in seeing the Panthers on the opposing bench in the playoffs, in seeing Tkachuk on the opposing bench. 

Before a cracked sternum forced him to miss the fifth and final game of the last season’s Cup Final, Tkachuk had 24 points (11 goals, 13 assists), including four game-winning goals, in 20 playoff games. 

“So the playoffs, I think the one quote, he’s a [expletive] gamer, that’s how I feel about him in the playoffs last year. And I know it’s profane, but it’s also very specific words, it’s exactly the way I feel about him,” Maurice said. “Sometimes the words just fit. Sometimes they’re casual and you swear too much. Sometimes I do. But that is how I -- a [expletive] gamer. He comes up with the biggest plays time and time again. And his energy level to be able to play at that level, that was specific to the hockey. 

“This year, I’ve gotten to watch what an incredible leader he is.”

He sees it on the bench, in the exhortation of his teammates, in his calming of them, in his barking at them. He sees it when he brought a friend and his two kids into the dressing room after a game in Detroit, when Tkachuk paused in his postgame showering routine to sign a jersey, to take a picture, to get Carter Verhaeghe out of the shower to sign the other jersey. 

“I don’t even blame players who don’t sign,” Maurice said. “But he doesn’t have to do that, and he does that consistently. … It’s not fake. It’s not showy. I think he understands the responsibility that he has and he takes care of it.”

There are so many responsibilities heaped on Tkachuk now. 

He is a leader on the ice and off it. He is the second-leading scorer, with 83 points (24 goals, 59 assists), the top chirper and certainly the most talked about player on the Panthers. And he is ready, once again, to receive that pressure. He is ready for the playoffs. He is ready for the eyes and the lights and all that comes with it.

“I enjoy it,” Tkachuk said. “I think that the high intense games and the rivalry games and the, just like the intense part of the games that some guys might not feel too confident or comfortable, I seem to thrive in them and I love those moments.”

There will be no shortage of those moments in the waning days of the season, in the start of the playoffs, as the Panthers attempt to replicate their Cinderella run to the Final last season -- without the Cinderella part. 

Because much like the Panthers, who have been at or near the top of the NHL all season, there will be no surprises when it comes to Tkachuk. He is known, now. Known for stealing games, for coming up big in the biggest moments, for never, ever playing it safe. 

And when the pressure comes, as it will, he will be right there. 

“Knowing him, that’s going to make him go to another level,” Brady Tkachuk said. “And I think for him, he’s going to love, not the spotlight, but the opportunity that comes from that and what he’s going to be able to do with that. He gets better when the pressure is higher.”

[sergeifyodorov]

ok im so new to hockey and ive been getting into leafs and theres just one thing i do not get at all 😭 which is.. is mitchy bad? ive seen people say that he is inconsistent (how long has he been inconsistent?) but ive also seen a LOT of dudebros hockey enthusiasts who say he’s bad and lazy and passes blame and want him to change lines or whatever so i dont really know???

mitch is.... very good actually

let's start with current leafs records: active leader in points, assists, shorthanded goals. franchise leader in empty net goals.

also worth noting Wikipedia updates these stats after every season versus every game; mitch now has upwards of 600 points, and is the second-fastest leaf to 600, ever (he held the record for fastest for about 2 weeks -- auston beat him just after)

he also has the leafs' longest point streak -- 23 games

this is the general leafs leaderboard:

someone appears on that list three times, and it isn't our chosen one am34! (again, this was just up until the end of last season)

Even beyond counting stats, he's still consistently one of the best Leafs around, because he plays defence, is one of the best passers in the league, and penalty-kills. Here's HockeyViz' breakdown of him:

Those two images aren't aligned super well, but we're looking at the sG column on the far right, which is HockeyViz's "overall merit" metric. Here are stars of similar value:

(Obviously, this one guy's metric is not the be-all end-all. But i find it a helpful guideline comparison to similar players -- essentially, Mitch is a one-tick-below superstar, in the tier below your Pastrnaks, M Tkachuks. (who are themselves the tier below Matthews/MacKinnon/Kucherov) "Bad" is a very funny word to use for these players. Bad comparable to McDavid, as if literally everyone else isn't.)

the People Hate Mitch thing is because of this entire personality construct they've developed around him -- he had really tough contract negotiations and signed for "more than he was worth" (aka a reasonable number given expectations of cap rising that did Not take into account a global pandemic coming into effect within a couple years), and the leafs' lack of playoff success (despite the fact that he is the Leafs' active playoff points leader). He's also not super well media trained and never seems to say the right words the right way, even if the obvious sentiment is there, and people who already want to hate on him just take it as further fodder for their complex.

Add that to the "concerns" about his relatively small frame that have been around forever and the ongoing Wendel Clark complex Toronto fans seem to have (ability and/or willingness to drop the gloves = grit = value) and you have a recipe for people that Hate Him For No Reason.

He is absolutely having an off year this year, and I don't know if he's got some nagging injury or whatever, but even in his off year he's one of the best Leafs.

I also think this is partly because of the underrating of Auston Matthews in comparison -- he's a generational goalscoring talent! He's a top three player in the league and he isn't number three! -- that Mitch is deemed "bad," because he's not quite as good as AM34 and we have determined that that means he's somehow Terrible. Sigh.

[miracleonice87]

something in the way she moves

with Jack Hughes

for the summer fic exchange 2k23

a/n: I’ve been in my Taylor Swift and Jack Hughes era all summer, so what better way to write my exchange fic for @wyattjohnston than to combine those two subjects into one project for her? this one was originally inspired by “Question…?” and ended up tying together several Taylor songs all at once – check out the companion playlist for all of those and more songs that inspired the fic! also, shoutout to Brady and Emma’s wedding for providing the perfect backdrop for this story after I stalled out with ideas for the perfect present-day setting. lots of special guests appear in this one! finally, some people might hate the flashback format with all the jumping around, but I’ve been watching a lot of “The Summer I Turned Pretty” so you can thank the show for that! hope everyone enjoys… but especially @wyattjohnston. this one’s for you, my friend! endless thanks to you for putting on this wonderful exchange for us all, and for inviting me to be part of it. (and thanks to the lovely @laurenairay for the assist!)

tropes: whirlwind romance, exes to lovers, fluff, angst

warnings: swearing, alcohol, mention of breakup, arguing / conflict, sexual references but nothing graphic or detailed, quinn and luke and brady and matthew being pests, miles wood being a drunken hooligan lolol 

word count: ~8,500+ (hey who knew I still knew how to write long fic)

_____

July 21, 2023 – present day – Brady and Emma Tkachuk’s wedding  –  Peapack-Gladstone, New Jersey…

“Can I ask you a question?” 

Jack tucked his chin to his chest, busying himself with studying the pattern of the brick patio beneath his smart white sneakers. Whatever question Francesca had in mind, he was absolutely sure he was unprepared for it. But he nodded anyway.

Fran stared at his profile as he shuffled his feet beneath him, but as he lifted his head to look at her, she looked away, unable to meet his eyes as she forged ahead. Her gaze settled across the horizon instead, the moonlight casting a glow across the rolling green hills of Natirar. 

She sighed, then bit the bullet. “Does it feel like everything’s just like… second best now?” she inquired listlessly. 

Jack chuckled sadly, fiddling nervously with the neck of his amber beer bottle. Anybody who knew Jack knew he was never nervous. Except for where Fran was involved. She was the only person who had ever been able to do anything remotely resembling rattling him. 

“What, after that meteor strike?” he asked sarcastically. 

That’s what it felt like, at least – that night two years ago, when his team was out celebrating the end of their abysmal season before separating for the summer, the very same night her roommates had dragged her kicking and screaming from Fordham’s campus, across the Hudson, to see some indie band for one last hurrah before they went their own respective ways until fall semester, and Jack and Fran found themselves in the same crowded Hoboken bar. It felt like a meteor had crashed directly in his path that May night and blown up his entire life as he had known it. 

He nodded wearily before answering his now ex-girlfriend’s, as well as his own rhetorical, question. 

“Yeah, Fran. Yeah… it definitely does.”

Because second best was all that anything could have ever been, following the sensational rise and the staggering fall of Jack Hughes and Francesca DeLuca. 

He’d never forget the very moment he first laid eyes on her…

___

May 1, 2021 – two years earlier…

From Jack’s perch at the bar next to Nico, nursing a Moscow mule, the girl in the pale yellow halter dress was impossible to miss. 

He’d never believed in love at first sight, but as he surveyed the way that dress hugged her curves as she danced with her girlfriends, belting out the lyrics to “Peaches” to Justin Bieber, he thought for the first time that he might be completely wrong about that notion. He watched her hips sway enticingly, her olive-toned skin glowing beneath the bright multicolored lights, dark curls bouncing along with her every step. 

Before he knew it, his feet were taking steps of their own, ditching Nico mid-sentence as the young captain stood dumbfounded, arms flung out to his sides in annoyance as Jack sauntered away. As he watched Jack approach a circle of dancing young women, he zeroed in on the one in the yellow dress right away, knowing immediately that she was the reason for the abrupt end to his conversation with his teammate. As he saw Jack approach her, Nico could only smile and roll his eyes as he wandered off to find the rest of the Devils crew, assuming they’d lost #86 to the girl in the yellow dress for the rest of the evening. 

Meanwhile, for once, Jack didn’t have a plan, no course of action – didn’t have a pick-up line prepared, didn’t have anything clever in mind to say when he reached the girl in the yellow dress. When he finally did, she had her back to him, and it was only thanks to her perceptive friend, who pressed her lips into a straight line and tapped the woman on the shoulder, pointing to where he stood, that she even turned around and noticed Jack over her shoulder. 

And when she finally did lay eyes on him… well, she was as sunk as he was. 

Nothing was said between the two for a few moments, only bashful smiles exchanged. The girl took a few steps toward him, and he eventually found the wherewithal to open his mouth, praying that whatever was about to tumble from his lips wouldn’t make him look like a complete idiot. 

“Hi… I like your dress.”

Okay, could’ve been better, could’ve been worse. 

The girl’s lips spread into a grin, one that made Jack’s stomach flip over itself. 

“Thanks,” she said, glancing down to what she was wearing as if she herself had forgotten. Then her eyes scanned his outfit. “I, uh, I like yours, too.” 

A giggle escaped Jack before he could stop it, and instead of making things awkward, it seemed to endear the girl to him further. 

“Thanks,” he muttered. And then no other words came to mind. 

Stupid, stupid, stupid, he berated himself. Say something else, you jackass.

Thankfully, the girl saved them both from complete and total disaster and rescued Jack from himself. 

“I’m Francesca,” she said, raising her voice above the thumping music which seemed to get louder with every passing moment. “But everyone calls me Fran.”

Jack extended a hand for a gentlemanly shake, making Fran smile as she grasped it in hers. 

“It’s nice to meet you, Fran,” he said, ducking his head close to her ear so that he, too, could be heard above the music… and maybe because it provided the perfect opportunity to be closer to her. “I’m Jack. And everyone calls me Jack.” 

