#matthew tkachuk and reader | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

holy-puckslibrary · 1 year ago

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─ 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐢𝐭'𝐬 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐧𝐢𝐜.

pairing(s) — fwb!MATTHEW TKACHUK x reader wc — 3.2k synopsis — best not-boyfriend boyfriend ever! (read the request here) note — bestie, your brain? marvelous! this was an absolute joy to write, and i hope this captures your vision!!! thank you for the request <3

main masterlist

content warnings under the cut.

cw — hints of a debut-inspired ensemble; complicated, grossly intimate situationship + emotional constipation; angst (not really) to fluffy fluffy; tswizzle references; suggestive section: "heavy petting" but nothing explicit / fade to black; brief alcohol mention + consumption; brief mention of food (no specifics); and ~emotions~

I. it’s getting so much clearer…

Matthew regrets making you a key.

Majorly.

If he’d known the can of worms he was opening when he unceremoniously dropped them in your lap one night, he would’ve listened to his brother; you don’t give girlfriend privileges to women who aren’t your girlfriend. It only leads to hurt feelings, broken console controllers, and unnecessary trouble.

However, it’s highly unlikely this is the “trouble” to which Brady was referring.

Rooted in the entryway, he surveys the damage.

Beads of all shapes, sizes, and colors sit in a sea of jars. Some have spilled out under the coffee table and couch, others have made it all the way into the kitchen. Knotted balls of elastic are sprinkled throughout the chaos, as are multiple pairs of scissors, skeins of embroidery floss, and shards of construction paper. There are markers everywhere, but for some unknown reason, the crayons and sticker sheets are in nice, neat piles. A white feather boa is draped over the entertainment center and there’s a pink one curled by his feet. And, in the eye of the storm, is an anxious lump frantically stringing together DIY jewelry and muttering along to the megamix blaring through the room; he doubts you even heard him come home.

“Sweetheart, is there a reason it looks like a craft store threw up everywhere?” Matthew shouts as he gingerly braves the hurricane.

Something crunches under his shoe, and from the sound alone, he knows it would’ve been worse than stepping on a Lego if his feet were bare.

He also knows that if the music were even a decibel lower, you would be pissed beyond belief. How dare he move freely through his own home without first checking for rogue pieces of plastic? His ears are ringing, but he’s grateful for it. From many years of mistakes and misadventures, he's learned you won’t get on top if you’re mad, regardless of how much groveling he does. And he's got one foot in the doghouse after last weekend as it is.

“T-minus two days ’til Taylor, Matthew,” you grumble from the floor. “What do you think?”

You’ve been at this for weeks. It gets worse the closer the concert gets. The mess and your mood.

Matthew isn’t stupid, and he knows you better than he lets on. You panic under the weight of your own (often unrealistic) expectations. You need everything to be perfect, or the entire world crumbles. This, Night One of the Florida dates of the Eras Tour, is, understandably, no exception. If anything, the pressure’s dialed up to eleven.

In stressing over every little detail, you’ve made yourself miserable. Watching you unravel makes his chest feel strange.

You won’t ask for help. You don’t want it, either.

But, he can’t let you flounder. For his own sanity, he can’t do it. And he does care about you. Maybe not in the way everyone assumes or hopes, but he does. He’d do almost anything to lighten your load.

Yet, Matthew treads lightly. If he’s too forthcoming, you could get the wrong idea. He doesn’t want to spook you, and he can’t have any wires getting crossed. What’s so good about your situation is how markedly uncomplicated it’s been. He refuses to be the one who fucks it up for everyone.

So, he does what he can, and he does it without making a big deal about it.

After a quick shower and a change of clothes, he sinks down onto the floor beside you. You’re perched on one of the obnoxious throw pillows you insisted he order to “spruce up” the space and make it look less “bachelor pad-y." As if that’s not exactly what it is. He takes this as rare permission to do the same, placing one under his hips and cuddling another to his chest as he stretches out on his stomach, phone in hand.

Well, as stretched as a person can be in the middle of an obstacle course.

Between the second play of “cowboy like me” and the third of “Tim McGraw,” his various feeds dry up, and he’s spammed his contacts into oblivion. You're still chugging along, like a Sad Girl automaton locked in an endless glittery assembly line.

At one point, you murmur, “Give me your wrist."

And he does.

Matthew’s taken aback when you loop elastic around it to get a measurement.

He’s confused, but not for the reason one might assume. He’s painfully familiar with the friendship bracelet phenomenon and the giddy exchanges, having been force-fed hours' worth of tour content over the past year, but he never thought you’d rope him into it.

The buzz under his skin is oddly auspicious, watching you clip the appropriate length before reaching for the pile laid out near his head.

It’s not long before you make the same request again. However, this time, you slide on a custom creation. You fiddle with it for a moment, then turn back to your station to begin the next one on the list.

“And in which era does she cosplay as a camp counselor?” Matthew teases as he thumbs the letter beads.

They spell out a moniker he’d honestly find offensive if you hadn’t looped the song one too many times. He wonders if you’ve made yourself the matching one.

You emit a sound that haunts his nightmares and side-eye him in a way that would’ve made a lesser man disintegrate.

“If you don’t want it, give it back so I can give it to someone who will appreciate my time and effort,” you bite with your hand outstretched, palm up and open expectantly.

Matthew shoves it away, suddenly defensive. “I never said that.”

The sun slips behind the fence an hour later, and the sky bathes the house in purple-pink hues. As he gathers ingredients in the kitchen, Matthew watches the slow-moving clouds absentmindedly. He hasn't felt this content in a while.

Arms full, he wades through the arts and crafts on the way to the backyard.

You’re still in the den, still hunched over in the same place he found you in. He shakes his head when he passes you, knowing he’s got an hour (at least) moonlighting as a masseuse in his future.

You don’t startle or acknowledge him until the grill set you bought for his birthday clatters to the floor.

“Why’re there two cowboy hats getting glitter all over my patio?” he asks, despite knowing the answer. And hating it. Vehemently.

You fix him with an unamused glare. Your brow quirks, and your hands still. Then, you blink at him very slowly. Like he’s an idiot. Like he just asked a stupid question—because he did.

Matthew’s head wags so intensely that his neck cracks.

“Oh, hell no.”

II. it’s coming undone…

Matthew scowls at his reflection.

“—looks so fucking stupid.”

He can’t tell if he looks worse with or without the fur-trimmed, shimmery cowboy hat. And, honestly, it's a little distressing. After temporarily ditching it, he tugs at his curls. Then, the hem of the jersey.

Resigned, he reaches across the bed for the homemade accessory. Wearing it will make you smile—and it gives his dignity something to hide behind.

Twitter’s going to have a fucking field day.

Your panicked voice spills out from the hotel bathroom, “Really?”

“Of course, it fucking do—”

His tirade of vanity grinds to a screeching halt at the sight of you, backlit and wilting.

“That’s not—ah, fuck.” Matthew digs the heels of his palms into his eyes. “What I meant was—me, it looks stupid on me. Not you. On you, it looks… It looks…”

“It looks, what?”

It looks like he’s glad none of your friends were available because he won’t have to pretend you’re less than you are.

No lectures, no goading, no scrutiny. Just you.

“Right.” That’s the word he settles for. “It looks right.”

The emphasis chips away at what little believability the underwhelming affirmation had. That much is evident from the insecurity bleeding through your makeup.

“Right,” you parrot. Skeptically, you drag out the vowel long enough that it disappears into the bathroom with you.

Before the door clicks shut, Matthew’s already berating himself for whatever just happened. For acting like a complete doofus with a foot shoved down his throat.

His mind is as quick as his tongue is sharp. He’s got confidence for days and a cocky demeanor primed and on-call, one that most women find endearing. Yourself included. He’s never had an issue dishing out pretty words or flirting before, especially not with you.

With you, banter came easy. Sweet or salacious, it didn’t matter. The bob and weave, from platonic chatter to something charged and suggestive, is effortless. And it’s been that way for as long as he can remember. It's innate. He should be able to uphold his reputation in his sleep.

What’s gotten into him?

(You’d say the power of Taylor Swift, or some shit. Which is why he doesn’t open the floor for discussion. Among other reasons.)

Matthew makes the executive decision to put things right. To redeem himself, to feel more like himself.

His palms are hot and tingling as he sets off to do what he does best. Something fool-proof. Something that’ll erase the past ten minutes from the collective consciousness. Something to scratch an itch...

He won't make it through three and a half hours without catching a public indecency charge.

Not with you looking like that.

“I was thinking,” Matthew trails off as he comes up behind you in the en suite bathroom. His hands land on the counter, one on either side of you. “We should fool around a little bit before we leave.”

With his chest flush to your back and his chin propped on your shoulder, he blatantly checks you out.

You, albeit begrudgingly, find it flattering. On principle, you roll your eyes.

You snort. “Funny."

Sarcasm pinches his face as he unintelligibly mocks you.

Whatever witty retort he had died on his tongue when you lean forward to put some eyeliner in your waterline, inadvertently pushing the curve of your backside right into his growing bulge.

Matthew turns you to face him without warning.

The kohl pencil goes flying, dotting the pristine space as it tumbles to the floor. Its final resting place is unknown; you’ll follow the smudge-crumbs later.

Later, when he doesn’t have you pressed tight between the harsh edge of the counter and his chest.

Later, when the dull ache in your arched back dissipates.

Later, when his attraction isn’t so painfully tangible.

Later, when he isn’t looking at you the way he is now.

You’re sinking in a shade of blue you don’t recognize. It’s stormy, vast and disquieting. Like any collision, you’re unable to tear your eyes away even though you know you should. It betrays an aura of foreboding, yet somehow, Matthew’s charged gaze carries a soothing effect. It's hypnotic in an stomach-twisting way.

“I’m not laughing, sweetheart.” He breathes the words through the slight part in your lips, his voice rich and thick like honey.

“W-We need to be quick—”

Matthew buries his face in the sweet-smelling crook of your neck. Intent on shutting you up, he succeeds with infuriating ease once he’s latched onto your throat. He nips and sucks whenever you protest, and soon, you don’t even bother trying anymore.

Why lie and deny when what you want feels this fucking good?

When your nails dig impatient little half-moons into his forearms, Matthew bares his teeth with a triumphant hiss.

He grins against your skin, humming atop your erratic pulse.

“Better hurry up and spread ‘em, then.”

Matthew’s between your dangling boots as soon as you’ve hoisted yourself onto the counter. Kneading the soft skin of your thighs, inching up and in with eager hands, he doesn’t slow or stop until the white Self-Titled sundress is bunched up in the hinge of your hips.

“That’s my girl.”

III. it’s delicate…

“All Tequila, No Crime” isn’t as diabolical of a cocktail as it sounds.

Spending $100+ to taste test it and three other signature mixed drinks is.

A robbery, if you ask him.

What's downright criminal, though, is your inability to finish a single one. A “Last Great American G&T” with a few sips missing, a half-finished “Midnight Mule,” and a watered-down “Blue Debut” sit abandoned amongst an assortment of sweet treats and small bites.

As he waits for what he ordered, Matthew picks at the vibrant fruit salad. He’s about to pluck a honeydew star from the pile stacked high in a bowl fashioned from a watermelon rind when the back of his neck prickles.

“Knock it off.”

You blink, bemused.

Matthew, having watched your reaction in a reflection, rolls his eyes.

Back still to you, he clarifies. “You promised you wouldn’t make this a whole thing.”

“I'm not.”

“You've never been a good liar.”

“Isn't that a good thing?” you deflect.

You turn your attention back to the lively stadium, watching as it fills with laughter and anticipation. You're hoping he'll take the hint and drop it, that he won't pull the night apart at the seams.

He abandons the sprawling buffet table in favor of the plush recliner beside yours. Once settled, Matthew slides a plate of your favorites across the small table between you.

“Don't change the subject.”

The cement under your boots makes for a captive audience as you sail into dicey weather. “I know—I know what I said, and I'm really trying my best, but can you blame me? I mean, c’mon, Matty. Look where we are.”

“A Taylor Swift concert?” Matthew does what he does best.

You know his tells and his tricks. You indulge neither.

“My first Taylor Swift concert. Ever. I came out of The Queue From Hell empty-handed and shit out of luck, yet here we are. The Eras Tour. And not way up the nosebleeds or side-stage with an obstructed view. A suite. A private, fifteen-person suite—for just us. You did that.”

Matthew shifts uncomfortably. He scratches the shadow clinging to his jaw. He looks everywhere, at everything. Everything except you.

“So?”

The probe is firm yet reluctant but not inherently dismissive.

“So,” you heave a labored sigh of unease. “—so, how could I not? This ‘whole thing’ is the kindest, most thoughtful gesture anyone’s ever done for me. It means the absolute world, and I know you know that.”

A thick, paralyzing quiet descends on the balcony.

He does know that, which is what makes it so terrible. He knows, he knows, he knows. Matthew knows; he wishes he didn’t. For years, he successfully kept it at bay because… because you can’t just un-know something like that. Even entertaining the thought felt too big a risk. It jeopardizes the delicate peace only willful ignorance can safeguard.

“Alright, alright. Jesus, sweetheart. Can't have you emptying the tank before the show even starts,” Matthew teases as he thumbs the tears away. “How d’ya know I didn’t pull some strings just to put an end to your perpetual pity party?”

He’s trying to lighten the mood. Hoping to inch away from the emotionally dense zone of uncharted territory, hoping you’ll have mercy—or take pity—on him and his plight of avoidance.

And you do.

Ever the benevolent people-pleaser.

You take your foot off the gas. You retreat to the status quo. You yield, but for a good cause.

Good and right aren’t synonymous. And we can’t will them to be. So, instead, we choose our battles and bide our time.

There’s no reason to rain on tonight’s parade.

“Thank you,” you acquiesce.

Mathew smiles.

This ceasefire, this tacit truce, is as fragile as rice paper. It feels as though, if someone pushed too hard from either side, they'd go right through it unchallenged. But, for now, it's enough.

He takes your hand and squeezes. “And for the hundredth time, you’re welcome.”

IV. it’s been a long time coming…

He gets it now.

Truthfully, he understood after the very first bridge of the night. There’s just something about the intimacy of the spectacle; it's… indescribable. With thousands from all walks of life gathered in a single stadium to celebrate nearly two decades of singing, crying, and growing up together, it wasn't difficult to get swept up in the magic.

For someone who’d consider themselves fan-adjacent at best, he wasn’t expecting to feel much of anything, let alone goosebumps, misty-eyed.

He can’t even imagine how extraordinarily special it must’ve been for you, a lifelong fan, to partake in the world’s most cinematic sing-along. To luck out with your opener of choice, to be surprised with your favorite song during the acoustic set—you could probably die happy. Matthew can still feel your tear-streaked cheek against his shoulder and your shakey hand clasped in his. And he’ll remember the warmth of your joy for the rest of his life.

He, however, doesn't have to imagine how much the experience took out of you.

“Hey, hey. Don’t pass out on me yet, sweetheart.”

You’re one minute into a five-minute Uber ride, and he’s already had to nudge you twice.

Curled against the cool window like a cat, you groggily protest, “I’m not. My mind is alive, promise.”

He snorts. “Then why’re your eyes shut?”

“They aren’t!”

They absolutely are.

Matthew tugs you across his lap with a smile pulling at his cheeks.

“Sounds like you need to get yours checked, Matthew Brendan,” you quip into his chest before drowning the backseat in delirious giggles.

In the golden glow of the streetlamps, his smirk rests against your temple.

Here is the moment. There have been hundreds like it in the years since you met. Lighthearted banter and late night laughter spill over into the early morning hours, all of it utter nonsense he wouldn’t trade for anything. It should be perfectly ordinary, but it's music to his ears.

The cowboy boots he swore he wouldn’t carry home rest against his similarly sore calves. The ziplock bag, once bursting at the seams with bracelets, is empty and folded in his back pocket, and his arm is full from elbow to wrist. The glitter he contested clings to him like a second skin, there to stay.

And he doesn’t hate it.

💌 if you liked it, pls lmk! 💌

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brockkboeserr · 1 year ago

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last night (blame it on the vodka)

They say drunk words are sober thoughts, so what are drunken confessions of love?

pairing: matthew tkachuk x reader

warnings: a pinch of angst, swearing, alcohol (and its after effects - aka a fat hangover and a twinge of regret)

word count: 3k

a/n: matthew tkachuk is a stanley cup champion!!!! you know i had to do it to ya. ps this idea was formed a million years ago (pre trade) therefore I have simply plucked Cowboys from downtown Calgary to downtown Miami deal with it. big ups to @wyattjohnston for the edit and for outsourcing my geography queries. title and inspo from the song by the same name by lucy spraggan. enjoy my loves and let me know what you think <3

You’re never drinking again.

It’s a mantra you repeat all morning, from the minute you’re dragged back into consciousness by the sound of construction down on the street, to when you finally pull from bed to dramatically slam the window shut, to the one-two-three-four times you end up with your knees on the bathroom mat and your head in the toilet.

You’re far too old to be drinking like that on a nearly empty stomach, far too old to be drinking like that regardless. Okay, maybe that’s a tad dramatic, being a mostly single twenty something year old in downtown Miami. Mostly single in that every time you drank, your painfully unrequited crush on probably the one guy in all of Florida you couldn’t pull came out with a vengeance.

Looking at your phone and all the unread texts you groan, realizing that the little girl who used to write ‘Mrs. Matty Tkachuk’ in all of her diaries came out in full force last night.

Hyping yourself up, you type out and forward the message ‘What the hell did I do last night?’ to everyone you remember being out with you. Everyone, that is, except Matty himself.

Brielle: Last night you told him you loved him

It’s not atypical for you to be out on a Friday night, a group of your closest girlfriends at your side. Neither is it uncommon for the night to begin with the three of you taking thirst traps for the ‘gram before taking shots as the Uber pulls up.

Cowboys is a favorite place, certainly not for the high class atmosphere or clientele—of which you’ll find neither. But who doesn’t love to let loose in an environment where the city boys of Miami don Stetsons and large belt buckles? And okay, maybe you’re a bit of a gambler—though, with money or love as the currency depends on the night.

Tonight you’re pressing your luck, drinking enough to dull the edge and to keep you from overreacting to Matt’s response to the aforementioned Insta story. It’s a simple message, a string of fire emojis, but you’d be lying if you said you didn’t refresh the app until his username appeared as ‘Seen’ under the story.

You don’t want to think it means anything when he shows up with a couple of his boys an hour into dancing with the girls. Cowboys is a popular place, evidenced by the crowded dance floor and the complete lack of personal space. So what Brielle was wearing a cowboy hat in one of the pictures and so what everyone and their mother knew this bar was your favorite place to spend Friday nights and so what you’d even tagged the place in a boomerang of your shot glasses five minutes after arriving.

It didn’t mean anything—doesn’t mean anything.

That thought doesn’t stop you from abandoning your friends the second you see the all too familiar head of curls.

“Hi Matty,” you greet, stumbling into him and sliding your hand around his waist. He feels solid beneath your fingertips, warm and secure and everything you’ve ever wanted. His resulting grin could build and topple empires, you think.

But then reality all comes crashing down again as he slides his arm around your shoulders in turn, squeezing gently as he replies, “Hey, Kid.”

It’s the gentle reminder you’ll never be anything more than the annoying girl next door who used to follow him and Brady around like they were the greatest thing in the world.

If he notices the way you deflate, he doesn’t say a word, though his hand rubs comfortingly at your shoulder for a moment until you can’t stand it anymore and go back to your friends and their sympathetic faces.

The thing about you when you drink is the filter comes off. Normally you play your cards close to your chest, making it very hard for others to know your emotions. But a little vodka and you’re suddenly ready to face your feelings head on.

It starts off innocently enough, an over exaggerated ‘I love you!’ when he brings you a drink without you having to ask. But then Georgia is all but holding you down to prevent you from running after him and professing your love. She doesn’t succeed, what with you running into his arms midway through the night anyway.

He has that same grin on his face as you tell him how much you love him, and though he doesn’t mean it the way you do, he tells you that he loves you too just the same.

Though you haven’t eaten in at least twelve hours, the thought of food makes your already upset stomach turn some more, and so you settle for making a cup of tea to get some fluids back in you.

Not quite ready to face the music in terms of what your alcohol fueled self did last night, you ignore the unread messages to flip through some Insta stories. There’s cute pics and videos of you and your girls, you screen shot your favorites and tap away until you pause on a boomerang of Georgia and Brielle. It’s cute enough if you ignore the small stain by Bri’s collar where she’d lost some of the second tequila shot. Oh, and you looking up at Matthew with the most pathetic lovesick look on your face in the background.

It unsettles your stomach further, and so you abandon all plans of tea—turning off your kettle and grabbing the water bottle you’d prepped for yourself before you left last night and taking up residence on the couch.

Putting on a random movie from your childhood on Disney+, you lay back and cover yourself with your favorite quilt. Another wave of nausea washes over you, and so you prop yourself up with a few extra pillows and fall asleep sitting up.

It mustn’t be more than half an hour of uninterrupted sleep before you’re pulled out of it by the incessant buzzing of your phone. It’s a set of four pictures of you on Matt’s lap and another incriminating tidbit from the night before.

Georgia: Last night you told him you need him

“Shut up Sammy,” you glare, angrily poking his chest with your index finger. You’re grateful for the uncharacteristic change in nail shape at your last manicure, the stiletto tip serving as a makeshift weapon that actually makes him wince before laughing in your face.

Truthfully, you’re not sure how the night got to this point—you and your girls hanging around a table with Matty and his boys. You’re not complaining though, not with how your bare legs pressed to Matty’s jeans or how his arm rests above your shoulders, fingertips brushing your skin now and then.

Matt can spot a fight coming from a mile away, well versed in the language that is your rage from the countless years he was the source of it, pulling on your pigtails and breaking your barbies.

“That’s not my name,” Sam rolls his eyes, rubbing his chest and stealing a swig of your beer. “Lightweight.”

He’s referring to your drunken state and the fact that Matt himself had to drag you to the table with the promise of a Bud Light if, and only if, you drank an entire glass of water. Narrowing your eyes, you begin to lunge at him again, stopped only by the force of Matt pulling you onto his lap and wrapping an arm around your waist, one hand resting on your stomach and the other on your bare knee.

The effects of being wrapped up in him are almost instantaneous. Your rage quickly simmers, your body relaxes and you all but sink into the embrace. You quiet then, content to let the rest of the table do the talking for the moment while you memorize the feel of his arms.

It’s a nervous habit to fiddle with the small charm around your neck, something you do unconsciously, not even noticing until it’s somehow come undone in your grasp.

“Matty, I need you,” you whisper against the side of his face, watching his eyes darken and the way his Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. He opens his mouth to speak but you interrupt with your fist coming at his face with your necklace clenched tightly within.

He visibly relaxes, motioning for you to lean forward and swiping your hair to the side.You grab the strands of your hair after he takes the necklace from you, shivering as his cold hands drag across your skin.

Georgia is shaking her head at you from across the table, having clearly read your lips and witnessed the little moment. You just smile and shrug at her before pressing a chaste kiss to the skin of Matt’s jaw. “Thank you.”

You’re pretty sure you’re dying. By the grace of some higher power, you haven’t seen the inside of your bathroom in a hot minute. Yes, you’ve finally moved past stage one of your hangover, however you’re not out of the woods yet. You’re dying a slow death on the couch—feeling yourself dip more and more into dangerous dehydration levels despite the giant water bottle on your coffee table that had been a gag gift from Matt last Christmas.

Truthfully, the room is still a little spinny and your stomach still a little unsettled, but perhaps the worst of it all is the splitting headache and the sore throat. Both ailments make sense, you’re a yeller when you drink and you’re certain last night was no exception—even if the memories are slow to return to you.

It’s not aggression, not really. It’s more that your body can’t contain all the emotions that you so carefully hide in your day to day life, and without the control that sobriety brings, you’re wont to let them all spill out.

And really, you can’t linger on the what ifs too long, so you settle back in for another nap as an attempt to sleep off the symptoms of your poorly thought out night out with another movie playing as background noise.

Elizabeth has just rejected Darcy when your phone lights up three times.

sam: let’s just say you’re screwed if you ever wake up in vegas

you: fuck off sammy

sam: still not my name, lightweight

sam: at least I didn’t propose last night

“You know, Sammy,” you slur, no longer angry but keeping up the nickname in hopes that the table will think you are and Matty will let you stay in his arms. “You’re very lucky Liz agreed to marry you because other than the hockey thing you really have no redeeming qualities.”

“At least someone wanted to marry me,” he retorts not unkindly.

“Matty would marry me,” you state confidently, tilting your head back to look up at the man beneath you. “Wouldn’t you, Matty?”