That earned a full-on chuckle from Fran which warmed Jack from the inside out. He watched her, grinning from ear to ear, amused by her amusement and encouraged by the fact that him introducing himself hadn’t seemed to spark any instances of the often inescapable “don’t I know you from somewhere?” or “you look so familiar” or, worse, “you play hockey, right?” He could be jinxing it, or she could just have a really impressive poker face, but it seemed that Fran truly had no earthly idea what he did for a living… and that delighted him to no end. 

“It’s nice to meet you, too, Jack,” she replied, still allowing her hand to be enveloped by his. “Are you from around here?” 

Jackpot. 

He fidgeted with the cocktail glass in his hand, making the melting ice cubes clink against the side. “Ah, kind of a long story,” he admitted truthfully with a smirk. 

She glanced at her wrist as if checking her watch, though there was no timepiece to be seen. 

“Well, I’ve got time,” she retorted playfully. “Can I buy you a drink?” 

Jack shook his head emphatically. “Absolutely not, but I’ll buy you one and tell you all about it,” he said, nodding in the direction of the bar. “After you.” 

Fran eagerly took the lead, heading straight for the bar as he followed close behind. Once they reached the counter, she rested her elbows on its edge and waited patiently for the bartender to take the orders of the other patrons who had been waiting far longer than the two of them. 

But as Jack sidled up to her, resting one arm dangerously, though comfortably, close to hers against the cool aluminum bartop, his chest pressed just close enough to her back to be noteworthy but not overbearing, she noticed that the bartender’s eyes flickered toward him immediately, an immediate smile crossing the woman’s face. Francesca was even more confused, and admittedly disheartened, when the bartender ditched the entire far side of the bar in favor of beelining it toward Jack.

“What can I get you, sweet cheeks?” the bartender said in a syrupy cadence, leaning over the counter as if to make sure Jack noticed her sizable chest on display in her black sports bra. 

Blegh, Fran thought. Maybe this guy isn’t such a good idea… 

Unfazed, he asked, “Hey, can I please get another vodka cran and then…” Jack motioned to Fran. 

“Uh, Bud Light, please?” she ordered, repeating the same go-to drink she’d already had half a dozen of. 

Jack pursed his lips to attempt to avoid a full-blown grin. He couldn’t help but love a girl who loved her beer. 

The bartender nodded, knocking on the counter and turning toward the taps. 

Fran tried to put the awkward encounter with the bartender to the back of her mind for the moment and turned 90 degrees so that she could face Jack more easily. 

“So, you are or you aren’t from around here?” she asked, returning to the question that had led the two of them here originally.

Jack smiled, weighing his options. This question was always a complicated one to answer… but something about explaining it to Fran put him oddly at ease.

“So we, uh, we moved around a bit because my dad was a hockey player before he had kids, and then a coach for years while I was growing up,” he began. 

“Oh, nice! I don’t know much about hockey,” she told him, shaking her head. “Big on playing sports but never big on watching them.”

Oh, my god, he thought to himself as he nodded, trying to seem casual. It’s like this girl was built in a lab just for me. 

However, he didn’t know whether this next part would seem better or worse to a girl who wasn’t a sports fan. But it was his reality, so he decided to lay it bare.

“Gotcha, um… so, I… also play hockey.”

Francesca’s eyebrows shot up. 

“Wow… really?” 

Jack nodded again, then cleared his throat. 

“Yeah, uh, that’s actually why I’m here tonight,” he explained. “All my teammates are here. Our season just ended and everybody’s about to separate for the summer, so we came out for one last night together for a while.” 

It was Fran’s turn to nod as the bartender approached, and Jack thanked her and pushed a large bill across the counter. Fran busied herself with running her finger along the rim of her glass, pretending like she didn’t notice the generous denomination. Jack leaned an elbow against the counter to face her, in hopes of continuing the conversation.

“So… wait, you play for, what, the Rangers? Islanders?” she asked, pulling the names of the teams she vaguely recalled from the cobwebbed recesses of her brain. 

Jack smacked a hand to his chest dramatically as if he’d just been shot. 

“God, Fran,” he hissed, “you really know how to wound me.” 

“What?!” she asked, sputtering with laughter. “I dunno! Are those the wrong team names?!” 

Jack shook his head, entertained. “No, no,” he assured. “You were right – those are NHL teams, but I play for the Devils. They play just over in Newark.”

“Oh… right,” Fran said softly, biting her lip and tucking her chin to her chest, praying she somehow didn’t look as stupid as she felt. 

Jack lowered his head to try and meet her eyes, squeezing her elbow gently. The simple touch alone sent a bolt of electricity through her being.

“Hey, don’t be embarrassed,” he said with an easy chuckle. “Trust me, it’s way better having to explain all this to you than having you come up and recite it all to me like some creepy walking encyclopedia.” 

Francesca forced a tight smile, but still stared at her shoes. In a gutsy move, he reached his thumb and forefinger to grasp her chin and gently tilt her head upward. 

“C’mon, lemme see that pretty face,” he said in a gravelly tone, one that made her spine shiver. 

Just as she found herself leaning into his touch, she saw a tall, dark-haired, broad-shouldered man approaching Jack from behind, unsteady on his feet. She assumed that this was one of his teammates, as the taller man went to sling a noodly arm around Jack’s shoulders.

“Uh, look out-” Fran warned… but it was too late. 

The man’s hand flung Jack’s glass clean out of his grip, sending its red liquid contents splashing all over Fran’s chest and stomach before hitting the floor, thankfully hitting a sopping wet rug beneath the bar, which was the only thing that kept it from shattering into a million pieces.

They both gasped in the process, and Jack instinctively grabbed her by the forearm. 

“Oh, my god! Omigod, fuck, Fran, I-I’m so sorry,” he lamented. “Woody! Fuck!” he yelled to the drunken man who apologized apathetically, then disappeared into the crowd.

Fran blinked quickly, her mouth in a tight “o” as she set aside her beer. As a wincing Jack stupidly patted her torso with the flimsy cocktail napkin that had been handed to him with his drink, he took in her expression and felt sick to his stomach. 

Well, there you have it, he thought to himself. No way she’s ever gonna see me again after this…

What he hadn’t accounted for, though, was that after the initial shock of wearing the cold drink faded, Fran would throw her head back in uproarious laughter, eyes screwed up tight in hilarity. 

Jack let one nervous snicker escape him, and then another, and then another… and by the time thirty seconds had passed, the two of them were breathless in fits of giggles, Jack keeping a firm hand on the crook of Fran’s arm. 

“Are you okay?” he managed to utter as they finally began to settle down. 

She nodded, wiping tears of hysteria away with her wrist. 

“Yes, I’m fine,” she promised, splaying a hand on her chest as she glanced down at the maroon stain on her yellow dress. “I’m just dying because this is my roommate’s dress and she made me swear not to spill anything on it,” she admitted, erupting with laughter all over again. “So much for that.”

Jack’s eyes glittered as he watched her chuckle. “Well, the blame lies squarely on me, so I’ll apologize to her for that one,” he told her, beaming. He cleared his throat before venturing forward. “Hey, my place isn’t far and I think I’ve got some club soda in the fridge… whad’ya say we-”

Before he could finish his thought, Fran picked up where Jack had left off before the drink had been spilled, pressing a hand assertively to his cheek and leaning forward to plant a firm kiss to his lips. Neither of them knew how much time had passed before she eventually pulled away, biting her bottom lip coyly.

“Is that a yes?” he asked, smoothing the back of his finger across her cheekbone. He watched a Cheshire grin spread across her now-swollen lips, and she offered an enthusiastic nod.

He trailed his fingertips down her bare arm, sending chills across her skin despite the heat and humidity of the bar, before he reached for her hand. 

“Then let’s go.”

After a short cab ride brimming with stolen glances and squeezes of hands, the two were practically sprinting through his front door, Jack not bothering to even turn on the lights in favor of keeping his hands securely on Fran’s lower back, holding her desperately close as his lips danced across hers with simultaneous ease and desire.

Eventually, he carefully backed her into his kitchen and hoisted her onto the counter, feeling her quiver when the cool marble hit the backs of her thighs. 

He smiled against her lips and said roughly, “I gotta get you that club soda.”

She shook her head without breaking away from his kiss. 

“It can wait,” she whispered insistently. “Just get me outta this dress.”

Jack smirked, his fingers immediately following orders as they searched for the zipper in the middle of her back. 

“Whatever you want, baby,” he retorted, finally pulling the zipper down, allowing him to tug the dress over her head. He offered it to her, one last chance to take care of the task they came here under the guise of doing – removing the maroon stain from the gauzy garment. Instead, she tossed it aside, watching as it floated to the tile floor before grasping Jack’s shoulders purposefully, leaning in to speak against the delicate skin of his ear.

“I want you,” she admitted, nipping at his earlobe. 

And after he carried her to his bedroom, she had him, had her fill of him – just the way they both wanted, their union the perfect balance between urgent and reverent, as if they both already knew that whatever this was between the two of them was something meant to be cherished.

More than an hour later, after making the mutual decision that it was time for a snack and a little something else to drink in order to replenish their strength, Jack left her alone with her thoughts in the quiet of his bedroom as he made his way back to the kitchen, donning only a pair of sweats, smiling when he picked up the now-rumpled yellow dress and placed it in his spacious farmhouse-style sink. He secured the drain stopper and retrieved the club soda from the refrigerator, still smirking to himself as he poured the stain-fighting liquid over the fabric to ensure it was completely immersed.

As he turned back to the fridge on the hunt for a satisfactory snack, Jack saw Fran emerge from his bedroom wearing nothing but one of his white dress shirts and a clean pair of his boxers.

She grimaced, and he sensed her unease even from a few yards away.

“I’m sorry, I just kinda put on the first things I found in your closet,” she said, one eye squeezed shut as if it pained her to make the admission. “I hope that’s okay. I swear I don’t make it a habit to put on a guy’s clothes like I own the place, but I, uh… didn’t exactly have a dress to put back on,” she pointed out.

Still distracted by the sight of her in his clothes, he shook his head rapidly.

“No, no, of course… I’m taking care of that as we speak,” he assured, nodding his head in the direction of the sink. “And you can wear whatever you want of mine – I should’ve laid something out for you, but… this is perfect.” He took a few slow steps toward her, his hands coming to rest on her hips. “You look amazing,” he said, his voice deep once again.

Francesca bloomed under his praise, preened beneath his touch as he reached out to stroke her cheek, his thumb coming to rest on her plush lips.

“Thank you,” she whispered, pursing her lips to kiss the pad of his thumb. 

It took every ounce of gentlemanly will in Jack not to throw her over his shoulder and haul her back into the bedroom again. Instead, he forced himself to take a step back and motion toward the adjacent living room. 

“Go on and make yourself comfortable,” he urged as she glanced toward the expansive space. “I’ll grab us a couple things and be right over.”

Fran nodded and obliged, entering the inviting area and finding herself immediately drawn to the vintage Victrola on a shelf on the far side of the room.

Meanwhile, after coming up empty in the liquor cabinet and noticing that the refrigerator was fresh out of beer, Jack opened a crummy bottle of wine he was certain Ty had bought once for a date but had never been touched. He poured two glasses and set them on a sturdy wooden tray, then scrounged through the cupboards to find some crackers that weren’t stale to go along with the Gouda and sopressata he’d found in the fridge. Pleased that he accomplished his mission, he arranged all of the items on the tray and carried it into the living room. As he set it on the coffee table, he found Fran admiring the shelves displaying his substantial collection of vinyls. Upon hearing him approach, a glass of wine for her in hand, Fran turned his way. 

“You have quite the record collection there, Mr. Tough Guy Hockey Jock,” she teased, brows raised as she gratefully accepted the glass. “And not just the trendy new stuff, the good stuff – Sinatra, the Beatles, Fleetwood Mac, Bowie, Pink Floyd. I’m impressed.”

Jack smirked. “Thanks – to be fair, I inherited a bunch of them from my parents and grandparents. They’d move and they’d always threaten to sell these on eBay but I wouldn’t let ‘em,” he explained. “Go ahead, put one on – anything.”

His request was easier said than done, and as he turned away to close the blinds throughout the room, chomping on cheese and crackers, she faced the impossible task of choosing one, eventually settling on James Taylor’s “Something in the Way She Moves.” 

He smiled when he heard the first strains, and her eyes met his when she turned away from the record player after setting the needle. 

“Great choice,” he praised, the two of them crossing the room toward one another as if at the mercy of some magnetic force. 

“One of my mom’s favorites,” she explained, fingers toying with the hem of the dress shirt as the folksy melody swirled throughout the room. 

There's something in the way she moves Or looks my way, or calls my name That seems to leave this troubled world behind…

When they were no more than a foot apart, Jack opened his palm and held it out toward her. 

“Dance with me,” he less invited, more demanded, not that Fran minded. She instantly slipped her fingers into his and took a step nearer so that their chests were pressed impossibly close.

She in his shirt and boxers, he in a pair of sweats, neither of them in shoes, they twirled around his living room as if attending a royal ball, until an unmistakable scratch signaled the end of the record… but by then, Jack and Fran were already locked in each others’ embrace again, the only sounds in the room the panting breaths escaping their lips between fiery kisses.

They never did make it back to the bedroom that night, didn’t even ever find sleep where they stayed curled up together in the living room, talking and laughing through the wee hours. Instead, when the sun rose, their only hint that morning had already come, they were sitting on the hardwood floor, laughing with her feet in his lap like he was her closest friend and not some random boy she’d met at a bar mere hours before. 

“How’d we end up on the floor anyway?” Jack said, rubbing at a kink in his neck as one hand stayed fixed on her ankles.

Fran lifted the empty bottle of wine next to where she lay, and his eyes reluctantly traveled away from her face and toward her hands. 

“Your roommate’s cheap-ass screw-top rose, that’s how,” she retorted, reminding him of the bottle they’d shared after all the drinks they’d already indulged in at the bar.

“Mmm…” he hummed with lifted brows, both of them chuckling at the culprit as she set it back down on the hardwood. “So… coffee?” he inquired, desperate for this night – or, well, now morning – not to end. Desperate for Fran to stay here, with him, and never leave.

To his delight, she cocked her head against the throw pillow and offered him the warmest smile he’d ever seen.

“I’d love some,” she answered simply, realizing she’d be content to never see the outside world, anything beyond the walls of this Hoboken house, again.

They saw each other every day for the next year and a half after that, and starting with that very first one, Jack had painted all Fran’s nights a color she had searched for since. 

And still, to this day, she couldn’t remember who she was before him. 

___

July 21, 2023 – present day…

“This day,” that is, being Brady and Emma Tkachuk’s wedding day. Which after the breakup, Fran had never anticipated being present for. 

But then came the phone call in the dead of winter, just weeks after she’d ended it with Jack. She was still reeling, trying to push through the pain while focusing on excelling in her last semester of undergrad, but anyone who knew her could see that she was struggling, including mutual friends of hers and Jack’s. Which soon made its way back to Emma via Brady.

And when Fran saw Emma’s name on her screen that day as she studied for an exam, she smiled. She hadn’t talked to Emma since before the split, and despite knowing it was more than likely going to be a covert check-up call, Fran was happy to hear from the girl she’d become so close to in the last two years.

___

February 18, 2023 – five months ago…

Fran tapped the “answer” button and lifted the phone to her ear.

“Hi, Em,” she said warmly. 

“Hi! I miss you! Brady’s here, too,” Emma explained. 

“Franny D!” he called over the speakerphone. 

“Hey, B! I miss you guys, too,” she said sadly. “How are you guys?”

“We’re good!” Emma answered. “Neck-deep in wedding planning. I know it’s gonna be fun but it’s honestly kinda brutal.” 

“Brutal, Franny,” Brady echoed dramatically. “It’s torture.”

Fran chuckled. “What, B, not enjoying picking out linen colors? Did you go with eggshell or warm white?” 

“Couldn’t tell ya, Franny,” he replied. “If I had it my way, none of the tables would be covered and everybody’d just be playing beer pong on ‘em.”

Fran swore she could hear Emma’s eye roll. “You’re such a dude,” Fran complained. 

“He’s not kidding about making that suggestion, either,” Emma said, feigning (or maybe not) weariness. “But, um, that’s not why we’re calling. First of all, we, uh… we just wanted to see how you were.” 

Fran swallowed, staring out the window of her apartment, watching the snow swirl among the towering skyscrapers and across bustling streets. She’d been having trouble answering that question at all, let alone honestly. She reached to rub her palm up and down the length of her shin, suddenly feeling cold. 

“I’m, um… I mean, I’ve been better, that’s for sure,” she told them. “I just… I really never thought this would happen, to be totally honest.” Her voice was quieter now, the familiar lump in her throat quivering. 

Emma made a sound of understanding. 

“Us either, Franny,” Brady gently concurred. “And I know you don’t wanna hear this right now, but I know Jacky didn’t think so either.” 

Fran sighed, dropping her chin to her chest as her eyes fell to the azure crewneck with the maize Michigan logo emblazoned on the front, which Jack had left behind once after a trip to visit Luke. She had never returned it, and he eventually noticed it in the background of a FaceTime call while he was on a road trip and told her to keep it because he was certain it looked better on her anyway. And now it hurt to look at it, and it hurt to wear it, and it hurt to not wear it, so she went with wearing it, because even though she’d been the only one to don it for a year, she swore it still smelled like him. Unconsciously, she closed her eyes and breathed deep. 

“I know,” she said softly. 

“We didn’t wanna make you sad, Fran, but the other reason we were calling is just to say that we’d really like to invite you to the wedding in July-”

Brady interrupted his fiancee. “No, we are inviting you to the wedding, no question,” he said firmly. “But we just want you to know that it’s completely up to you whether you wanna come.”

“Yes,” Emma jumped in again. “We would absolutely love to have you there, because you mean so much to both of us, but we totally get it if it’s too much. Quinn’s in the wedding and we’re inviting their whole family, so… obviously Jack will be there.” 

Her eyes fluttered open and she cleared her throat. “Y-yeah, of course, as he should be,” Fran managed. “I really appreciate the invitation, you guys. Seriously, it means so much to me. I’ll check the dates on my calendar, but I’d really love to come-”

Before she could even finish her thought, she heard a loud clap and a “FUCK YEAH!” from Brady, and she couldn’t help but laugh. 

“You’re the best, Franny D,” he said. “And I’ll promise Quinny’ll keep Jacky on his best behavior.” 

“Plus Ellen’ll be there, so you know he’s not getting away with shit,” Emma offered. 

“You guys are too much,” Fran said affectionately. “It’s your day – I don’t need you worrying about me and J.” She felt a stab in her heart at her own use of the retired pet name, one that was once used so frequently and so fondly but was now avoided like a plague. She swallowed that lump in her throat again. “We’ll be fine.” 

“We know you will,” Brady said softly. “Well, listen, we’ll let you go but, uh… thanks, Franny. I really hope you can make it.” 

“Yes, we really do!” Emma reiterated. “We love you, Fran. Talk soon.”

“I love you guys, too,” she told them. “Thanks for calling.”

And Brady must not have been able to keep the news to himself, because within a few hours of agreeing to attend the Tkachuk wedding, her phone had buzzed four more times with text messages from four members of the Hughes clan: 

Lukey: yooo B just told me you’re coming to the wedding!!! hell yes, sista 👊 see you soon

Quinny: Franny D, super happy to hear you’re coming to B’s wedding. we love ya, no matter what. can’t wait to see ya

Ellen: Hi, my sweet girl 💖 Chantal just told me that you’re planning to come to Brady and Emma’s wedding. I’m so happy to hear it! I’m counting down the days until I see you. Love always 💋

Jim: Hey Franny! Can’t wait to see you at the Tkachuk wedding this summer. Really glad you’re planning to go. ❤️

The only member of the family that her phone didn’t sound with a message from that night?

Jack. 

The one that it hurt the most not to hear from. 

She set her phone aside that night and swallowed, hard, pulling her legs to her chest and resting her forehead on her knees. Preparing to see Jack in person for the first time in months was going to be impossible enough, but seeing his entire family… that just might be enough to break her.

Because she’d never fallen out of love with them, either. 

___

July 21, 2023 – present day…

And today, after a heartbreakingly long hug with Ellen before the ceremony, and affectionate but melancholy greetings from Jim and Luke, here Fran stood in the midst of Brady’s reception, in front of the middle Hughes son who never did text her leading up to this moment. When he’d seen her approach his family’s seats a few minutes before today’s ceremony, he had only just stood up from his chair at the far end of their row to try and make his way toward her when the processional music started, leaving both of them frozen in place, staring helplessly at one another. She’d mouthed sorry, and he’d nodded and mouthed we’ll talk, as his family sat still between them, awkwardly trying to avoid making eye contact with the estranged couple lest they make the moment even more painful for them than it already was. 

When Fran turned to find the nearest single seat, she could feel the tingling heat creeping up her neck, and it wasn’t from the summer sun. She’d spent months agonizing over what she would say to Jack when she finally saw him again, and she still couldn’t believe that the first thing she’d spoken aloud after they’d found each other on the deck for a quiet moment alone was “can I ask you a question?” But how else was she supposed to begin the conversation, anyway? 

And at least he’d agreed – conceded that nothing had yet felt as good as the two of them had. For the past six months, she’d been terrified that nothing ever would, and she had to admit, it felt good to know that he seemed to share that same belief. 

It felt good and it felt awful all at the same time. 

Fran sighed, lifting her gaze to the shimmering stars far above their heads. 

“Why are we doing this?” she whispered, half to herself and half to him.

Jack gave her a quizzical look; she was all over the place right now… not that he didn’t feel completely undone and frazzled himself. 