“Gonna have to get down on one knee, Kid,” Matty laughs, shaking your body slightly from where it leans against him. The dopiest smile crosses your face at the sound and you know you’re being far too obvious but you can’t help it. Matty laughing is your favorite sound, and happiness looks so good on him. There’s nothing you hate more than seeing him sad or upset. Nothing except dirty, sticky bar floors, which makes your next actions even more comical.

Pulling from his arms for the first time in what feels like an eternity—not that you were complaining—you jump from the table and dramatically flop down to one knee.

“Matthew—M-Matty,” you hiccup, keenly aware of the dozens of eyes on you and yet utterly uncaring of any of them except the icy blue you stare into now. “You’re my b-best friend. Marry me?”

The look he gives you is fond if frigid, not at all the passionate love declaration you were hoping for. Pouting deeply, you don’t move to pull up from the floor. “Is that a no?”

“It’s a ‘not right now’,” he answers, getting up himself and pulling you up by your armpits. You wrap around him like a vine, not even protesting as he leads you to the bar to grab another glass of water and some appetizers for the table.

God, you really regret asking about last night. Maybe it was better to live in beautiful, blissful ignorance — if you never remembered all the embarrassing behavior did it really happen?

Unfortunately your vibrating phone simply refuses to let that happen.

brielle: and you totally ate shit on the pavement leaving the bar last night

That certainly explains the dull ache of your biceps, having caught the weight of you alongside breaking your fall. Luckily that appears to be the extent of the damage, given you can wiggle all of your fingers and toes and no other part of your body stings.

Just your ego is bruised.

“Why would we go home?” you ask, gesturing wildly at the emptying bar around you as though it were still the hopping venue of an hour ago.

“Cause the bar staff would like to go home too,” Brielle explains kindly.

“So we go to the next bar? I’m sure there’s somewhere still open, it’s only midnight!”

Matty’s arm is heavy and warm and secure as it wraps around your shoulder to guide you to the exit. “I’ve already called us an Uber.”

You preen at the mention of an ‘us’ between you and Matt, suddenly docile and calm, allowing him to guide you outside.

Far too preoccupied with the weight of him, you miss the broken piece of sidewalk and subsequently toe pick the crack, ending up face down on the pavement.

Matt is quick, pulling you to your feet with ease and examining your face and upper body for damage. “You alright?”

“If I say no, will you kiss it better?” you crack back, only half joking.

Shaking his head at your antics, he guides you into the waiting car before sliding in beside you.

You’re quite content to lean your head on his shoulder the whole drive home, arm curled around his before letting him lead you to your bed.

A joke about inviting him into your bed doesn’t leave your lips, momentarily mesmerized by the gentle way he tucks you in, the soft press of his lips to your forehead.

Could it possibly get worse, you wonder.

Matty: let me up?

He’s got a key for emergencies, and although you usually appreciate that he doesn’t misuse it, in this case you almost wish he would let himself in.

It would give you some extra time to compose yourself and—to be quite honest—you do yet harbor a little fear that getting vertical might have you running for the bathroom once again.

Neither of those things happen—he doesn’t let himself in and you don’t throw up on your way to the door. You make quick work of the lock before opening the door to reveal Matthew looking as well rested as you’ve ever seen him.

The contrast between the two of you is likely a stark difference, but his face doesn’t give anything away if he’s thinking it too.

His first words to you are simple, full of care and compassion. “How are you feeling?”

“Like I got hit by a bus that then backed right over me again,” you answer truthfully.

His responding giggle makes your insides feel warm and you can only hope you don’t have the tell tale lovesick look on your face. There’s a moment of quiet contemplation—his chest visibly puffs up and then deflates as he takes a steeling breath.

“You said some things last night,” he says and you feel your blood run ice cold in your veins.

You attempt to deflect. “I say a lot of things, Matty. Especially when I’ve gotten into the Tito’s.”

He shakes his head and takes a step towards you. “Last night you said you loved me.”

“Of course I love you, you’re my best friend.” It’s not a lie, not completely anyway. You love him. He’s your best friend. So what if that love you have for him is something a little bit more than friendship?

He shakes his head again, little ringlets of curls shaking with the motion. “Didn’t sound friendly. You said you needed me.” His voice is rough, tone something heavy.

“To fix my necklace, Matty. What are you doing?” Your voice in response is a little wild—short clipped sentences spoken in quick succession.

He appears frustrated. Not necessarily at you, you don’t think, but it’s clear on his face. “That’s not—You said you wanted to marry me, got down on one knee even.

“I was drunk, it’s not that deep.”

He takes the remaining steps toward you, crowding your space and boxing you in with his arms. Yet you know with one word he would back off if you asked.

You don’t ask.

“But what if it is? What if I said that I love you too, that I need you too? That the only person who I’ve ever thought about marrying was you?”

“Matty, what are you doing?” you ask lowly, heart pounding so loud you fear he might hear it.

“Something I should have done a long time ago,” he murmurs and leans in until your lips barely touch.

It's the invitation you feel you’ve waited a lifetime for. No amount of doubt or hesitation or uncertainty is going to stop you from wrapping yourself around him and deepening the kiss.

It’s soft and sweet—two decades of buildup, of a beautiful friendship turned something more. It’s you and Matty the way it was always supposed to be—the way it was always going to end up.

#nhl fic #nhl fanfic #nhl fanfiction #nhl x reader #matthew tkachuk fic #matthew tkachuk fanfiction #matthew tkachuk x reader #shelb writes

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babygirlnicohischier · 5 months ago

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It's the Cup - Matthew Tkachuk x gender neutral reader

Warnings: 18+ smut, oral (F and M receiving), fingering (F receiving)

Summary: Maybe serving the Stanley Cup champs wouldn't be so bad after all, thanks to Matt somethingorother.

Word count: 2.8k

Note: I wrote this right after the playoffs wrapped and just found it again, so don't be shocked if the proofreading is 100%

God, you thought as you slipped past your coworker slid the 1000th aperol spritz of the night to the group of 22-year-old girls in front of you,it’s 2024, why are we still playing Drake at the bar?

Things have been different lately, mainly that your bar has never been this busy. After the Cats won the Stanley Cup, even the most hidden gems in the city were packed with people who hoped and prayed that the team would be make an appearance, free bottles and fanfare galore.

Everyone except you. A bartender on their third double shift and eigth sugar-free red bull of the weekend. You were hoping that a few days out from the Stanley Cup Parade things would have started settling down but there had been no such luck.

Now, you have to crank out ten vodka sodas at a time and feel your hands go numb from constantly reaching into the cooler for beer bottles and seltzer cans to keep up with the rush. You didn’t think it was possible to get cramps in your hands from bud lights, but the universe wanted to prove you wrong. As if it wasn’t bad enough to be stiffed by the jerks here trying to hit on the puck bunnies. A few feet from you at the corner of the bar, you briefly make eye contact with one of the Panthers players, his golden curls somehow still perfectly touseled even after hours of partying. You hear him introduce himself, Matt something, to the girl in front of him. You almost felt bad for her with how uninterested he seemed in her, and how his eyes glazed over as she leaned in close to ask him something.

“It’s the Cup,” a sarcastic voice barked out,”it’s the Cup, girl.”

With how shitty the past few days have been, you allowed yourself to laugh at the snark. You looked over in the direction of it just in time to see the 1000th aperol spritz of the weekend slink away from Matthew Something. A few more rounds of green tea shots and dozens of High Noons later you could finally catch your breath as the crowd in front of you began to die down. Even the rush of the celebration could only alst so long into the night, and you checked your phone to see it was nearly 1:30 at this point. ‘Only a few hours left and I can crash. I got this.’

The sight of wet crumpled bills falling into your tip jar instantly made you perk up and lower your phone. It was one of those Florida Panther players, Matthew Something, dropping hundred dollar bills by the handfuls into the bucket with a smile.

“Been watching you all night, he yelled over the music,”you’ve been working so hard that I haven’t had a chance to come over. I’m Matt, by the way, Matt Tkachuk.”

Ah, you thought, that’s it.

You gave him your name and shook his outstretched hand, not-so-subtly noting how much bigger it was than yours. It was also gentler and warmer than you expected for someone with such a rough job and tough guy reputation. After a few moments, you realized you still hadn’t let go of said gentle, warm, and very big hand, and he hadn’t pulled away either. You would have been embarrassed if in that same moment one of his drunk teammates hadn’t come over yelling something neither one of you could make out and holding the Stanley Cup triumphantly above his head.

Matt finally dropped your hand and asked for some beers. “Oh yeah, he’s being nice to me since I’m at work. He was talking about getting drinks not about talking to me.” Thankful for a reason to turn away from his blue-green eyes and golden curls, you welcomed the order and opened up the row of beers. Dropping a few more of those crumbled wet bills into the bucket, Matt winked and turned back to his friends.

This happened a few more times throughout the night as the players took over your side of the bar. You watched them enviously as they got to drink, party, and dance while you were stuck making mixed drinks for girls trying to slip into the players’ section and the guys without a Stnaley Cup victory chasing right after them.

The only one without someone, girl or guy, hanging on to or circling around him was Matt. Matt who you caught looking in your direction more than once. Your eyes looking in his direction more than once. As much as you tried to ignore him, something about his gaze brought a flush to your cheeks.

Around 3am, when the remaining crowd seemed to settle down again, you told your coworkers you needed your break and slipped out the back door into the sticky Florida night to finally take in some fresh air, even if it was just as hot as the inside of the bar. As you sat there, trying to rally for the next few hours of your shift, the door opened behind you. You were surprised when you opened the door and heard the sound of someone scrolling through tiktoks, some pop song blasting out into the humid night air. “Shit, you scared me,” you said with a gasp, turning to see none other than Matt.

He shrugged his shoulders and smiled, “No, I’m the one who should be sorry about that. I would never want to scare you,” he replied. “I have been looking for you though.”

“Oh really? What for?”

“You’re the hottest person here. My friends bet me $20 I couldn’t get your number tonight. They upped it to $100 when they saw me empty my wallet into your tip jar and you didn’t even blink my way. I almost thought you weren’t interested until we kept locking eyes.”

“Oh please,” you teased, “it’s a but hard to look away from the loudest guys in the bar.”

Matt scoffed, “Somehow I don’t think that’s it. So what do you say? You wanna help me make back some of that tip money? Wanna help me win this bet?”

As he went through each sentence he inched a little closer until he was leaning over you, leaving just enough room for you to dip around him and escape if you needed to. Even inebrieated with a few of those beers you served him, Matt was aware of himself and how big he was, and how maybe you weren’t into him after all. The spicy smell of his cologne mixed with the beer you knew must be coming out from his pores at this point and the faint hint of cigar smoke and chewing gum. Before you could talk yourself out of it, you were leaning in towards him, noticing how pink his lips looked. Before you could talk yourself out of it you were kissing him, hands running through his mullet.

He was taken aback at first and froze before you felt one of his large hands reach up and cup you cheek as he pulled you in even closer. As the kiss deepened, Matt pressed his body flush against yours. Through his jeans,through his hold, you felt him start to harden as you pushed your hips into his.

You pulled gently on his curly locks, eliciting a low moan from his throat. Taking advantage of his groan, you slipped your tongue into his mouth and his eagerly followed suit, pushing into your open mouth. His hands moved from your face to snake around your waist, somehow pressing you even tighter and removing any remaining space that was left between you. His lips were swollen as he pulled away from you briefly. You leaned into his collarbone, exposed with his shirt only half buttoned, and sucked it hard enough to leave your mark on him.

“Fuck,” he whispered as he threw his head back. Working up his neck, you continued to leave bites and wet kisses.

“Babe do you know what you’re doing to me?” he asked, taking your hand and placing it over the growing bulge in his jeans.

It was thick, and you were surprised at how much of a grower he was. As your hand traveled up to his zipper you heard him softly whimper at your touch and the anticipation of more.

“Why don’t we go back inside?” you asked, continuing to stroke him through his pants,“Staff bathroom is a little more…private.”

You already knew he wouldn’t say no to you no matter what you said, his fingers interlocking with yours letting you lead him wherever you wanted. Once back inside, you slipped into the tiny bathroom between the shelves of extra bottles and backup cups.

Inside the small space, there was barely enough room for the two of you to stand together; nevermind with your back pressed into the sink and his calves touching the toilet behind him. Despite this, Matt continued making out with you the second the lock on the door clicked into place.

“Need you,” he whined, grabbing for any piece of your hips or waist that he could get to. When he managed to get his hands on you, he lifted you up and sat you on the edge of the sink. Lifting up your hips, you helped him pull down your shorts and undies. They were barely around your ankles before you felt Matt’s hands reach between your legs.