“What? Talking? I dunno, Fran, I can go back inside, but I wasn’t just gonna sit in there all night and ignore y-”

Fran stopped him, shaking her head. “No, that’s not what I mean,” she said, a noticeable exhaustion in her tone, one that Jack recognized in his own voice often these days. “I just mean… this hurts so bad, J. And it doesn’t have to – didn’t have to. We were so good together… why did-”

“Because you said it was too much, Fran,” Jack accused, sharply though accurately, remembering how the pressure of being in a serious relationship with one of North America’s most heralded professional athletes at such a young age had often left her curled up in a ball in the corner, something that at 20 and then 21 years old, he had found himself completely unprepared to handle. 

“And I made the wrong choice!” Fran admitted, her voice rising an octave by the end of the sentence as her emotions took over. “At least I can admit it. Can you? I mean, you’re the one who left my house in the middle of the night, without even trying to put up a fight. Can you admit that you were in the wrong, too?” 

Yeah, I can, he immediately thought to himself, though he couldn’t quite bring himself to say it.

Instead his mind flashed to the very moment in time where he knew he had indeed made the wrong choice. 

___

April 3, 2023 – three months earlier…

Jack was trying his hardest to pay attention to his date. He truly was. 

In a well-meaning but doomed-from-the-start attempt to help him get over Fran, one of the team WAGs had set him up with her college roommate who had recently moved to the city. So here he was at dinner following a Broadway show he’d never even heard of before, which he had bought tickets to specifically because he knew he wouldn’t have to speak to the girl for at least a couple of hours but would still come away looking like the hero for dropping money on expensive tickets for date number one. 

What he hadn’t accounted for, when she had unsurprisingly suggested that they grab a bite to eat after the show at Sugarfish on 56th and Broadway, was that he’d spot, through the front window, Francesca walking down the sidewalk hand-in-hand with some guy, laughing with him as he told what were no doubt painfully lame attempts at jokes to try and impress her. 

Jack’s blood ran cold, his jaw muscles flexing as he clenched his teeth together, his date still rambling on about her so-called career as a “business owner.” (See also: owner of an Instagram account where she posted regular thirst traps and tagged the brands she wore, unprompted. See also: a quasi-influencer. See also: a Kardashian wanna-be.) Which provided him the perfect opportunity to get lost in his own spiraling thoughts. 

Granted, this restaurant wasn't that far from Fran’s apartment on 52nd, a fact which Jack was painfully aware of throughout the entirety of the show and the meal. But goddamn it… this city was filled with eight million people besides her and that dickhead guy, but they just happened to be the two who caught his gaze.

Which maybe wouldn’t have bothered Jack so much if it didn’t look like Fran was actually enjoying the guy’s company. 

He slouched in his chair and spoke as few words as possible for the rest of the meal, and when it had finally, mercifully, ended, he called her an Uber, waited until she had gotten picked up, sulked to his car, and deleted her number. 

___

July 21, 2023 – present day…

“Well? Can you?” Fran repeated, losing patience as she wondered where his mind had just wandered off to. 

“Yeah, I can,” Jack said simply, deciding to lay all his cards on the table at the recall of the recent memory. 

Fran’s head snapped toward him. Being that he was by far the most stubborn person she had ever known, she hadn’t expected him to fess up to that. Her mouth opened as she thought of what to say next, then closed it when nothing came to mind quickly enough. 

“I can tell you exactly when I realized it, too,” Jack said with a smile devoid of humor, licking his lips – the very same lips she used to call home. “I saw you with some guy walking down 56th a few months ago. And it felt… fuck, it just felt like I was out of time.”

Francesca blinked repeatedly, confusion etched on her features. Though she knew who she would have been with that night, she didn’t even remember the exact instance he was referring to, so it obviously hadn’t left all that much of an impression upon her. But that’s not the information she wanted to inquire about. 

“W-what do you mean, ‘out of time’?” she asked, her volume much lower now. 

Jack met her with sad eyes, pursing his lips. He shrugged a shoulder. 

“I dunno, I guess… I guess I was holding out hope that somehow, we’d work it out,” he replied, his voice suddenly sounding hoarse. “I just always thought it would be us in the end. But seeing you with someone new, I… I just lost that hope.” 

Tears pricked at the backs of Fran’s eyelids and she looked away, swiping at her eyes with the side of her hand. 

“There’s never been anyone else… I mean, not… not really,” she was suddenly saying, caught off guard that she was opening up so much. “That was the closest I got, but it was only for a few weeks, and he ended it because he said I was being distant. And he was right. I just, I wasn’t in it. Not at all.”

Jack watched her the entire time she spoke, then nodded slowly. He understood that feeling all too well. 

“I get it,” he said softly. “Trust me.” 

As the two of them let their respective admissions hang between them in the thick summer air, falling into a contemplative silence, unbeknownst to them, a tipsy Luke had made his way back to the open bar at the edge of the dancefloor, which was situated just inside the tall French doors leading to the venue’s back patio where his brother and Fran stood alone as the party raged on. Luke’s eyes never left the acrimonious pair as he ordered himself not one, but two more gin and tonics, then darted, drinks in hand, across the room to where his parents and Quinn sat at a table chatting. 

“Luke Warren Hughes, you’d better slow down on the double fisting,” Ellen warned in her best mom voice. 

Luke waved her off. “Yeah, whatever – guys, listen to me, this is important,” he urged, out of breath. “Jacky and Franny are outside by themselves talking.”

“What?!” Quinn exclaimed, jumping up from his chair so quickly and so forcefully that it would have tipped over if not for Jim’s quick reflexes, as he shook his head in disapproval. As he watched his eldest son jog to the same door Luke had just been standing near to peer through the panels for himself, Jim scoffed. 

“You guys need to give them their privacy – they’ve been through enough,” he stated firmly.

“Yes, and you wouldn’t like it if your brothers were spying on you and a girl,” Ellen pointed out. 

Luke swallowed a gulp of his cocktail and beamed. 

“Yeah, but… it’s not just some girl. It’s Jack and Fran,” he declared, shaking his head in excited disbelief before following after his brother. 

Having lost both their sons to espionage, Ellen and Jim’s eyes met, and they shared a knowing, hopeful smirk. 

“It is Jack and Fran,” Jim repeated in a voice near a whisper, tipping the rim of his beer bottle toward his wife, who clinked it with her champagne glass. 

“Cheers to that… no matter what happens,” she said softly. 

Back outside, ignorant to the fact that they were being carefully watched, Jack was surprised when Fran breathed a laugh through her nose, finally breaking the silence. Her cheeks warmed at the memory replaying in her mind.

“Remember that first night we spent together, at your place in Hoboken? What we did after Miles made you spill that drink on me?” she asked, unaware that he had played those sacred scenes over in his mind hundreds if not thousands of times in the past two years just as she had, particularly when they were each alone in their beds in the dead of night. 

“Of course I do,” he replied quietly. “It’s kinda… all I ever do. Well, that night and… a-and lots of other nights after that.” He caught her stare and somberly confessed, “I feel you no matter what.” 

Fran took a few daring steps closer, her hand brushing his. She leaned in so close that her lips nearly grazed the shell of his ear. 

“Do you wish you could still touch me, Jack?” she whispered, and the hair on the back of his neck stood on its end. 

He slowly exhaled through pursed lips, trying and failing to steady his now-racing pulse. 

“Every fuckin’ day, Fran,” he said with little hesitation, turning his head so that their noses were mere centimeters from each other. 

“Is it too late to do something about it?” she asked, her eyes locked with his. 

“With us?” he let out a singular chuckle. “It’s never too late with us, Fran.”

She smiled so wide it made her cheeks ache, and she ran a hand down the lapel of his jacket. 

“Good, because you look really fuckin’ handsome, and I’ve been wanting to tell you that all night,” she said, her voice low and sultry. 

He hummed appreciatively and nuzzled his nose against her temple. 

“Funny you say that, because I’ve been wanting to tell you all night that I, uh… I like your dress,” he whispered, recycling the very first compliment he ever bestowed upon her before pressing a kiss to the skin just in front of her ear as she giggled, but the laughter died on her lips as Jack kissed a line from her ear, across her cheekbone, to the tip of her nose, to the corner of her mouth, and finally, to her eager lips, which matched the fervor and neediness of his own. It was as though the pain of the past six months melted away as they each attempted to demonstrate how deeply and passionately they had missed the other, hands in hair, chests flush, soft moans being captured by the other’s mouth…

But it wouldn’t be an important moment in Jack and Fran’s story if there weren’t loved ones meddling nearby.

Now it wasn’t only Luke and Quinn at the doors watching the marvelous scene unfold, but it was Matthew, and Ellie, and Taryn, and Robbie, and all the Fitzgerald kids, and Brady, and Emma. Someone pushed open one of the doors, flooding the patio with a cacophony of cheers and jeers from those closest to them. 

“Get a room!” “Finally!” “Jack, this is a family wedding!” “Hand check!” “Oww owwww!”

God… embarrassing.

Reluctantly pulling away from the kiss, Jack growled, resting his forehead against Fran’s as she giggled nervously, before whipping his head toward their audience. 

“Don’t you all have a wedding to get back to?” His head swiveled to Brady and Emma. “Especially you two?” 

Brady shrugged. “Hey, we already had our kiss, man. You go ‘head,” he encouraged.

Emma giggled, one hand wrapped around her groom’s bicep as she swatted nonchalantly toward Jack and Fran with the other. 

“Yeah, carry on. Don’t mind us!” she sang. 

Jack rolled his eyes, but all inhibition and worry faded away as Fran grabbed him by the collar and pulled him down to meet her lips once more, feeling his frown literally turn upside down into a smirk as he sunk into her, hand finding a familiar home low on her back, dangerously close to the curve of her ass. 

And at that, the crowd they’d drawn erupted into a fit of laughter and applause, Quinn and Luke in the middle of it all, pumping their fists simultaneously before clapping their palms together and leaning in for a hug. 

They got their sister back.

“What are you kids doin’ over here?” came a booming voice from the back of the group. Jack and Fran watched as the seas parted and Keith Tkachuk made his way to the door, following his younger son’s pointed index finger to find the reunited couple embracing on the patio. His eyebrows shot to the top of his forehead. 

“Well, can’t say I didn’t see this one coming!” he bellowed, a jolly twinkle in his eye. “Now, you boneheads have had your fun,” he addressed the group. “Leave these two to have their own.” With a wink, he turned away, and their crowd of clamoring cheerleaders dispersed, whispering animatedly among themselves. 

Jack exhaled swiftly and rubbed the back of his neck. 

“Shoutout Big Walt,” he declared, clearing his throat. 

Fran nodded, snickering, and pulled him in by the waist. 

“Gotta love ‘em, though, hmm?” she mused, nuzzling her nose against his. 

“Mmm, yeah, whatever,” Jack dismissed, a tenacious hand on her cheek as he leaned down to press his lips to hers once again. “Now, where were we?” he teased in a whisper as she smiled against his mouth, her hands traveling beneath his suit jacket, across the familiar expanse of his sculpted back. His hands found their original target and slipped down the small of her back, finally reaching the arc of her rear.

“Mmmm… hello, old friend,” Jack murmured in her ear, earning him a playful smack to the hip. 

“Shut up,” she sassed him, but she didn’t mean it, and they both knew it. He fixed his lips to hers over and over again, and though the party roared on inside, mere yards away, it was as if Jack and Fran were the only two people on the face of the earth, their bodies fusing together as if they had always been intended to be one. 

It was always like that for the two of them.

Nothing could have pulled them from that moment… except the first strains of “Something in the Way She Moves” by James Taylor echoing from the speakers inside.

The pair froze. She pulled away to hold him at arm’s length, in utter disbelief.

Jack ogled at Fran, the pure longing in his eyes mirrored in hers. His siblings and friends were meddlers, sure… but had they been so thoughtful as to remember that this was their song — had been since that very first night? Or was it simply fate?

Either way, Jack could do nothing but extend his upturned palm toward her. 

“Dance with me?” he asked softly. 

Suddenly self-conscious, she smoothed a hand through her curls, then swiped at the damp corners of her eyes. 

“God, Jack, I’m a mess,” she said with a halfhearted chuckle. “I don’t think I can go back in there right now.”

Jack shrugged. “So what?” he asked, taking hold of her hand and pulling her in, his other arm winding around her. “We’ll dance right here.”

She rested her free hand on his chest, melting at the sweet sentiment. Then, she relaxed into him, tucking her head into his neck where it fit perfectly — always had. 

He pressed a kiss to her temple, then rested his cheek atop her head as the song carried on... 

There's something in the way she moves Or looks my way, or calls my name That seems to leave this troubled world behind If I'm feeling down and blue Or troubled by some foolish game She always seems to make me change my mind And I feel fine anytime she's around me now She's around me now Almost all the time And if I'm well you can tell she's been with me now She's been with me now quite a long, long time And I feel fine…

Jack’s heart soared, his joy permanently etched on his face, as he swayed side to side with Francesca in his arms. In his wildest dreams, he could have never hoped to have her here with him again like this. 

He glanced down at the girl he’d loved since the first time he’d laid eyes on her, saw her eyes fluttered closed in blissful contentment, and brushed his lips across her brow as he whispered, “Fran, you know for me, it’s always you, right?”

He watched the corners of her mouth pull upward even further, and she tipped her face up to meet his. 

“I hoped so,” she admitted roguishly. “Because for me, it’s always you, too.”

[3416]

How Auston Matthews came from the unlikeliest place and rose to hockey stardom

By Jonas Siegel | 02.21.2024 | The Athletic

PHOENIX — Zac Larraza was the first player to be drafted into the NHL from the untraditional hockey system in Arizona.

The Phoenix Coyotes, appropriately enough, selected Larraza with a seventh-round pick in the 2011 draft. Larraza never made it to the NHL, but while he was on the rise and playing for the University of Denver, he invited a promising youngster he knew from his hometown to skate with him.

That kid was Auston Matthews.

Matthews was about to turn 16 and join the same U.S. National Team Development Program Larraza had left a couple years earlier.

He was younger than everyone else skating that day. But, right away, they all knew: He was different.

It was the way he skated. How he caught passes. It was his hands and how he carried himself: Confident, but cool about it.

“There’s some people that are just — they found what they were born to do,” Larraza said. “Shohei Ohtani: He was born to be a baseball player. Steve Jobs was born to invent. Thirty-four was born to play hockey.”

But before No. 34, no one from Arizona had ever become an NHL superstar, let alone one of the greatest goal-scorers in the history of the league. No one had ever made it big like that. Not even close.

Auston Matthews is a unicorn in more ways than one. He’s forged a path for the next wave of young players from the desert to follow.

Thirty-four jerseys are ubiquitous here for a reason. Matthews has made it possible to dream and dream big. The next generation has a reason to believe and someone to believe in.

Call it The Auston Matthews Effect.

It’s also a reason to believe hockey in Arizona will persist with or without the long-troubled Coyotes.

As Shane Doan, formerly the face for hockey in Arizona, put it: “Auston is the flag that everyone in Arizona holds their hat on and says, ‘Someone not only made it and played here and grew up and always comes back here, but also excelled.’”

“That gave everyone hope.”

–––

‘The number 34, you see it all over the place’

You can still feel Doan’s presence here. There’s a Shane Doan rink inside the Ice Den in Scottsdale, where the Coyotes practice.

Doan grew up in Alberta, however. Daniel Briere, another one-time Coyotes star, was also Canadian. Keith Tkachuk and Jeremy Roenick, two more franchise icons, both hailed from Massachusetts.

Matthews could dream of playing hockey in the NHL, could dream of being Doan, but still had no yellow brick road to follow. Matthews had to forge his own path, one that the next generation is now following.

Josh Doan, Shane’s 22-year-old son and a promising prospect in the Coyotes’ farm system, can recite Matthews’ story by heart.

“He came up through the ranks of minor hockey in Arizona and he had done it all and he stuck around till his U16 year,” Josh Doan said. “And then he made the national development program and turned pro at 18 years old to play in Switzerland and then went right into the NHL and had an amazing first year.”

Doan was 14 when Matthews potted 40 goals as a rookie for the Maple Leafs.

“It was really just a sign of hope for a lot of the kids in the area that it was possible,” he said, “not only just to make it but to be a superstar.”

Where once little hockey players here wore Shane Doan’s No. 19, now it’s all No. 34. At least one on every team — and usually the best player.

“He’s an icon,” Marc Fritsche, the director of tier hockey with the Coyotes Amateur Hockey Association said. “Kids know him. They know Auston Matthews. The number 34, you see it all over the place.”

Hundreds of Matthews’ Toronto Maple Leafs jerseys … in the desert.

“There was a guy who I went to school with who played hockey growing up here,” said Coyotes forward Alex Kerfoot, “and he was talking a little bit about how he played hockey with Auston Matthews. I think everyone here just knows Auston … and that’s cool.”

“Everybody back home asks me if I know (Matthews),” said Mark Kastelic, a 24-year-old Ottawa Senators forward from Arizona. “It’s cool to just be in the same world as him.”

On the October night in 2016 when Matthews made history in his NHL debut, Shane Doan was coaching Josh’s 14-year-old squad (which included future Maple Leaf Matthew Knies). Word filtered down to the ice that Matthews had registered a hat trick in less than 22 minutes.

The team rushed down to the lobby to watch him become the first player in league history to score four in his first game.

What could be more inspiring for young Arizona hockey players than that?

Larraza likes to point to his younger pal as a shining light, an example for the kids he coaches to emulate.

If Matthews did it, why can’t they?

“It hits home way more now that there’s a kid that was born and raised here, that they have somebody to look up to,” Larraza said. “I use Auston as an example all the time when I talk to the kids about work ethic. ‘I know 34 is working harder than anybody in my life. What gives you the reason not to work as hard as that?’”

Arizona hockey has grown “exponentially” since Matthews came on the scene, in Fritsche’s estimation.

USA Hockey lists 9,716 total players in Arizona in its 2022-23 report. That’s up from 7,781 players in 2017, a 25 percent increase. More importantly, at the eight-and-under level, there were 795 registered players in 2023 — a 45 percent increase from the 2017 report.

One thing that’s helped is all the ex-pros who have stuck around. “Even guys who didn’t play for the Coyotes have homes here and live here and come here in the offseasons,” said Mike DeAngelis, a Kamloops, B.C., native who arrived in 1999 to play minor pro and now works as the director of hockey operations with the Coyotes Amateur Hockey Association.

What do those former NHLers do? They coach. Steve Sullivan took his Arizona team to the final of a recent tournament in Calgary. His assistant coach was Derek Morris, who ended his long NHL career with the Coyotes.

Then there’s Dallas Drake. Keith Carney. Ray Whitney. Former NHLers are everywhere.

“Not only are they involved, they’re coaching, they’re involved in the programs,” Fritsche said. “And having that wealth of knowledge to bring down to those players and those kids and those families, it’s just so valuable.”

The lack of rinks is a problem. The Coyotes’ uncertain future has also again bubbled to the surface. All anybody can talk about around town, besides Matthews, is the future of the Coyotes, who are now playing on the campus of Arizona State University.

The Coyotes may end up leaving, but the path Matthews laid will remain. Kids will continue to play hockey here and dare to dream because of him.

Kerfoot has been a Coyote for only a little while now and lived at Matthews’ house in Paradise Valley when he first arrived last summer. He’s seen it, too.

“It doesn’t seem foreign to walk on the street and see kids playing with a hockey stick or see kids who are involved in hockey. It doesn’t feel too much different being out in Arizona,” he said. “Auston’s had a huge impact on that. You hear kids at our games even talking about Auston.”

“People see him, and it’s not just this fairytale myth,” Larraza said. “He’s here. He’s a human that’s from Phoenix, Arizona, that’s made it to where he has.”

–––

‘Elite of the elite’

Larraza had played alongside future NHLers like J.T. Miller and Seth Jones coming up the ranks of U.S. hockey, but teenage Auston Matthews was unlike anyone he had ever seen before. The “elite of the elite” were different like that.

You know it when you see it.

“You just go, ‘OK, we’re all pretty good players, but this is different, what’s going on right here,’” Larraza said.

Every year, by late summer, Coyotes players trickled back into town ahead of training camp. They invited Larraza and his pals to come out and join them. That included Auston, who had become close with Larraza, and Doan, who took notice immediately, asking who Auston was and where he was from.

While the Coyotes had, and continue to have existential problems, if they hadn’t come to town in 1996, it’s possible there would be no Auston Matthews, NHL superstar.

It might have been Auston Matthews, MLB superstar. Auston’s father, Brian, had encouraged Auston’s early adoration for hockey, but he and Auston’s grandfather also hoped he would pursue baseball. Auston liked the action of hockey, though. And he liked scoring goals, especially.

There were no ponds for young Auston Matthews to play shinny on in the desert, though, and very few rinks.

One of the few that does exist, Arcadia Ice Arena, sits in the shadow of a giant Walmart in Phoenix’s sprawl. This is hockey in Arizona. If not for the giant white hockey stick poking out of an otherwise bland building, you wouldn’t know this was an arena, let alone the place where Matthews grew up learning to play the game.

Arcadia isn’t much. One sheet of ice in an otherwise shabby structure but better than nothing in a community where ice is hard to come by. It’s one of the things locals in the hockey community bemoan. There just aren’t many places to lace up the skates and play.

For Matthews, it was Arcadia and the Ice Den, where he returns to skate alongside Coyotes like Clayton Keller every summer.

The locals love that about Matthews. Not only is he one of their own, but he comes back. They see him in the flesh and are reminded of the remarkable path he forged.

And Matthews and his family didn’t do what other hockey parents in the desert might have. He didn’t move to a traditional hockey market to play against tougher competition or increase his visibility.

Matthews’ father, Brian, grew up in Scottsdale. He would ensure his son had every opportunity to fulfill his dream in Arizona.

That meant rigorous training with Boris Dorozhenko, a skating coach who moved to Arizona from Ukraine and even lived in the Matthews’ home. It meant playing for NHL alumnus Claude Lemieux’s team, the Phoenix Roadrunners, among others. It meant spending hours on a now-shuttered three-on-three rink where the quarters were tight and slick puckhandling was mandatory.