“Look at you, so wet for me,” he said mystified as he dipped one finger between your legs and put it into his mouth, “taste so sweet too.”

“Matt, come on,” you said, grasping at him and pushing him towards the floor, ”be a good boy and eat me out.

Matt was eye-level with your core now, puppy-like and eager, and spread your legs with care. Instantly, he dove betwen your legs and lapped at your wetness, circling your clit with his tongue.

“Oh god,” you managed to choke out as he licked at your core, “Matt, you look so pretty with my pussy on your face. You love this don’t you, baby?”

He moaned into you as an answer, driving deeper with his tongue and tightening his hold on your thighs.

“Just like that babe, you’re doing such a good job, baby boy.” Matt practically growled at the pet name.

“You love being on your knees, huh? Like a slut.” As he pulled away from your center, Matt sank his teeth in your thigh, leaving his own mark on you as his stubble moved across your skin. “Of course I do,” he grinned, licking his lips, ”especially when you taste so good.”

He stuck two fingers in his mouth and pulled them out with a pop. Before you could answer, his fingers were deep inside you, curling to hit your most sensitive spot. Soon his mouth joined in, sucking and biting your clit as you got closer and closer to release. Praises rained from your lips, urging him on until finally you felt yourself clench around his fingers. Matt let you ride out your high on his fingers before pulling them from you and licking them clean. A string of your cum still connected his lips to you, and it was the prettiest thing you had ever seen.

“Your pussy is addicting,” he said with a dazed smile. You finally untangled your hand from his locks, disappointed your grip on him had ruined his perfect curls.

You took a moment to regain yourself before sliding down off the edge of the sink and pulling your shorts back up. “You did so good, baby. You deserve a reward for making me cum so quickly.”

Matt nodded eagerly, waiting for whatever you would give him.

“Do you want me to go down on you too? Do you want me to show you how much I appreciate how good you were?”

“Fuck yes,” he gasped out as he watched you slide slowly down his body to settle in on your knees. With nimble fingers he undid his belt and pants and pulled out his cock, pumping it slowly in his hand as he waited for you to be ready.

“Did I say you could touch yourself?” you asked him, tone suddenly serious.

Matt froze instantly. “Well,” you said, feigning disappointment,”if you want to take care of yourself then I guess I don’t need to help.”

“No, please—” he said, letting go quickly. He looked down at you with his big blue eyes, but you were more focused on the bead of precum on his pink tip. You needed to know how it tasted but you couldn’t let him have it so easily.

“Please what?” you prompted, giving tiny kisses and sucks along his thighs. You felt him shudder underneath each kiss.

“Please suck my cock,” he begged, eyes pleading with you,”please I need to cum. I've been so good.”

“Well,” you considered, drawing out the word, “you do sound so sweet begging for me.” You peppered kisses along his lower stomach, loving the way he squirmed for you.

“Please,” he breathed out, just as you kissed right where his abs ended and his happy trail began, ”please, I need you.”

Rather than answer him, you readied yourself before taking most of his length into your mouth. His surprised moan only fueled your fire as you swallowed around him. You pump him near the base, making sure to make a show of slipping your other hand into your shorts.

“Oh fuck,” he moaned out, repeating the phrase like a prayer. “Oh fuck, baby, please don’t stop.”

You pulled back to trace his head with the tip of your tongue, looking up at him so you could see how much he was enjoying it. He was biting his lip, using every muscle in his body to hold in how loudly he truly wanted to moan. Bobbing back down to swallow more of his length, you kept your eye contact going as long as you could. When his tip hit the back of your throat he couldn’t help but close his eyes and let his head hang back in ecstasy.

You felt him twitch in your mouth, a sure sign he was going to cum soon. Pulling your mouth off of him, you asked him sweetly, “Now baby, do you want to cum on my face or in my mouth?”

“Your mouth, please,” he panted out. You nodded and gave him kisses down his perfectly pink cock before putting him back between your lips. Not long after, you tasted the salty sweet release and felt him shake under you as you sucked his head gently, coaxing as much from him as he could give.

“Shit,” he gasped,“That was… that was amazing.” You pulled his boxers back up over him as you carefully stood up. Checking yourself in the mirror, your eyeliner was running slightly and your lips were perfectly plumped from the encounter.

A pounding at the door and a call for your name has the two of you nearly jumping out of your skin. “Hey, I need to pee,” one of your coworkers shouted from the other side,”Are you two almost done in there?”

Matt burst out laughing as he looked at you wide-eyed, face burning like a high school kid getting caught by his parents with his first hickey.

“Give us a sec!” you shouted as Matt finished up his belt buckle. He pulled you in close once more, kissing you deeply for a moment.

“No matter how many times we do this,” he admitted, pressing his lips gently to your forehead,”it’s still fun.”

“Maybe next time we can try role playing at your job though,” you suggested with a laugh, “I can pretend to be a sexy goalie or a naughty linesman.”

“Matthew Tkachuk, 2 minute minor for not enough roughing,” you teased.

“Ha ha very funny, now we better get out of here before Marla gets upset with me,” Matt said worriedly,”I think we took a little too long this time.”

He opened the door cautiously, afraid to slam it into your best friend and coworker, Marla, as she waited for you two to clear out. She rolled her eyes as you walked out, fingers laced together and very content.

“God,” she groaned,” can’t you guys fuck somewhere else? I love you both but this is the third time this month that I’ve been stuck out here waiting for you to finish up your little sex games.”

“Listen, if you were dating someone this hot you’d want to fuck them everywhere too,” Matt replied and Marla rolled her eyes. He led you back out to the sounds of shouts and celebration, still holding your hand in his.

“I’m serious about the linesman thing,” you piped up again,“I think it could be a sexy little scene.”

“Ehhh, we’ll talk about it at home. Now come on, the guys wanted to say hi before you went back to work.”

#matthew tkachuk #matthew tkachuk imagine #matthew tkachuk fic #matthew tkachuk smut #matthew tkachuk x reader #nhl imagine #nhl smut #nhl fic #matthew tkachuk fanfiction #nhl fanfiction #matthew tkachuk blurb #nhl blurb #nhl x reader #nhl x y/n #matthew tkachuk x y/n #writing tag

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cailinsblog · 6 months ago

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Like Father, Like Son | Matthew tkachuk

Matthew tkachuk x reader

The arena was buzzing with excitement as fans filed in, the air filled with the sound of chatter and anticipation. Y/N walked through the concourse, holding the hand of her two-year-old son, Macklin, as he toddled alongside her. She couldn’t help but smile every time someone did a double-take, noticing Macklin’s uncanny resemblance to his dad, Matthew Tkachuk.

Macklin was the spitting image of Matthew, down to the sandy-blond hair styled in the same messy, slightly fluffy cut. To complete the look, he was wearing a tiny version of Matthew’s jersey with the number 19 on the back. Y/N, dressed in her own Tkachuk jersey, was carrying a bag with snacks and toys for Macklin, even though she knew he was far more interested in seeing his dad on the ice.

“Mama, Dada?” Macklin asked, craning his neck to look around as they approached the rink.

“We’re almost there, baby,” Y/N said, squeezing his hand. “Daddy’s warming up on the ice. We’ll see him soon.”

They made their way down to the glass, settling into their seats right behind the bench. As soon as Macklin spotted the players skating onto the ice for warmups, his little face lit up. “Dada!” he squealed, pointing at the ice.

Y/N laughed, helping him climb up onto the seat so he could see better. Sure enough, Matthew was skating by, chatting with one of his teammates. Macklin’s tiny hands slapped against the glass, the sound catching Matthew’s attention. He turned, spotting his wife and son immediately. A big grin spread across his face, and he skated over, tapping his stick against the glass in return.

“Dada!” Macklin shouted again, his voice muffled against the glass. He smacked it with both hands this time, his excitement too much to contain.

Matthew leaned down, resting his gloved hands on his knees as he smiled at his son. “Hey, buddy!” he mouthed, his eyes sparkling. He pointed to Macklin’s jersey and then to his own, giving Y/N a thumbs-up. Y/N could see how proud he was, and her heart swelled.

“He’s been talking about seeing you all day,” Y/N called through the glass. “And check out his haircut—just like yours!”

Matthew leaned closer to get a better look, his grin growing even wider. He gave a mock thumbs-up and a head nod to Macklin, who giggled uncontrollably, slapping the glass even harder.

“Dada!” Macklin repeated, as if reminding his dad not to forget him.

Matthew laughed, gave the glass a little tap, and said, “I’ll see you after the game, okay, buddy?” before skating off to finish warmups. Macklin pouted for a moment when Matthew skated away, but Y/N distracted him by pointing out the other players and talking about how cool the game would be.

When the game started, Macklin was glued to the action. Every time Matthew was on the ice, Macklin’s little hands went to work smacking the glass, trying to get his dad’s attention. Other fans around them couldn’t help but smile and laugh at the little boy’s enthusiasm.

“He’s Matthew’s biggest fan,” one fan said to Y/N with a chuckle.

“He really is,” Y/N replied, ruffling Macklin’s hair as he continued his energetic display of support.

During a timeout, Matthew glanced over and spotted Macklin pounding on the glass. He skated close again, pointing at him and giving a little wave. Macklin shrieked with joy, drawing more attention from the crowd. The arena’s camera operators caught the sweet interaction, and suddenly, the Tkachuk family was on the Jumbotron. Y/N waved, laughing, while Macklin pointed at the screen and yelled, “Mama! Dada!”

The crowd “aww-ed,” and Matthew gave an exaggerated shrug and pointed to his mini-me. Everyone laughed as Macklin smacked the glass again, demanding all the attention.

The game ended with Matthew’s team securing a win, and as soon as it was over, Y/N and Macklin headed down to wait for Matthew near the locker room. When he finally appeared, still in his gear, Macklin’s face lit up again.

“Dada!” he shouted, reaching his arms out.

Matthew dropped to one knee, scooping Macklin up and spinning him around. “There’s my little guy!” he said, kissing his cheek. “You were so loud out there! I could hear you smacking the glass all night.”

“Dada win!” Macklin said proudly, clapping his hands.

“That’s right, buddy,” Matthew said, laughing. He turned to Y/N, who was watching them with a warm smile. “And you—you’re the best for bringing him. Seeing you two made my night.”

Y/N leaned in to kiss him, careful not to smudge his sweat-covered face too much. “You’re his hero, you know.”

“And you’re mine,” Matthew said softly, pulling her into a quick hug.

As they walked out of the arena together, Macklin babbling excitedly about the game, Matthew couldn’t stop smiling. Having his little family there, wearing his jersey and cheering him on, made him feel like the luckiest man in the world.

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Repost helps a lot and requests are open

#hockey #nhl #nhl x reader #fanfic #matthew tkachuk x you #matthew tkachuk x reader #matthew tkachuk #florida #florida panthers #nhl imagine #nhl fic #nhl fanfiction #nhl fluff #nhl x y/n #nhl x oc #nhl x you #mt19

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86espresso · 8 months ago

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idk if this counts as a hot take but i feel that it’s needed bc I’ve seen this shit on tiktok and twitter already and it needs to stop.

women in sports, work in sports because they want to work in sports. NOT not N O T because they want to get with players.

look, im all for fanfics!! they’re a huge part of me and i write them too!! but this is something that people fail to separate from real life.

the amount of people that have shipped jessica campbell with a kraken, and said ‘this is straight out of a fanfic’ is INSANE. we all love the workplace romance trope and it’s goated honestly but only in FICTION!

id also like to clarify for writers who’ve written this trope that they’re writing fiction and the player/person they’re portraying is not the real version of them. i support the stories ! keep them coming ! However, I do not support the disrespect for women who’ve worked their ass off just to get downplayed !

i love fun and whimsy i promise but that’s no excuse for you guys to push that shit on real people unironically.

not to participate in the woke olympics here but pls pls pls for the love of god separate those narratives from real life thank you 💖

#ellie speaks ☝️#jack hughes x reader #quinn hughes x reader #connor bedard x reader #matthew tkachuk x reader #nico hischier x reader #<- sorry but literally how else do i nail this into some brains

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simonrileysfavteacup · 6 days ago

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The Jersey

Pairing: Matthew Tkachuk x girlfriend!reader

Word count: 2.3K

Warnings: sexual hints, lots of jokes lol, use of the word "pussy", no actual smut

Summary: You decided to wear Brady's jersey to a game to play a joke on Matthew, but little did you know, it would backfire on you.