“Auston was allowed to skate there as much as he wanted,” DeAngelis said. “And he’d just wheel around and play three-on-three or skate by himself.”

Matthews had incredible skill even then when he was just a kid.

That chuckling you hear in the background? That’s Shane Doan.

Matthews always had a mind for the game, too. His decision-making was strong for his age. His hands were exceptional.

And he was determined.

Dorozhenko remembers Auston struggling with one drill in particular. For 40 minutes, he just couldn’t get it right. He was crying. But Matthews wouldn’t give up and go home until he got it right. With tears in his eyes, he insisted they keep going.

“He never stops on something,” Dorozhenko said. “He wants to be better.”

Dorozhenko proudly describes Auston as a “pioneer” for hockey in Arizona, but no one knew back then that he would become this. How could they? One of the greatest scorers the NHL has ever seen — from Arizona? Get real.

But they knew something was different, especially as he crept closer to the NHL.

“He was a flat-out stud, that’s for sure,” said Keller, the Coyotes star who first met Matthews in 2015 while teammates with the USNTDP under-18 squad.

Keller and Matthews sat next to each other in history class as teenagers in Ann Arbor, Mich. Their nightly ritual: EA Sports’ NHL video games.

“There were like five of us that would play every single night, probably a little too late,” Keller said.

Matthews was Arizona chill — “super laid back” in Keller’s estimation — but maniacal about hockey, even as a teenager.

“You can tell that there’s a purpose to every rep, every shot,” said Keller, who skates with Matthews in the summer. “He’s never going through the motions.”

Larraza sees it firsthand when Matthews makes his annual return home to Arizona in the offseason.

“Like 80 percent of his day is focused on working and getting better, whether it’s on the ice, off the ice, taking care of his body, eating right — having a chef come cook him meals at his house, taking care of himself so that he is in the best possible position to succeed when the season starts,” Larraza said.

For other players, playing hockey is a job that they punch in and out of, Larraza said. “They work hard at it, they want to take care of themselves, but they’re also having fun and they’re golfing and they’re going on all these trips. (Matthews) knows he’s got a short career. I mean, 20 years is a short time in your life. He’s got 20 years to really prove who he is, make the money that he deserves to make, and carry his legacy.”

How much of Matthews is a byproduct of where he came from? Does he have what Kerfoot describes as “internal confidence” because he never had reason to think otherwise, because he towered over everyone in Arizona from the beginning? Is he laid back and chill because he was raised in the desert where the pace is slow and the sun shines almost constantly?

Kerfoot believes it’s just more about who Matthews is than his environment.

He was born for this but shaped nonetheless by where he came from.

“If you grow up in Toronto, or you grow up in a hockey family, you kind of are in the world,” said Kerfoot, a West Vancouver native. “Your parents know the other hockey parents. You’ve kinda got a path that’s all laid out for you. It’s just every day — there is like a hockey world. And he’s kinda carving his own path coming from a non-traditional hockey market.

“Because of that, I think he does things his own way.”

Now his way has become the way for others in Arizona to follow.

[tkachuktkaching]

Matthew and Brady on @ The Rink Podcast

Most of what they said bits of it has already come out in previous articles a few weeks back

Brady discussed his summer wedding, his excitement going into the season, the growth of his team and what he learned watching Matthew and the Panthers go on their run to the Stanley Cup Final last season.

Brady : "Just to see the every-day grind of taking care of himself, making sure he's ready for the game, and just as a leader too, taking care of yourself so you're able to demand from the rest because you're doing it right," he said. "I'm definitely ready and hopefully it'll be me in the playoffs soon.

"Seeing what he did created a lot of motivation for me over the summer."

Matthew discussed the broken sternum he sustained during the Stanley Cup Final and the pain he was in, the help he got from his brother at that time, Brady's bachelor party in Miami, and feeling a different vibe in the South Florida market after last season.

"Very different," Matthew said. "A lot more buzz. There's a lot of buzz around every sports team. It's turning into a sports crazy town and that makes it fun. [Soccer star Lionel] Messi coming in makes that much more buzz. The past few years the Dolphins have been great. What us and the Heat did last year really gave a lot of traction for us as a hockey team. So it's pretty cool." via NHL.COM

Listen to Brady from 16.04 Matthew from 40.30

______________________________________________________________

A few added things from Matthew's interview on the podcast some of which we've already heard & posted previously but included here for anyone that missed it first time round.

His injury allowed him to work on his strength & conditioning.

He wishes there was no social media after all the wedding stuff posted online, his family like to have a good time at weddings and doesn't know where people get this stuff (footage that goes viral).

Things Brady is better at than him: a better shot, video games & being a all round better human being than him (but he'll work on that!), Matthew says he himself is a ball buster, Matthew takes the bragging rights when it comes to Golf though he says his Dad is better at chirping and more witty & more funny than him & thinks his dad's game was underappreciated & underrated at the time he played, people realise from Matthew & Brady's game style how good & valuable he was and his dad gets belated recognition which he appreciates.

Says Brady's bachelor party in Miami took a few years off his life!

His summer consisted of the trip to Nashville for the player Awards, laying around in the hotel doing nothing, Bachelor parties, four weddings, and a trip to Montana in August, though he hasn't really done much of anything over the last month.

The Blood vessels and stuff were the the scary part of his injury at the time and half his body felt like it was out here, he knew something wasn't right, he didn't know what it was at the time, until they did his tests the next day. He was in the most pain after winning game three the overtime win. But now he's all good.

It was doctors who gave him the go ahead to do what he could to play just one last game. Despite the serious nature of his injury he would do it all over again if he had the chance.

He's excited to get going for camp & the new season though mentions the missing guys until around Christmas will be a tough ask (Montour & Ekblad) he feels The Panthers have more depth especially with the D this year.

Calls Alex Lyon The Lyon King & Big praise for his (Lyon) & Bob's heroics. How they had to play with only six D & two Goalies with Knight's absence last year.

The goal is to again make the playoffs, and be in the mix he wants to get of to a good start and how it sucks to have to chase for a spot like they had last year.

The Allstar was a good jump start because the Panthers weren't doing well as a team at that point which created a buzz that carried on leading on the cup run.

[senditcolton]

i proudly present: "The Rise and Fall of a Midwest Princess": a moodboard series inspired by Chappell Roan's debut album.

Femininomenon - Jeremy Swayman

Red Wine Supernova - Anthony Beauvillier

After Midnight - Andrei Svechnikov

Coffee - Nico Hischier

Casual - Brady Skjei

Super Graphic Ultra Modern Girl - Tyson Jost

HOT TO GO! - Andrei Svechnikov

My Kink is Karma - Brady Skjei

Picture You - Mat Barzal

Kaleidoscope - Andrei Svechnikov

Pink Pony Club - Pierre-Luc Dubois

Naked in Manhattan - Kreidbanejad

California - Matthew Tkachuk

Guilty Pleasure - Matt Martin

bonus!

Good Luck, Babe! - Brady Skjei

[leafsleclerc]

panthers lost that badly bc matthew tkachuk decided to speak against the leafs and every tongue that rises against them shall fall!

[bropunzeling]

matthew/leon fantasy au marriage of convenience

it's not that leon doesn't know why this has to happen in the abstract. the enemy of my enemy is my friend, and even friendlier when there’s a betrothal contract promising money and soldiers. it all works out on paper.

what doesn't work out on paper is that the man he's supposed to marry is an aggravating bastard.

(figuratively. not literally. if it were literally, perhaps leon could get out of it.)

leon mostly remembers tkachuk from tournaments. he remembers that tkachuk was good, and he wouldn't shut up and leon bested him twice but not a third time.

he didn't realize tkachuk wouldn't shut up all the time. he talks during dinner, and when they are sent to court parties, and when, after someone rats leon out for evading his guards to go riding alone, tkachuk starts joining him. he's so good at needling leon, getting a rise out of him, and even if leon weren't already resentful of the whole betrothal situation he'd certainly start resenting it now that he knows how frustrating and obnoxious tkachuk can be.

there's also the part, though, where --

tkachuk isn't bad looking. when leon bothers to look. he has nice thighs. good hands. he looks especially good on his back in the dirt at swordpoint, chest heaving after leon barely manages to take the match. his hands are very warm when leon offers to help him up.

it would be so much easier to hate this situation if leon didn't also want to fuck his future husband until he can’t speak.

[gaydraisaitl]

A Reunion, a Beginning, and the Thief of Awkward Silences.

Pairing: Mattdrai

3.3k words

Rated E for some sexual content.

AO3 link

–

The air in Sunrise is thick with humidity. It sticks to Leon’s skin and he nearly feels like he’s drowning in it. He’s outside the hotel, wandering the sidewalk, alone in all the ways that matter. Palm trees rise up next to him and he looks up to watch them sway gently with the breeze. It’s late, too late to be awake the night before an afternoon game. It doesn’t matter, he can’t bring himself to sleep anyways. 

There’s something there, deep in the pit of his stomach that’s threatening to bloom. He can’t pinpoint it, except that it started gnawing at him sometime back in July. It’s built steadily since then, leaving him uneasy with no real explaination. 

He stares ahead at the pavement in front of him, lets the sound of the cars wooshing by act as white noise. He closes his eyes, breathes in the air, lets it drown him. 

–

The boys head to the rink early the next day for morning skate. Leon has his hands curled around his coffee, he hasn’t found the energy in himself to speak yet. Connor is side-eyeing him and Leon is pointedly ignoring the looks. He knows he’s grumpy, he didn’t sleep much after he went inside last night, but he must look grumpier than usual because Connor is gentle with him, doesn’t press him for any explanation, just pats his shoulder as he walks by and heads into the locker room. 

The ice in Sunrise, Florida is fine. Leon thinks his skate blades dig into it a bit deeper, but it’s not too hot of a day, and it’s meant to rain later, so he can’t blame the weather. He doesn’t put too much thought into it after his first few laps, just settles into it and muses that the softness is nice, like the ice will forgive him. 

–

It’s in the hall outside of the locker room that Leon sees him. The Rat. For a moment, all his thoughts quiet. Tkachuk has his headphones in and he’s looking down at his phone, that fucking smirk sitting on his face like it’s a permanent fixture. If it were anyone else, he’d say Florida looks good on him. But this is Tkachuk, and Leon doesn’t think those things about him. Never has. 

And the thing is, Leon’s never really allowed himself to. Hasn’t ever really looked at him either. Saw him, sure, but never looked. But Leon is looking now, and that thing that’s meant to be locked in the pit of his stomach is bobbing gently on the surface. 

Tkachuk looks up, he’s right by where Leon is standing in the hall, where he’s meant to be starting his warmup. Leon is not stretching. He is leaning against a wall and looking at Matthew Tkachuk. Tkachuk is looking at him and smiling, and he’s slowing to a stop and Leon’s heart is racing. He’s got nothing to say. 

“Draisaitl.” He quirks an eyebrow as he waits for a response. 

What a bitch. “Tkachuk.” Leon lowers his eyes in some form of intimidation. It doesn’t work out, makes him look more like a wet kitten than anything else. 

Then, from Tkachuk, “Miss me?” He’s wearing that tongue-biting grin like he thinks he’s the funniest guy on earth. 

But Leon can’t be annoyed, can’t be because he’s too busy being consumed by horror. Because the question is meant to be a chirp, meant to be this sarcastic thing that Leon grumbles about and gets under his skin until he can get it out on the ice, but it doesn’t hit like one. It hits Leon in about a million ways besides the one he expected. It hits him in the gut, punches that pit the rest of the way out, flourishes in his mouth like a flower, blooming, reaching its arms wide and open for the taking. He nearly chokes with the thought. 

In non-poetic terms, it hits like a ton of bricks. Because Leon does miss him. And it scares him. More than it should, probably. 

He doesn’t answer. Probably looks like an idiot standing there with his mouth slightly open, in silent ‘oh-moment’ awe. Tkachuk backs off, lets his grin fade to something more cautious. And he says something akin to “See you out there, man.” as he fades out of Leon’s focus. 

Someone else is speaking to him, but Leon feels like he’s underwater, like he’s taken in a lungful of sticky, Sunrise air. It’s nothing, not a thing. It’s not like he loves the guy, he just missed him. Misses him.  

In a small way, it is a relief. A relief to put a name to the something unfurling within him. And in another, larger way, it annoys the hell out of him. He’s annoyed that, somewhere along the line, he’d managed to put some sort of meaning into their on-ice rivalry. And it’s like, a superhero can’t be a hero if there’s no one to fight. In their tension lies something like a bond.

He closes his eyes, clenches his left fist, then his right, breathes out slow. 

He warms up. 

–

The game is intense, the Oilers coming off a loss and hungry for a win. The Panthers know this and they fight just as hard, using the energy of the crowd and the momentum of a 2 game win streak to power them. Leon’s skating is as sharp as it can be but he sprays more snow than usual when he stops hard on the soft ice. 

He tries to drown out the events of the day and just focus on the next play, the next pass, the next line-change, but then he’s on the outskirts of a faceoff and feels someone close. He turns his head and nearly loses his breath. Tkachuk is hovering nearby, chewing his mouthguard, staring straight ahead at the pending faceoff. Leon pulls his own mouthguard back over his teeth, he can’t have Matthew thinking his own habit is some sort of tribute to him. Matthew's eyes flick to him and back away, but it’s enough to knock the sense back into Leon. 

Just in time as he fields a pass from Connor and slaps it straight on net. It’s a close one, resulting in a rebound and a scramble in front of the net, but it doesn’t go in. 

It’s 2-2 nearing the end of the second and Leon has that itch under his skin, the one that Tkachuk was always able to make flare up. So he’s near Tkachuk and he says low, “For the record, I didn’t miss you.” 

Tkachuk barely reacts, just pushes his mouthguard to the side of his mouth and says, “Yeah bud, I figured.” 

And it’s so nonchalant, like there’s nothing that could get under his skin, that Leon’s annoyance boils over into anger. He taps his stick against Tkachuk’s shins, just enough to make him notice. Tkachuk looks back at him, like he’s confused. He tries to get back into the game, but Leon pesters him again, and then suddenly his gloves are off and Leon’s are too and they are going at it. Matthew’s skin feels so good against his knuckles. Like this is something he’s been deprived of for years. It’s almost like he’s been homesick and he’s finally home. 

It’s a bit macabre, to think of the fight as comforting, but in some way it is. His cheek aches from where Matthew’s fist connected with it, and he smiles to himself. He lets himself get skated off to the box, Matthew alongside him, and he glances through the glass. Matthew’s running a hand back through his short curls like he’s frustrated. 

Leon misses his curls. 

Matthew looks over and their eyes lock. 

“What’s the fucking deal, man?” 

Leon shrugs, he’s not going to give him the satisfaction. 

“Oh, shit, you do miss me.” 

He must look like a deer in the headlights for a minute, but he doesn’t respond. 

The sound of a goal horn forces him out of his thoughts and just like that, Florida’s up one as the second period closes out. 

–

The game ends with that same intensity, but despite Leon tying it up in the third, like some poetic justice, Tkachuk gets the game-winner and sends the Oilers back home with another loss. 

Leon gets undressed quickly, ready to hit the showers after post-game media. The questions the media ask are the same as usual, and his answers are the same as usual. “I’m tired of losing momentum,” “we need to do better,” “it’s getting old having to fight our way back.”

The shower is enough to cool him down from where his anger is simmering. He’s feeling a bit better by the time he’s in his suit and heading out of the dressing room. He’s walking solo, not bothering to wait for anyone else, when he sees Tkachuk leaning on the wall outside their locker room, right where Leon had been earlier in the day. 

Leon ducks his head, trying to sneak past, but right when he thinks he’s succeeded, Matthew calls out after him. 

“Hey, Draisaitl!” 

He turns, crosses his arms. 

“Good fight out there, couple of nice hits.” He’s smirking again. 

Leon nods. An affirmation. He waits a moment to see if Tkachuk will speak again, but he’s just standing, staring calmly at Leon as if he knows him. 

Leon shifts on his feet. “So…”

And Tkachuk says “Are y’all staying the night?” 

Leon doesn’t know where this conversation is headed. 

“Yeah. Think they’re gonna let us have ‘beach day’ tomorrow.” Leon lets himself smile a little. 

Matthew pushes off the wall then, walks into Draisaitl’s space, and says, “You got anywhere to be tonight?” 

Leon’s breath hitches, he’s got no clue where the fuck this is coming from, but he feels himself saying “No.” 

“Good.” 

“Yeah?” 

And then Matthew puts his hands in his pockets and starts walking down the hallway. Leon’s left standing in place, not sure what’s expected of him. Was that an invitation? Was it another way for Tkachuk to make fun of him for having no plans on a Saturday night in Florida? Was it some sort of chirp that flew way over his head? 

All those questions snap away when Matthew calls over his shoulder, “Are you coming?” 

Leon scrambles to follow. 

–

Leon doesn’t ask questions when he’s sitting quietly in the passenger seat of Matthew’s car. 

He looks out at the blur of green that zips past the window. 

There’s some sort of twangy country song playing low on the radio, crackling ever so often like the radio isn’t really tuned to the right station. 

Matthew’s tapping his fingers against the steering wheel to the tune. 

Leon doesn’t know when he gave his brain permission to think of him as Matthew, not Tkachuk. 

Nothing makes sense right now, so he decides to ignore the thought. 

They pull up into a concrete driveway to a big house. It’s nice, Florida nice, and white with pillars framing the front porch. There’s green grass all around the front yard, interspersed with some palms. 

Matthew gets out of the car and Leon supposes that this is his cue to follow. 

He feels like he’s stuck in a haze, unsure about everything. 

He follows Tkachuk in through the front door, toes off his shoes, appreciates the air conditioning as a nice contrast to the wet, muggy air outside. 

Tkachuk hasn’t said anything so Leon braves it and gives in, “What am I doing here, Tkachuk?” 

He sees his fist curl as he sets his car keys on the table near the front entrance. He feels further away now than he’s been all day.  

He doesn’t face Leon when he says, “You missed me.” 

And it’s not a question, but a statement that needs reinforcement. Leon decides if he should do so. It would probably be easier to say he hasn’t missed him, easier to ask if he’s here to fight, but he can’t bring himself to do either. 

Instead, against all his better judgements he says, “Yeah.” 

Matthew’s head hangs. Leon can see his mood in the tense hold of his shoulders. 

He takes a few steps closer. 

“I have. Missed you, I mean. I…I didn’t realize-”

He pauses when he hears Matthew’s sharp inhale. 

He reaches out a hand, he feels possessed when it lands gently on Matthew’s shoulder. “Are you-”

He doesn’t finish his sentence because Matthew is turning around and framing Leon’s face with his hands and pulling him into a kiss. Matthew’s thumb is pressing into the bruise forming there from the punch earlier. His lips are soft and welcoming, and Leon can’t help but melt into them. It’s horrible, it’s wonderful, it’s– oh god. 

Leon pulls back abruptly. Fuck. Fuck. What the fuck. 

He’s breathing hard, staring down Tkachuk, who’s doing the same to him. He’s not backing down so Leon won’t either. If this is another challenge that Leon has to face, then so be it. 

A pause. 

Then Leon’s pressing Matthew back into the entry table behind him and Matthew groans into his mouth, some mixture of pain and pleasure from being pushed into an uncomfortable position. He goes easy, pliant, and Leon lets his hands slide gently to his hips. 

His hands untuck his dress shirt and find their way to his waist. Matthew is lean, and his skin is warm, like he’s captured the Florida sun underneath it. Leon keeps kissing, feels the scrape of Matthew's stubble against his chin, and sighs at the feeling. 

And then Matthew is pushing him away and unbuttoning his shirt. He walks away, and Leon follows like a lost puppy. He loses his jacket somewhere along the way, and then Matthew is pressing him against the beige wall of his room. He kisses along Leon’s jaw, nips lightly at his earlobe, and then moves down to his neck. 

Leon is just barely able to get out a plea for no visible marks before Matthew drops to his knees like this is something he’s been wanting for years. 

What a sight. Matthew Tkachuk on his knees in front of him. Eager, quiet, ready. Leon wishes he still had his curls. He says as much out loud. 

“Didn’t know you paid that much attention to my hair.” 

Leon lets out a breath, “Only wish I could pull it.” 

That shuts Matthew up and Leon watches as his skin flushes pink all the way down to his chest. My god, he looks pretty in pink. 

And then, showing no mercy, He unzips Leon’s slacks, and unbuttons them at the top. He pushes them down, and the air conditioning is cold on his exposed thighs. It’s a relief Leon hadn't been expecting. He’s not sure he even knew he was hard, but the cool air helps to relieve a bit of the pressure. 

And then it’s back as Matthew mouths at Leon’s cock through the fabric of his briefs. Leon curses into the back of his hand. He doesn’t want to give Matthew the satisfaction that he’s won this round. Leon’s still not even sure what game they’re playing. 

As Matthew continues to tease him, Leon thinks back to all the times they’ve met before. Could he have had this then? Was this an option? Has it always been there? 

He doesn’t have time to answer his own questions because suddenly, his cock is surrounded by the warm wetness of Matthew’s mouth. He looks down, and has to look away when he takes in the sight. Fuck. He looks so good with a cock in his mouth. Like all the times he was chewing on his mouthguard he was just trying to get Leon to look at his lips and fantasize this. And Leon hadn’t or hadn’t consciously, but now, oh my god, he’ll never be able to get the image out of his head. 

Matthew’s tongue is working overtime, like this is a play he’s mapped out specifically to break Leon down. Like he somehow knows the exact sensitive spots on Leon’s body, like he’s been practicing for him. 

As if in denial, Leon finally brings his hands down to Matthew’s hair, brushes his fingers through it like the curls are still long and asking to be pulled. 

He feels the vibrations of Matthew’s moan on the tip of his dick. 

And then, like Matthew is something precious, he’s pushing his hair back and just…looking. Matthew is blinking up at him, doe-eyed, wet lashes blinking wide. His mouth is working slowly along Leon’s length and Leon feels it through to his toes. He’s not supposed to be feeling this. Now with him. 