You’ve been with Matthew for 2 years now and they’ve been the best 3 years of your life. He’s kind, gentle, and caring with you, unlike how he is on the ice. He’s been your better half, knowing you better than you know yourself.

You knew how well hockey ran in the Tkachuk clan so it wasn’t a surprise when Brady got drafted. Matthew was extremely excited to play Brady for the first time, you could tell by how much time he spent preparing in the off season.

So when the first FLA vs OTT game was around, you didn’t expect to get an Ottawa jersey in the mail. You knew it was from Brady from the way his name and his number laid on the back. There was a note too, saying to wear it to the game. You hesitate but pick up the jersey, throwing the box away.

Hiding the jersey in your side of the closet, you wait for Matthew to come home from morning skate. The game was later in the night and Tkachuks’ flight was to land at 3, currently it was 2. The game was late, at 8 o clock.

Matthew stumbles through the door twenty minutes later, stopping to admire you rewatching the Bruins game. “Hey love.”

You turn your head to face him, smiling. “Hey, how was it?”

“Good, I think we’re ready to kick Brady’s ass,” he smiles, walking towards you. “How was your day?”

“Barely even started yet, but going well since yours is going well,” you press a kiss to his cheek. “Go take a nap, I’ll pick up your family.”

“Are you sure?” he asks. “I can get them before the game, it’s fine.”

“Matthew, I’ve known your family for 2 years, I think they won’t mind if I pick them up,” you assure. “Plus, I need time with Taryn.”

“Why? Do you guys gossip about me?” he raises an eyebrow.

“Yes, she shows me your baby pictures,” you smirk.

“What?” he turns to look at you.

“Of course I’ve seen the baby pictures. We’ve been together how long?” you walk to your closet, grabbing a coat to wear when you went to pick up the family.

“God I hate this,” he rolls his eyes, getting into bed. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” you smile.

Finding Chantal at the airport was simple, Keith next to her, Taryn trailing behind. The second she saw you, she ran towards you, almost tackling you in a hug.

“I haven’t seen you in forever!” she squeals.

“Taryn! You’re squeezing too hard!” you shout, causing 3 elderly to turn back to look at you. She lets go, still smiling.

“Did you get Brady’s gift?” she whispers.

“You knew?” you ask.

“Only me, Brady couldn’t keep it a secret,” Taryn says as you all get into your car. You drive everyone back to your house, where Matthew has already left for the game.

When you had finished getting ready for the game and walked out, you hear 2 gasps behind you. “Shouldn’t you be wearing Matthew’s?”

“Why? Brady’s the better brother,” you smirk.

“Matthew’s going to be pissed,” Keith gives you a little fist bump, a sign of approval. You laugh, walking out to head to the game.

***

Sitting in the box next to Taryn and Emma, you look down at the ice as the boys emerge from the locker rooms.

“There he is,” Emma nudges you, her eyes on Matthew. He has his helmet off as always, his curls a mess, his stretching position in progress.

You watch him skate to the centre line, settling down next to Brady to stretch. You assume that they were chirping each other, then noticing Brady tap his mic. Matthew says something with a smirk, which led Brady to do the same. You watch Matthew furrow his eyebrows and then look towards the box, his eyes turning dark as he sees you in the Senators jersey. You just smile and wave at him, to which he responds with a roll of his eyes.

Brady gets up, smiling at his older brother before sending a wink your way.

“Dad was right, he’s pissed. I feel bad for you,” Taryn went onto her phone, pulling up a song. Just a second later, RIP that Pussy begins playing. Your eyes go wide, taking her phone from her. You repeatedly tap the pause button, furious with your result.

“Taryn!” You scold, grabbing onto her hand. You look back down at the ice, where Matthew had started talking to Sam.

The Panthers took the win 4-2, Matthew scoring two of those goals. You walk down the tunnel to greet him, meeting Aaron along the way.

“Hey Y/N, how are you?” he asks.

“Good, you?” You reply.

“Happy that we won,” He gives you a smile, turning to walk away. “Oh, by the way, he’s pissed about the jersey.”

“Been hearin’ that all night,” You smile back, standing in front of the locker room door. Matthew comes out a minute later, his hair slightly damp. “Hey Matty, you played great.”

“Hey Matty, you played great,” He mocks your voice. “You think you're funny, huh? Let’s see who’s talking when we get home.”

He grabs your hand, dragging you out of the arena. You smirk to yourself, trailing behind him. You get into the car, his hand immediately going to your thigh.

“You have a lot of nerve, you know? Wearing that shit to my game. My home game. You’re lucky we won or I would’ve taken you right there against the wall,” his words make a shiver run down your spine. The thought of your boyfriend fucking you against a wall in a very public place scares you but turns you on at the same time.

“Brady sent it to me. I didn’t know about it,” you say innocently, blinking at him.

“Oh, fucking hell, baby, don’t lie to me,” he shoots you a glance. You open your mouth to say something but stop once his phone chimes. “Check who that is. Please.”

There was a pause before he said please. But, hey! Matthew has manners!

You check his phone for him, the passcode being your birthday (#couple goals). Chantal had texted, asking if you and Matthew would meet her and the Tkachuk clan at a restaurant downtown.

“Matty,” you say softly.

“Hmm?” he hums, not taking his eyes off the road.

“Your mom wants us to go to a restaurant to catch up,” you say.

“Tell her you’re tired and don’t feel like going out,” he shoots a glance your way, smirking at you. “You will be.”

“She said that we still have to come, and if I want, I can sleep on your shoulder at the restaurant,” you look over at him, his tongue sliding against his teeth.

“Fine, text her we’re on our way, but take off that fucking jersey,” he changes routes, heading to the restaurant they were at.

“I’m not wearing anything underneath…” you carry off.

“Fucking hell, babe, now, you’re really in for it tonight,” he pauses, taking a deep breath. “There’s an extra shirt in my bag, put it on.”

You unbuckle your seatbelt, reaching for the bag in the backseat. The dress shirt was a simple black one, a bit oversized, but you weren’t complaining. You climb into the back, taking the jersey off, leaving you in just a bra. Matt’s eyes shift from the road to you for a second, a visible boner forming in his pants.

Deciding to play his game, you slowly button your shirt up, leaving the top 2 unbuttoned.

When you get to the restaurant, you knew you were in for it. Matthew pulls you towards him, trapping you between the car and him, buttoning the last two buttons on your shirt. “This,” he gestures to your tits. “Belongs to me. Not Brady. Only my jersey covers these.”

“Only yours,” you try to kiss him but he moves his head out of the way and your kiss went to his cheek.

“Act fucking tired, I want to go home. You aren’t allowed to get away with this,” he puts an arm around your waist, walking with him to the restaurant.

“You’re that mad?” you ask.

“You’ll see how mad I really am,” he glances at you.

You sit down at the table after saying hi to everyone, sitting across from Emma and Brady. “Hey Y/N! How are you?”

“Doing wonderful, Brady,” you smile, earning Matthew’s hand on your thigh, squeezing tightly as a warning. “I’m so tired though.”

His hand eases up a bit.

“How did you like the jersey? I know Matty loved it,” Brady smirks, Emma letting out a little chuckle.

Matthew takes his hand off your thigh and slips it around your shoulder, pulling you close to him.

“I loved it, thank you,” you try to be as nice as possible.

“How come you changed?” Brady asks. “You looked pretty great in the jersey.”

“Oh, I felt hot. I feel sick,” you lie. “You know how things are with the Florida weather.”

Brady chuckles, knowing entirely that you are lying.

Matt gives you a pat on the thigh of approval, a signal to start falling asleep on him. As the waiter comes around, you tell Matthew to order for you as you begin to fall asleep on his shoulder.

“Um, Mom, Y/N’s not feeling too good, I think we’re going to head home,” Matthew tells his mother.

“Nonsense, she looks fine. She’ll manage. If she can’t, I can call her an uber. One of you has to stay, Matthew. I haven’t seen you both since December,” Chantal responds, smiling.

Damn her and her love for her kids. You’re trying to get laid.

Matthew silently groans, the vibrations hitting your body. His hand moves up and down your thigh and you were actually falling asleep at this point. Matthew ends up taking notice of it, pulling your chair closer.

You assume it was about 10 minutes later when Matthew’s arm shifts a bit, waking you up.

“Oh, sorry babe. I just had to grab a fork,” he smiles at you, pressing a kiss to the top of your forehead.

“Should’ve woken me up when food got here, I’m starving,” you return the smile, leaning your head on his shoulder as you begin eating. You lower your voice as Brady begins talking to Taryn about her graduation. “When do you want to leave?”

“Soon. Eat half of your food and call it a day. You aren’t getting out of this,” he whispers back.

“Why? Because you know your brother is better than you?” you chuckle softly as you took a bite of your food, almost choking on it as Matthew’s hand lands dangerously close to your clothed pussy.

“Say that shit one more time and I’ll take you right on this table,” he says sternly.

“You wouldn’t,” you giggle softly but stop as you notice the dark lust behind his blue eyes. “Fuck.”

“Fuck indeed,” he chuckles softly. “I suggest you keep your mouth shut.”

“Hey lovebirds,” Keith whistles at you and Matthew, taking you out of your conversation. “Why don’t you stop whispering to each other and actually talk? You guys have all year to talk, we only get to see each other tonight until April.”

“Dad, don’t you get it? Matthew’s still pissed about the jersey,” Taryn remarks. You almost choke at her words, turning your head towards the 22-year-old. “What? You know I’m right!”

“Taryn, leave them and their sex life alone,” Brady jokes.

“Brady!” his mother scolds. “There are children present!”

“So?” he now earns a slap on his shoulder from his wife.

“Anyways, how’s work?” Chantal asks you.

“Going great as of now,” You smile at her, poking a piece of salad on your plate with your fork, avoiding eye contact.

During the time you, Chantal and Emma were talking, Matthew had excused himself to the ‘bathroom’. In reality, he was texting you to make up some ridiculous excuse, so you could go home.

You text him back saying you were having fun and that his family was interesting. He sends back, “Either you leave now or you won’t be going to work tomorrow. Or for the rest of the week.”

You take in a soft gulp and tell Brady and Emma you’d be leaving now.

"Good luck,” Emma sends a wink your way, Brady chuckling at her. As you were walking away from the table, Chantal calls your name.

“Please tell Matthew we at least want to see him tomorrow before we leave,” she smiles at you, giving you a thumbs up.

“Will do,” you turn back around and leave, meeting Matthew by the car. He opens your door for you, watching you eagerly as you get in. He gets in on the driver's side and starts up the car as you begin speaking. “Your mom said she wants to see you tomorrow. Before they leave.”

“Mhm,” he hums.

“And I think she knew,” you continue.

“Mhm,” he hums again, not paying attention to anything you were saying.

“I’m pregnant,” you roll your eyes as he hums again.

“Wait, what?” he looks over at you.

“Were you listening to anything I said?” you ask.

“I only heard that you were pregnant,” he says, a shit eating grin starting to form on his face.

“No, I’m not. And your mother wants to see you tomorrow before she leaves. Also, your family knew,” you look forward at the road, rolling your eyes at him.

“The next time you roll your eyes, it better be out of pleasure,” he smirks at you, continuing to drive through Fort Lauderdale. You laugh, reaching for his free hand.

#matthew tkachuk #matty tkachuk #matthew tkachuk smut #matthew tkachuk x reader #matthew tkachuk fic #matthew tkachuk imagine #matthew tkachuk blurb #tkachuk #brady tkachuk #m. tkachuk #tkachuk brothers #taryn tkachuk #chantal tkachuk #florida panthers #panthers #senators #ottawa senators #sam reinhart #aaron ekblad

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incloudcity · 4 days ago

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live now, think later

welcome to live now, think later. this is a series of blurbs inspired by tate's album Think Later. requests are open! 1. cut my hair, trevor zegras friday, june 20 2. greedy, auston matthews saturday, june 21 3. run for the hills, jack hughes sunday, june 22

4. hurt my feelings, matthew tkachuk monday, june 23 5. grave, luke hughes tuesday, june 24 6. stay done, will smith wednesday, june 25 7. exes, william nylander thursday, june 26 8. we're not alike coming soon 9. calgary coming soon 10. messier coming soon 11. think later coming soon 12. guilty conscience coming soon 13. want that too coming soon 14. plastic palm trees coming soon

#em lives now thinks later #nhl x reader #quinn hughes x reader #jack hughes x reader #will smith x reader #luke hughes x reader #matthew tkachuk x reader #auston mathews x reader #william nylander x reader

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papis13 · 2 months ago

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FUCK SAM BENNETT AND FUCK MATTHEW TKCOCK JUST BECAUSE

HOW COULD YOU HURT THIS SWEET BEAUTIFUL FACE

#hockey #toronto maple leafs #nhl hockey #stanley cup playoffs #anthony stolarz #am34 #auston matthews #sam bennett #matthew tkachuk #fuck matthew tkachuk #william nylander #mitch marner #auston matthews x reader

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youunravelme · 1 year ago

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nothing happened in the way i wanted part 2

author's note: okay so here's part 2! sorry for making you wait, i like the anticipation lololol

summary: a year has passed and you are no closer to understanding why matt ended things and you have every plan of avoiding that thought until he comes back in town for the offseason, then suddenly he's everywhere.

pairing: matthew tkachuk x reader

warnings: ANGST, friends to lovers to exes to lovers, mention of sexual assault, attempted sexual assault, drinking, depression, panic attacks, let me know if i missed something! (these include the trigger warnings from part 1)

before

a piece of plastic should not be that big of a deal.

but it is when there are two pink lines staring back at you.

weren’t you and matt careful? he always wore condoms, you were on birth control, you two were so careful all the time—

wait.

shit.

except for a few weeks ago.

you were wearing a red bikini at a pool party and matt had tugged you into the guest bathroom. he didn’t have any condoms and you assured him it was fine.

but maybe it wasn’t fine.

because there were two fucking pink lines staring back at you. and the worst part? matt wouldn’t be home for another two hours or so.

you were hyperventilating, surely. that’s why you felt like you couldn’t breathe?

oh god.

you were going to have to figure out how to raise a child while matt was on the road. oh god, what if he didn’t want the baby? what if you didn’t want the baby? what if he didn’t want the baby or you?

you were pacing back and forth in your living room when matt came home, arms full of bags from his workout. they immediately dropped when he saw the look on your face.

“what’s wrong?” he asked. “what happened? did someone die?”

you shook your head and burst into more tears. it was a mere second before you were wrapped up in his arms, one of his hands stroked your hair while the other stayed firmly put around your waist.

“baby, you’re scaring me.” at the sound of the pet name, you sobbed even harder. baby. there was a baby.

“i’m sorry, matty, i’m sorry,” you managed to get out between cries.

“what’re you sorry for, huh? you haven’t done anything wrong, have you?”

your hands were shaking as you pulled back from him, opening your palm to show the piece of plastic in your hand.

“what—” but matt seemed to have lost his voice at the sight of the pink lines staring back at him. “oh,” was the only thing he found fit to say.

“i’m sorry, matty. i thought it would be fine, but i went to the dollar store because i didn’t have any money and this was the only test available and—”

matt tugged you back into his chest. “it’s okay. we’ll figure it out.”

“we’re too young!” you wailed. “barely 20.”

“it’s one test, we’ll take another and if it’s still positive, we’ll go to the doctor,” he murmured against your hair. “wait,” he started. “where did you say you got the test?”

you pulled back, confused as to why his voice took a sudden turn from concern to something you couldn’t quite place. “dollar store, why?”

matt laughed. he threw his head back and laughed. “baby,” he started. “you chose a cheap test, it could be a false positive.”

you blinked. “is that how that works? i didn’t think—”

“let’s get another test, and we’ll take it, together.”

matt drove you both to the pharmacy, his hand on your thigh the entire ride. he went in alone, grabbed a box of clear blue and a bag of sour patch kids before he came back out. you almost burst into tears at the sight. as you ripped into the bag, matt’s hand found its way back to your thigh, his thumb rubbing soothing patterns into your pants leg.

the sour patch kids had done the job of calming your nerves for the moments leading up to retaking a pregnancy test. matt held your hand while the two of you waited for the timer to go off.

“whatever the result is, i’m with you,” he mumbled against the side of your head. and when the timer went off, matt was the one to check it, you were too overwrought with nerves. he didn’t even check the test, wanting you to see the result first.

negative.

a sigh escaped your mouth. your shoulders sagged as tears came to your eyes. relief wasn't a strong enough word to describe how you were feeling in that moment. matt pressed a kiss against your temple and wrapped you in his arms.

“one day,” he said. “just not today.”

after

maybe you were a bit of a coward, waiting for tuesday to come around before you texted matt a good time to meet. you waited until the last two minutes of your lunch break before you sent him a message. the second you heard the whoosh sound, you put your phone on do not disturb and shoved it in your bag so you could forget about it.

frankie popped his head into the studio while you were hunched over a canvas, carefully scraping away the back side of it to clean.

“you busy?” he asked.

you looked up before glancing down at the giant canvas in front of you. “i can take a small break, my back is killing me. do you need me to clean up? how long do you need me?”

frankie shrugged. “not long, so you don’t have to put anything away. i just wanted to talk to you about your future.”

your stomach dropped. “is this a segue into firing me?”

“you’re so dramatic,” frankie chuckled. “no, you’re not being fired. i’m more so trying to get you in a place where you can be compensated fairly one day.”

you blinked. “are you not compensating me fairly right now?”

frankie rolled his eyes. “you have a lot of talent, and unfortunately, i can’t pay you any more until you get a graduate degree in art conservation.”

confused, you nodded. “i know,” you said. “i started here for experience to use on grad school applications.”

“and have you applied anywhere yet?”

you opened your mouth and then promptly shut it again. no, no you had not.

frankie sighed and placed his hands on his hips. “look, you’re talented, i’ve said that plenty of times already and i want you to be successful, whether that’s as a conservator or an independent freelance painter. what i don’t want is you staying in st. louis forever in this job waiting around for something to happen.”

waiting for something to happen.

waiting.

what exactly were you waiting for?

frankie continued. “i’ve emailed you some of the best conservation programs in the states if that’s a route you wanna go. i honestly think you could do conservation or freelance painting, you’d be great at either, but that’s a choice only you can make. if you want to go to grad school, i will gladly write as many letters of recommendations as you’d need, i’d even help you by asking clients for some if that’s what you want, but the ball is in your court.”

for a moment, you were floored, truly astounded that someone would go through those lengths to help you figure out your life. for now, all you could manage to say was a “thank you.”

“anytime,” frankie replied.

he left the studio room shortly thereafter so you could continue the mindless scraping once more.

when the work day was finally done, your hand was sore from the constant repetitive motions and your back ached from hunching over. but at least the scraping was done.

you grabbed your bag and car keys and headed out the front door. the aux was the first thing you reached for after locking yourself in the car. it wasn’t until you searched your bag to grab your phone that you remembered the text you sent matt earlier that day, the reason why your phone was on do not disturb.

you:

what does your week look like?

matt had responded two minutes after your initial text.

matty:

i’m free tonight, or any other time you’re free.

you rolled your eyes but couldn't stop the smile on your face.

you:

i just got off work, let me go home and change and we can find a place to meet.

you barely managed to get the music flowing through the aux when your phone buzzed with a text.

matty:

you can always stop by the house? mom, dad, and taryn would love to see you. we could go on a walk around the neighborhood...

your stomach churned at the thought, it felt a little too close, too familiar. but there were very few places in that city that wouldn’t spark some sort of memory for you. you grew up there, you grew up there with matt. there were seldom spaces that weren’t deeply intertwined in your co written story with him.

you:

that’s fine.

neither of your parents were home when you got there, which was probably for the best, it meant you wouldn’t get asked where you were going or why you agreed to talk to matt after all this time.

you made the drive to his parents’ house. it felt as familiar as putting on the old t-shirt you’d stolen from your mom before you left for college. you didn’t need the gps, even after the time had passed.

you parked in the same spot you always did when you finally got a car to drive to matthew’s. it wasn’t like that spot on the street was used very often, not when you were dating at least. matt hated making you drive, especially when his car was newer and better and by all of his standards, safer than yours.

by the time you made it onto the front porch, taryn was opening the front door and smiling so wide, her eyes were squinting.

“you’re here!” she shrieked. it was only a matter of seconds before you were wrapped in her arms. “what brings you here?”

your mouth opened to respond, but you were promptly cut off.

“she’s with me.”

matt appeared over taryn’s shoulder looking every bit the man you fell in love with all those years ago.

taryn pulled back from the hug, her eyes wide. “what? she’s with—”

“not like that,” you smiled gently. “just came to talk, figure some things out.”

“are you staying for dinner?”

you looked at matt, unsure if that was something he’d even want. “it’s up to you, i won't force you to stay,” he said.

you shrugged. “we’ll play it by ear.”

matt nodded and moved past taryn. “you good for a walk?” he asked, eyes never once leaving your face. and you couldn’t help but stare back, getting lost in the pools of blue that once were your whole world. you felt yourself nod right before following him down the stairs and off the porch.

neither of you said anything until you were both sure his family couldn’t see you from their house anymore.

“thank you,” you said. “i should’ve said that the other night.”

matt shook his head and shoved his hands into his pockets. “you don't need to thank me for that. i’m sorry that happened.”

“you couldn’t have done anything to prevent it.”

“i could’ve told the bartender to stop giving him drinks when i saw how drunk you were.”

your head whipped to the side to look at him, but matt wouldn’t return your stare. his jaw was tightly clenched. “how’d you even know i was there?”

mat shrugged and kicked a rock out of the way. “i always notice you, even when i don’t mean to.”

there were no words coming to your mind, nothing you could say could add to the conversation. so you nodded and looked ahead of you.

“i wanted to apologize—”

“matt—”

“for everything.”

you stopped walking altogether. “don’t,” you said. “don’t say that. don’t apologize.”

matt’s brows pulled together, the corners of his lips turned down. “why?”

“because i don’t want it.” words you thought you’d never say.

did you mean them? it felt like you did. for months, you’d waited for a moment for him to apologize, to admit that he regretted it. but now that you were faced with this decision, you weren’t sure it was an apology you wanted.

“what do you want, then?” he asked, earnestly this time.

you looked down at your beaten up hokas, the ones you bought after moving back to missouri, needing something that didn’t used to stay in the apartment you shared with matthew. the shoes were only a few months old, but they were discolored and dirty. you wore them to work, and often got droplets of solvent or paint on them when you weren’t paying attention.

matt’s foot nudged your own. “what do you want?” he repeated.

“did you cheat on me?” your eyes were still trained on the ground, so you didn’t see the look of hurt in matt’s eyes. you only saw the way he stepped back immediately.

“what?” he asked, pain clear in his voice. “why would you think that? i would never do that to you. you have to know that, please know that i’d never cheat on you.”

you shrugged, still not making eye contact. maybe you were scared if you did, you’d start crying, and he’d seen you cry enough times since he’d been back in town. “you broke up with me over a five minute phone call, matt. it was out of the blue, didn’t make any sense. the only reason i could think of was that you got tired of me and found someone better.”

matt scoffed. “i could never find someone better than you,” he said. “and never in my wildest dreams or thoughts did i ever even consider cheating on you.”

you finally met his eyes. the once bright blue irises were now darker, whether in pain or anger, you didn’t know. you weren’t sure how much had changed with him since the break up. “then why’d you end it? why’d you wait until you were traded and nearly halfway into the season to tell me it’s over?”

“because i didn’t want you to move to florida.”

you figured as much, but it still stung hearing it confirmed.

“why?” you asked.

“because you kept putting off your life for me! i hated it!” matt was pacing now, shoving his hands through his hair.

at the same time, your head tilted. you wanted answers. you wanted the reason why he'd ended things out of nowhere and the reason he just gave you wasn’t enough. “what’re you talking about?”

matt stopped moving long enough to fix you with a look. “you wanted to go to ucla until i committed to notre dame. and then when i signed with calgary, you transferred after a year.”

“so?”

matt scoffed. “so?”

“i wanted to do that!”

“and i wanted you to be yourself, i wanted you to chase your dreams without worrying about me, without altering your life just to stay with me!”

you stepped back. “so you didn’t want me with you?”

“that’s not what i said!”

“then what are you trying to say, matt? we’re just not compatible? headed in two different directions?”

“i—” he groaned and ran a hand down his face before shoving that same hand through his disheveled curls. “i wanted to do right by you. you are so gifted, and you could’ve gone to any school you wanted, but you followed me. i didn’t want to be the reason you never got to do what makes you happy.”

“so you took the one thing i wanted away from me?”

“you weren’t going to choose yourself! you were never going to choose yourself, so i did.”