And perhaps it is the build-up to this all, the rivalry, the fights, the smiles after a goal at the All-Star game, or perhaps it is the hand that comes up to press on his tummy, but Leon is coming without any warning, staring into Matthew’s eyes, desperate. 

Matthew is good and swallows his come. Leon lets go of his head and lets his eyes drift up to the ceiling. He’s panting from the intensity. 

“Warn a guy next time.” 

“You liked it.” Leon scoffs. 

He brings himself to look down again, in time to see Matthew looking bashfully to his own lap, speaking a soft “Yeah.” 

Leon lets his hand wander to Matthew's chin to draw his face upwards.

“You were so good.” He sees the shiver that runs its way through Matthew’s body, “Let me return the favor.” Matthew averts his eyes at this, and that’s when Leon notices the dark spot at the front of his slacks. 

“Did you…” 

“Yes.” He sounds ashamed. 

“Oh my god, Matthew, that’s so fucking hot.” He pulls Matthew up to him and kisses him, a fire burns between them. 

It’s quiet when they pull back, sometime later. Leon’s lips are swollen. He runs his thumb along Matthew’s, who nips the tip playfully. 

“I should go.” 

Matthew nods in agreement. Leon needs to get back to the team, they have a dinner planned in about an hour that he needs to get ready for. Leon cleans himself up in Matthew’s bathroom, lets cold water flush over his face until he looks somewhat normal. He brings Matthew a warm washcloth. He doesn’t know if he uses it. 

He takes his time heading to the door, picking up the jacket he dropped enroute to the bedroom. He hears Matthew’s feet patter behind him. 

When Leon reaches the door and slips on his shoes, he finally lets himself look back. 

Matthew is leaning one shoulder against the wall of the entry, arms crossed. He looks loose and content. There’s something deeper in his eyes that Leon ignores. 

“Can I…uh…get a ride?” 

Matthew’s eyes flicker to the door and back to Leon. 

He shrugs and slips on some flip-flops. 

The ride back to the hotel is quiet. They aren’t good at small talk, apparently. Leon can’t stop playing the situation over in his head. He looks over to Matthew, and rolls his eyes internally. He’s in his red Panther’s shirt, the one with the crude neck cut out of it. It annoys Leon. Mainly because the edge of his collarbone is exposed and Leon thinks about how pretty a hickey would look there. 

He lets himself think about it. 

Then, “We’re here.” 

Leon looks through the windshield and sees the hotel rise ahead of them. 

“Thank you. For the ride.” 

Matthew quirks a smile. 

“You gonna miss me?” 

Leon doesn’t want to nod, but his body betrays him and gives a single, stilted one. 

Matthew breathes slow, “Yeah. Me too.” 

Matthew looks vulnerable like this, soft and rumpled and wrecked. Leon ignores it. 

He nods again and climbs out of the car. He doesn’t look back until Matthew is too far away to notice. 

[astronicht]

ϟ for Leon making Matthew a sandwich in mosquito

★ and/or ▵ for die verwandlung

(I've just reread both and GAH, I love them so, great combo of unhinged and tenderhorny!)

(for this fic ask game)

ϟ tell me what moment/scene in [Mosquito] made you sicko in the window.jpg to read and i’ll tell you which scene made me feel that way to write

Oh man thank you!! that sandwich was not planned at all, that just suddenly needed to happen in the narrative and then came out of nowhere. I enjoyed writing it a lot! For me the sicko moments were in many ways endless -- I've rarely written something that was just one after another like that, haha, that fic was the best kind of indulgence. But, absolutely one billion percent the thing I wrote that was most feral were the half-asleep scenes. (nsfw + omegaverse under cut)

Starting with the fleshlight scene, not only for the sex but for that feeling of the middle of the night, awake in bed next to someone who needs something. The deep-night scenes are a lot of what I was trying to say in the fic, and a lot of what I was trying to say was Sicko Moment. I love the intimacy; I personally attach a lot of feelings about queerness to those moments. Also they were where I let myself let them just get weird. "It's the middle of the night and we're exhausted who cares anymore" meets "it's the middle of the night and it is imperative that we, two soft animals, help each other out until the sun comes up". Again I just liked writing the sex. And the exhaustion. And the joke about Leon's phone password being his dog's name.

So about from this:

"Matthew’s little gasp is as relieved as it is horny, Leon things blurrily. Twenty floors down he can hear the faintest traffic noise, maybe. The slightest sound of wind between tall buildings. Matthew moans, strung out and wanting in the dark, but with that tinge of relief. Leon is giving him that relief, even if it’s just holding a sex toy steady for him to fuck into.

Leon nudges until Matthew’s thighs give up the battle and he falls on his side facing Leon, quads shaking faintly, fucking up into the fleshlight now held between them. The slick noises are louder. It’s fine. It’s just Matthew in rut, fucking because he needs to fuck at 2:47 in the morning. The scent of him rises, not as sharp as it was when they started, still bitter but filling out with something warmer. Cooking sherry hot in the pan.

A need being met is not something Leon associates with intimacy, but here he is holding a sex toy steady for a person he barely knows, really, and a need being met feels like something important, more important than he realized. They’re breathing on each other’s faces. It is such an ungodly hour. Leon doesn’t tip his head away. He breathes in Matthew’s air, and lets Matthew breathe in his."

To about this:

"Leon wakes once more needing water. He can’t find the glass with his hand and turns on the bedside lamp. Matthew Tkachuk blinks at him like a night creature in a flashlight beam, wide-pupiled, nestled in a tangle of pillow, sex towel, comforter. Leon spies the condom wrapper they lost and Matthew patted around for for five full minutes crushed between the pillows. Leon gets his water and shivers. He doesn’t mind winter-cold rooms. Matthew’s eyes remain kitten-slits in the light. He’s finally taken his shirt off. Leon drinks again. Winter feels like an animal crouched around them, not malicious, just big. The bed feels like a den.

Matthew at first seemed to be totally still but his hand is moving— around his dick, Leon realizes with a sympathetic sigh. He thinks about giving a hand, having Matthew up against his own chest, taking his cock in his grip. He wants it, but he can’t muster the energy to even sit up. Instead Leon leans in and kisses him once to get his attention— and he has it right away, along with a tired nibble, somehow still oddly sweet. Leon scoots down the bed and lays his head on Matthew’s thigh. His hair flops awkwardly across Matthew’s hip. He closes his own eyes and mouths at Matthew’s balls, the base of Matthew’s dick, the stray knuckle of Matthew’s hand on a downstroke.

Matthew watches him for a long moment before he reaches over and turns off the light.

The after-image of him sits in Leon for just a minute or so. An unflattering view, chin and chest, balls, the fine hair on his thighs, the softness of his belly and the awful way Leon wants to bite him there. Leon wonders briefly, a strange thing: what would he look like in summer, somewhere, sweating and mosquito-bitten."

★ what was the scene you most wanted to write in [die verwandlung]? what was the hardest scene to write?

I have never, ever written something faster or more easily than this fic. It was a miracle and I knew it even as it happened. If I remember correctly I really wanted rat!matthew to eat boba. I spent hours on r/rats trying to figure out if boba would be poisonous to rats.

I think the hard part was when Leon IS feeding a rat boba and the emotional plot started getting stuck-- like ok how do you end this! and then Leon is actually angry and upset and worried! Why! I didn't start writing it thinking that they had a history. But when Leon finally was like "I've seen you naked, calm down" re: rat stuff, it all came together. Hookup exes who Care, all along!

▵ pick a fic (die verwandlung again!) and I’ll tell you my favorite line

The title. I thought I was so fucking funny. Within six months I was having to shittily learn German for work and regretting all my choices. rereading this i can see two German-related errors. I suffer.

That, or

The rat manages to type ☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️ and hit send.

[for-whom-the-bell-tolled]

NHL players and the song from The Sunset Tree that they remind me of and why

You or Your Memory- Brock Boeser (I know almost nothing about him but I know he has sad eyes)

Broom People- Brandon Tanev (idk I feel like he seems like a guy who just appreciates the beauty in the mundane parts of life)

This Year- Kris Letang (masterton finalist for a reason)

Dilaudid- Dylan Strome (this song feels like a dark goodbye to someone who vanished from your life quickly. Also the “now you see me, now you don’t/now you say you love me, pretty soon you won’t” line and how people called him a bust bc Arizona screwed him over with development)

Dance Music- any old NHLer who’s on the brink of retirement and hasn’t won a cup (I’m aware this song is about substance abuse but the whole second verse feels like something just put of reach that will be crushing if you don’t get)

Dinu Lipatti’s Bones- Matt Murray (Dinu Lipatti was a beautiful pianist who died at 33 of lymphoma, and Muzz was such a star but has been plagued by injuries ever since the back to back cups)

Up the Wolves- Jeff Carter (it’s a song about realizing that revenge isn’t worth it and how free that makes you feel. and back in like 2010 he took less money and signed an 11 year deal with the flyers… and a few days before his NTC clause was set to kick in they traded him to Columbus. Worked out for him tho bc he basically forced management to trade him and he won two cups in LA)

Lion’s Teeth- Matthew Tkachuk (a song about a power struggle. guy with daddy issues. need I go on?)

Hast Thou Considered the Tetrapod?- Artemi Panarin (I’m not touching the actual meaning of the song but the line “rise above my station” basically means “to reach a higher social position than you were born into” and Panarin went from being an undrafted free agent to basically being handed a blank check by NYR)

Magpie- Jonathan Quick (literally just the last line “and remember what we had here when there was something left to save” and how LA dumped him to Columbus after everything he did for the franchise and in what is probably his last year before retiring)

Song for Dennis Brown- every NHLer who had a family member who also played and was very good (even tho this song is basically a story, there’s still the element of “I’m almost destined to not live up to them” hidden in it)

Love Love Love- John Tavares (isles fans hate him bc back in 2018 it was a contract year and he said he wanted to stay with NYI so they didn’t trade him at the deadline but then he signed in Toronto. The line “some things you do for money and some you do for love love love” just makes me think of that picture of JT in his leaf’s pajamas when he was a kid)

Pale Green Things- any undrafted played but mainly Sergei Bobrovsky (moving past what the song is actually about, the line about “cracking asphalt underfoot, coming up through the cracks, pale green things” just makes me think about all the players who had all the odds against them but went on to be great. Specifically Bob bc he was an undrafted player, and now twice in his career he did the impossible and beat a team that made history. First Tampa, and now most recently the bruins… and he did it down 3-1 in the series)

[petterssonshootsandscores]

would be really disrespectful of the hockey gods to watch brady tkachuk and his little band of sens rise (olivia and anna melnyk girlbossed and got pierre dorian to do his job to build the sens to be playoff contention) while matthew goes through his quarter life crisis (turning 25 and might lose johnny hockey) 

[raysofcrosby]

all rise for the main character of the nhl, matthew tkachuk; what an absolute icon (bitchy, beauty, and brawn)

“bitchy, beauty and brawn” IM SCREAMING BC SO TRUE