“that wasn’t your choice to make, matt!” you couldn’t help but want to rip your hair out. who was he to think he could make decisions for you?

he took a step closer to you before immediately stepping backwards and pacing. “i have known you my entire life,” he said. it was an exaggeration, you both knew it, but as you both got older, it was harder to remember the years before you were in each other’s lives. “you are the kindest person i know, the best person i know. you have made more than enough sacrifices for me, for this game i love. but i was tired of being the only one living out their dream. you love art, or at least you did. you loved it, you painted all the time growing up. but when you moved to calgary? you stopped. you went to my games, galas, team events, instead. i wanted you to have something that you loved just as much as i love hockey.”

“and what if that was you? what if i was okay just supporting you?”

he shook his head adamantly. “you deserve more than that. i love you too much to let you live like that.”

you furrowed your brow. “live like what? supporting the love of my life as he lives out his dreams?” you tentatively took a step closer to him, imploring matt to look at you. “why is that such a bad thing?”

“because what if it’s not enough?” he looked up. you were shocked to see tears brimming in his eyes. “what if one day, you wake up next to me and resent me for dragging you all over the continent for a stupid sport?”

“it’s not a stupid sport—”

“it is when i’ve seen it ruin people, ruin their relationships.”

“but you ruined ours when you broke up with me, matt. how does that make any sense?” his mouth opened and shut once, twice, three times before he avoided your eyes altogether. “matt, how does that make sense?” you took a step towards him, slowly but moving. “matt?”

“i could handle it if you hated me,” he said. “i could learn to live with it if it meant you got to be happy in the end.”

your heart broke, your face crumpled as you watched the man you’d loved for a decade shuffle shoe around what he was actually trying to say. “why couldn’t i be happy with you, matt? why isn’t that possible in your mind?”

you waited for him to say something. it felt like you waited forever. but you would’ve waited for the cows to come home if it meant honesty from him.

“because i’m never gonna be enough for that.”

you thought the phone call from six months ago ripped your heart in half, you fully believed he’d done the most damage then. if your heart was going to be broken again, surely it would be when you would inevitably see another girl hanging off his arm at brady and emma’s wedding.

but there you were, standing in front of the man you still loved, heart breaking even worse because he believed he wasn’t enough. he wasn’t enough.

“matt—”

“to me? you’re everything. you’re literally the smartest person i know and you’re so talented and kind and considerate.” he laughed a little under his breath. “i still remember you shaking in the goal while i practiced my shots. i was waiting for you to say you didn’t want to do it, but you did it because you knew how much it meant to me.”

you smiled as you remembered the moment he was talking about. you were eleven and your crush on matt was just starting to form. you would’ve done anything he asked even if it meant flinching every two seconds.

“breaking up with you was the worst thing i’ve ever done, but if it meant sparing you the life of forever being forced to follow me around, it would be worth it.”

you stepped closer to him, uncaring that the two of you had been having this conversation in the middle of the sidewalk of his neighborhood. “who put this idea in your head, matt? was it me? was it—”

“your parents.”

you barely even heard the “what” leave your lips, so you were unsure how matt did. he looked as uncomfortable as you felt.

“i was gonna propose when you moved to florida. i bought the ring before the season ended and over the summer i had every intention of asking your dad for his blessing.” matt cleared his throat before finally looking up at the sky. the sun, thankfully, was beginning to set, golden hour was coming soon. “you’d gone out with our moms, emma, and taryn, and i went over to your house to talk to your dad.”

you weren’t liking where the story was going.

“he asked if i would quit hockey for you.”

your stomach dropped to your feet.

“when i said i would in a heartbeat, he didn’t believe me.”

your stomach was in the core of the earth.

“matt...”

he swallowed and looked at you. “i would do it, you know. if you’d asked me, i would’ve given hockey up in a heartbeat to keep you.”

“i know, matty, i know,” you said, the nickname slipping out before you could stop it. “what else did my dad say?”

matt shook his head.

“matt,” you implored.

but he didn't relent.

“matthew.” you took a step closer, finally, after months of little to no physical contact, your hand cupped his cheek. and like he had no control over his body, like he was acting on pure instinct, he leaned into your palm. “what did he say?”

he shook his head again. “i can’t.”

“you can.” you stroked your thumb along his cheekbone.

“he asked if this was the life i wanted for you. the moving around, the fighting, the crazy schedules, the tweets, all of it. he asked verbatim if that’s the kind of life i wanted you to live, if i wanted you under a microscope for the rest of our lives. he told me that he knew why i was there, and that if i thought you’d be happy to a life like that, then he'd give me his blessing.”

your hand shook a little, but matt’s hand steadied it against his face.

“it’s not that i thought you were weak,” he clarified. “it’s not that i didn’t want you, because i did. i just didn’t want you to be stuck with me for the rest of our lives.”

“is that what he said? that if we got married, i’d be shackled to you?”

matt shrugged, but in his silence, you found the answer.

“matty,” again, the nickname slipping out before you could stop it. “i’m sorry, you should’ve said something—”

“and cause problems between you and your dad?” he shook his head. “you love him, i wasn’t gonna come between that.”

you could’ve cried at that sentiment. after all this time, he was still looking out for you. “thank you, matt. thank you for being honest.”

he gave you a small smile, one that broke your heart as much as it mended it. “you staying for dinner?”

the temptation was there, to go inside and sit in your old seat next to him, to feel your shoulders brush like they used to when the two of you were still together. maybe you’d laugh at something brady said, maybe you’d compliment chantal on her cooking.

but there were bigger fish to fry at home in the shape of your father.

so you shook your head no. “i think you know i have to go.”

matt nodded. “i get it.”

the two of you turned around and started walking back to your car. in the end, you didn’t walk very far so you were standing next to your vehicle in a matter of minutes.

“thank you for agreeing to talk,” matt said, his hands shoved deep in his pocket.

“thanks for telling me the truth.”

matt opened your door and braced his forearm on the roof of your car while you got in. “i’ll see you around?” he asked.

you smiled. “don’t be a stranger, tkachuk.”

he laughed and knocked on the roof of your car before shutting the door. you watched him in your rearview mirror as you drove away. all the years you were together, there were only a few times you could remember walking away from him.

the drive home was quiet, you were stewing on what you'd say to your dad when you got back. you were pissed, upset, angry.

but most importantly, you were in agony.

the man you loved your whole life let you hate him for six months so you wouldn't hate your dad. he let you make him into a villain so you had the support of your parents.

and maybe it was that thought process that had you throwing your car in park and storming up to your childhood home and all but slamming the front door wide open.

your mom and dad were sitting in the living room, neither of them interacting with the other in any meaningful way. no, this wasn’t the tkachuk house. your parents weren’t in love anymore, they were content with the idea of not having to find anyone else.

“matt was gonna propose to me?” you asked, chest already heaving from the anger coursing through your body. your eyes were on fire, if looks could kill and such.

your dad, to his credit, managed to catch onto what you were talking about immediately and put his book down.

but your mom cut in. “sweetheart, what're you—”

“ask him,” you interrupted, but didn't spare her a single glance, something you'd apologize for later. “go ahead, ask him what i’m talking about. ask dad why matt broke up with me out of nowhere.”

“honey....” your dad started. you waited for him to continue, to justify something, to say it was a huge misunderstanding, but he said nothing.

“alan, what is she talking about?”

you still wouldn't look at your mom. your eyes were fixed on the figure of your father who sat still in his recliner. “i went to talk to matt today, get some closure, figure out what went wrong with us. dad convinced matthew that i would feel shackled to him if he proposed, if we got married. he planted this idea in matt’s head that he wouldn’t be enough to keep me happy.”

that seemed to be enough to get your dad speaking. “you have so much potential, honey, i didn’t want to see it wasted chasing him around.”

you rolled your eyes. “i was happy to do it. he was everything to me.”

“and you should’ve been everything. you should want to be great, you should want to be a great painter, you should want to accomplish great things.” your dad gestured between himself and your mother. “you think we want this for you? to choose a partner just based on love? what happens when that love runs out? what happens when you get married, have kids, and matthew get bored on the road? what then?”

your stomach twisted at the thought. “matt would never.”

“maybe not, honey. but you have to understand, i was looking out for you.”

you scoffed before you could stop yourself. “looking out for me? you literally held me while i sobbed a few weeks ago and told me that maybe matt had changed when you knew damn well the reason things had ended.” you ran a hand down your face and laughed bitterly. “do you wanna know the worst part about this? you let me believe the worst things about the man who has loved me most of my life.

“you let me hate the man who wanted nothing more than to protect my happiness. and then you had me going on absolute bullshit pep talks to myself every morning where i’d tell myself i’m fine, that matthew brendan tkachuk was just a guy i dated for almost half my life and that there are plenty of fish in the sea to choose from. and that i’m a woman, a strong, intelligent, and capable woman that any man would be lucky to have! but i went on a date the other night and something really awful almost happened, but matt was there and he made sure i was okay. he took my vitriol in stride, he protected me without ruining my life, something you can’t seem to do.”

your dad, to his credit took your spewing words with a straight face. he didn’t interrupt you once.

your shoulders were heaving with the force of breaths you were taking to get all those words out. your heart was pounding in your chest. you were angry. angry. angry.

until it dissipated at the look on your parents’ faces.

tears replaced the anger quite quickly.

“i get you were trying to protect me, but you should’ve seen the look on his face when he told me. dad, i love you, but you damn near ruined my life.”

your father nodded, a shattered look on his face. “sweetheart i—if i’d known—” he cleared his throat. “i’m sorry. i thought i was doing right by you, trying to keep you from making the same mistakes.”

“and what mistakes are those? falling in love? getting married to the person you loved? getting to live the rest of your life together?”

“falling complacent,” your mother said. “getting too comfortable, becoming roommates instead of lovers.” your mother was picking at her nail beds, refusing to look at either of you. “i was not a part of the conversation your dad had with matthew, but i will not lie and say that your behavior didn’t concern me, because it did.” your mother held a hand up when you opened your mouth. “you didn’t have any ambition! you were sacrificing your dreams for him, aimlessly following him.”

“mom—”

“i have found myself lost before, lost in this marriage, lost in motherhood, lost in my job. i did not want that for you, neither of us did.” your mother stood from her seat on the couch and walked towards you. she placed her hand on your cheek. “i know you love him, and maybe he’s your person, but we did not,” she cleared her throat, “i did not want you to grow up regretting and resenting matt because you were too young to know what you wanted.”

your mom’s thumb traced your cheekbone. she stared you down with the eyes that matched your own. “do you remember when you were younger, you would draw these beautiful pieces with your colored pencils?”

you nodded.

“you don’t draw anymore, sweetheart. your art supplies are still in a box in the attic where they have been since you've moved back home. from my viewpoint, i see the little girl i raised chasing the man she loves and neglecting herself in the process. you’ve spent most of your life following matthew, but what about you? when will it be your turn?”

your bottom lip wobbled.

you were nine years old again, showing matt the self portrait you did and watching his face light up.

“you should draw me sometime!” he said.

and you did. all through middle school, high school, undergrad, all of it was matt matt matt matt matt. even if it wasn’t his face, even if it wasn’t hockey related, it was matt. the colors swirling together, the passion beneath the oils, all of it reflecting him.

you were so pissed at your dad, for telling matt what he did, but you were pissed at yourself as well, for neglecting who you were.

who were you anyway?

the fight left you pretty soon after your mother’s words were spoken. the hard truth of them still lingered in the air.

you went to bed that night and stared at the ceiling, trying to imagine what you would paint if the surface was a canvas instead.

before

you would’ve never picked up your phone had you known what was waiting on the other side of it.

the day started off simple enough. your apartment was a mess, usually at that time of year, it would be covered in christmas decorations and presents would be wrapped under the tree you and matt picked out from a tree farm. this time, there were boxes strewn about the room in anticipation of the move you’d be making to florida in just a few weeks. the plan was you’d fly into st. louis and have all your belongings that you didn’t need to survive, shipped to your new home in florida.

you were in the middle of packing up the last of your summer clothes into a box when matt called. it felt like a flip had been switched, because any exhaustion that was set deep in your bones from the work week disappeared the second you saw his contact photo on your lock screen.

“hey!” you said, smile so wide, your cheeks ached. “how’re you doing?”

“hey,” he replied, but his voice sounded off.

“everything okay?” you asked. “i saw the game last night, i’m sorry about the loss.”

“don’t worry about it.”

“oh,” you said. “well i have most of the apartment packed up, just need to put the rest of my clothes in my suitcases. i’ve already arranged the rest of our things to be shipped and—”

“i don't think you should move to florida.”

all the words in the world and all you could say was “what?”

matt sighed over the other end of the phone. “i didn’t mean to say it like that.”

“but you still meant to say it?”

“look, this isn’t easy for me to admit but, i don’t think it’s a good idea for you to move to florida. i don't even think it’s a good idea to keep this going.”

“keep what going?”

he sighed again. “this, us, our relationship. i just don’t think it’s working.”

well that was news to you.

you swallowed, your hands were shaking. it wasn’t until you couldn’t see straight that you realized you were crying.

“since when? i thought we were fine! what did i miss? what can i do to fix this?”

the battle of alberta had nothing on matt’s silence ringing through the phone. with each passing second, you felt the hope of repairing and fixing your relationship dwindle.

“i don’t think there’s anything to fix.”

the world had stopped spinning, even as he continued on, talking about the next steps you'd need to take, how he would continue to pay the lease, he’d cover the moving expenses to switch destinations of your things.

it all made you want to vomit.

how could he speak about the logistics of your break up when you felt like you couldn’t get past the actual reality of your breakup? your world was caving in and he seemed fine.

at the end of the call, he apologized. “i’m sorry,” he said.

all you could say was “okay.”

five minutes, your phone said when you looked at the call log.

matthew tkachuk had ruined your life in five fucking minutes.

after

frankie had to be the weirdest boss you ever had. when you called him and said you needed a few days off to sort things out in your personal life, he jumped at the chance to tell you to take a day or two off immediately.

“i can’t pay you for those days, but if it means you feel better, go ahead and take off. we’ll be fine.”

which is how you ended up sitting in your room for eight hours, staring at a blank canvas.

your hands shook anytime you reached for a paintbrush. what if it was the wrong brush? the wrong color? what if it was bad? ugly? what if you hated it?

you'd communicated those same thoughts to simone over the phone when you called on her lunch break, trying to keep yourself from crying over a blank canvas.

“it’s gonna be difficult at first,” she started. “but you have to start somewhere, even if it’s just a dot in the middle of the canvas.”

and you'd repeated her words in your head, yet you couldn’t force yourself to do anything about it. this was supposed to be about you, yet everything you were doing reminded you of him. it was the particular blue you used to mix together to represent his eyes. it was the red from calgary. it was the yellow that reminded you of the t-shirt you wore when matt first kissed you.

what would you even paint? the living room of your first shared apartment? saddledome? this was supposed to be about you, so why did you keep wanting to make it about matt? what was wrong with you? your parents were right, you lost yourself in trying to be the most supportive girlfriend around.

the second day didn’t produce much results either and when you finally went back to work, you looked and felt like you hadn’t rested at all.

“that bad, huh?” frankie asked.

“i didn't think it’d be that hard to paint, it’s literally never been that hard before.”

“you gotta just let it go.” when he didn't say anything else, you gestured for him to continue. “stop expecting it to be a masterpiece or to be meaningful, art is about you, not perfection.”

“but—”

frankie held a hand up, just like your mother had. “when you're here, it’s about doing right by the painting, the art itself. when you create though, it’s about doing right by you.”

you floated through your workday, your fingers itched to do something more than scraping dirt and grime off the back of a canvas. they longed for the oil based paint to stick to them. they longed for the cramping in your hand that came from holding a brush too long.

but you started.

you turned on some classical music and started.

you weren’t even sure what you were painting until you were staring back at the ice rink in front of you, empty, just like you were feeling. you should’ve known it would've had something to do with ice.

maybe it was foolish to believe you could completely get rid of matt in one painting. you'd known him longer than you hadn’t. but frankie’s words kept echoing in your head.

it’s about doing right by you.

so instead of painting matt or his number, or the curls on top of his head, you painted something else entirely. blurred figures raced past a lone frame standing completely still. the slumped shoulders of the person in stuck in one place, the lack of proper equipment, no ice skates, no sweater.

after days of painting and plotting and painting and waiting, it was finished. an ice rink with a person completely stationary while life moves around her.

it wasn’t your best piece, but it was your most honest.

it was like a dam had been broken because you couldn’t stop painting the silly little pieces of your feelings. you were losing space in your bedroom, and your phone had been neglected for two weeks.

now, you still responded to texts in the bridesmaid group chat, and you texted simone frequently. but your brain was taken up by this reawakened, once dormant, passion of yours. it was all you could think about.

your fingers were practically permanently stained with paint. you hadn’t changed out of your paint clothes all weekend, living in the spandex and one of your dad’s old t-shirts. the past few days, you’d been a hermit, only leaving the house to go to work. and while you weren’t completely anti social, you weren’t going out of your way to get in contact with people.

your parents were out on a rare date night while you were up in your room adding little details to your painting. the music playing through your phone’s speakers had lulled you into another world. you were all but lost to reality.

thump.

you paused, brush poised over the canvas. you listened again for the sound but heard nothing. so you continued.

thump thump.

you glanced at the window just in time to see a rock hit it. before you could stop yourself, you sighed and chuckled.

you felt like you were in high school again.

when you opened your window, sure enough matt was standing outside with a handful of stones in his hands. “you busy?” he asked.

at the sight of his boyish smile, your heart leapt. “what’re you doing here?”

he shrugged. “just wanted to see you.”

be careful, your head warned you. he’s not yours anymore.

but your heart didn’t give a shit. try as hard as you might, you were almost positive you’d love matt the rest of your life. “you couldn’t knock on the door?”

he shrugged again. “i tried, you didn’t hear me.” he shifted on his feet. “so are you busy?”

you glanced back at the painting you'd been obsessing over all day and decided you could leave it for a little while. “gimme a sec.”

very quickly, you cleaned up your art supplies before you ran down the stairs. you snagged your keys out of the basket by the door and locked the front door behind you.

matt had moved off your lawn and was now propped up against the passenger door of his car. “wanna go for a drive?”

how could you deny him anything when he looked so happy to see you?

“you’ve been busy,” he said as soon as he pulled out of the driveway. you did your best not to pay attention to how good his arm looked behind your head rest as he backed out into the street.

“how do you figure?”

matt put the car in drive, but before he pulled away, he gestured to your forehead. “you have paint, everywhere.” you could feel the heat crawl up your neck as you opened the sun visor to look in the mirror. sure enough, streaks of paint covered your cheeks. matt reached over and shut it with one hand. “stop it,” he said. “you look great.”

“even with the paint?”

“especially with the paint. you look happy again.” a beat passed. “are you?”

you thought about it for a moment. a few weeks ago, you were in the trenches, suffocating in the unknown, drawing in questions that had no answers. and while you were still single, even as you sat in the passenger seat of the man that you still loved, you felt capable. you felt like you could handle life. no longer were you floating, waiting for a strong breeze to blow you away from your reality. you still might depend on having wind in your sails, but at least you were a boat with a steering wheel instead of a helium balloon.

“i think i’m getting there. i’m not as angry anymore, i’m painting again.” you gestured to your face. “though you could probably tell.

“what have you been painting?”

how could you explain it? how could you possibly articulate that while you were still searching for what it meant to be you, you had somehow uncovered fragments of yourself that you’d lost along the way?

“myself.”

matt smiled, his eyes crinkled in the corners. “that’s what i like to hear. you enjoying it?”

“more than i thought i would, once i got over the fear.”

“fear? what were you scared of?”

you picked at the dirt under your fingernails. “not being good enough.”

matt made a sound between a scoff and a snicker, like the words coming out of your mouth were so incredibly stupid it was both alarming and hilarious. “are you fucking with me? you’re the most talented person i know!”

you rolled your eyes before you could stop yourself. “you play with some of the best athletes in the world—”

“and none of them could hold a candle to you.” he braked easily when you came up to a red light.

and you weren’t sure why you said what you said next, maybe it was the intimacy of the environment or maybe, when it came down to it, you wanted matt to hear all your updates first.

“i think i’m gonna apply to more grad schools again. i talked to frankie, he gave me some information and said he’d write as many recommendations as i needed.”

you wanted to be brave and look at matthew, you wanted to see his reaction in real time. but you couldn’t bring yourself to. whether that was because the moment felt too intimate for eye contact between exes or the you were afraid you'd see real time disappointment, you weren’t sure.

“is that something you wanna do?” his voice was soft. you could feel his eyes on your profile.

that was a question you'd asked yourself over and over again. was it something you were legitimately interested in? or were you like every twenty-something who applies for grad school when they don't know what else to do?

“i think there's just as much beauty in restoring as there is in creating.” in a split second, you decided you could be brave, so you looked back at him. “i don’t think i should have to choose between one of the other.

matt nodded, his hands white against the steering wheel. “do you think everything deserves a chance at restoration?” he asked, his blue eyes filled with a sincerity only he could replicate.

“i think anything can be fixed if someone cares enough to try.”

feeling bold, you spared him a glance from the corner of your eye. matt had his head down for a brief moment, a small smile on his lips.

there were words that hung in the air like the car freshener on matt’s rearview mirror, yet neither of you spoke them. both of you were more than content to bask in the silence rather than answer unasked questions that you weren’t ready to acknowledge.

before

matt wasn’t at school that day, and you were the reason why. he hardly ever missed, even with his busy hockey schedule and his dad’s games, chantal always made sure to have her kids in school. if they weren’t rich, you’d assume his parents had the same thought process your grandparents did: they weren’t forking out all this money just for their kids to be absent all the time.

which brought you back to your original thought.

matt wasn’t at school.

and you were the reason.

well. that wasn’t entirely true. matt’s decisions were his own, even if the two of you were in fifth grade, you were both mature enough to own your mistakes.

and he made a big one.

it started at the beginning of the school year when jared, a new kid, started bothering you during class. you'd done what your parents had taught you and told the teacher. but mrs. wright just looked at you with a condescending smile and said:

“aw honey, he just has a crush on you!”

you were met with the same excuse each time you told her.

you’d tried to keep it to yourself, done your best to get over it, but he was too forward. on monday, he teased the way your uniform looked, which was a sore subject because your parents couldn’t afford to buy you a new uniform and your grandparents were being stingy with money in an effort to manipulate your mother. you were old enough to start recognizing that now.

on tuesday, jared criticized your doodles on a sheet of scrap paper, saying they looked childish. wednesday was no better, he snickered and pointed at you when you messed up a note playing hot cross buns on your recorder. thursday was when things took a left turn.

jared hadn't been at school for long to fully understand the dynamic between you and matt, not like the other kids did. he was smart enough to approach you when matt wasn’t around for the most part. maybe it was the confidence of the lack of punishment and accountability from your teacher and school administration that made him bold enough to tug on your hair and push you down during recess right in front of matthew.

you didn’t have enough time to shed a tear before matt was on jared.

to put it simply, physically fighting someone was grounds for suspension. it probably should’ve been a longer suspension had you and your parents not said jared had been harassing you for weeks now with no consequences.additionally, the amount of money the tkachuks sewed into the school probably helped lessen his punishment too.

“you shouldn’t have beat him up,” you said. the two of you were sitting on the back porch of matt’s house. originally, you expected matt to be grounded from seeing you as a punishment, but given the context, keith and chantal both said it would've been unfair.

matt shrugged. “he should’ve kept his hands to himself.” his words sounded similar to the ones you heard from his father earlier that day when you and matthew were sitting outside the principal’s office.

“mr. tkachuk, we do not condone violence at this school.”

“but you do condone harassment? bullying? my son was doing what your administration failed to do, and that’s protect his best friend.”

“i don't like it when you're in trouble.”

“and i don’t like seeing some jerk hurt you.” matt nudged your knee with his own. “besides, i’ll be back on monday. ‘s not like i was expelled.”

“just don’t make it a habit.”

“no promises,” he said. “i’ll always fight for you.”

after

the wedding approached faster than you thought it would. you spent the last seven months dreading emma and brady’s big day, scared of what seeing matt in a tux would do to your heart. originally, you didn't think you could handle it, you never thought you'd actually get to the wedding day and not want to cancel last minute.

but now you were standing in the bridal suite adding finishing touches to your makeup in the vanity feeling every bit of happiness for emma that you were faking just months ago.

life was starting to turn around for you. just last week, frankie had helped you finish your applications to some grad programs in art restoration and conservation. you were holding out hope for nyu, but didn’t want to get your hopes up.

“how’re you feeling?” taryn came up behind you where you were lined up in preparation to walk .

“ready for some wine and the reception,” you answered honestly. “i’m so excited.” and you were telling the truth for once. your smile felt genuine.

“matt will be excited to see you,” she said. “you look so pretty.”

you rolled your eyes but couldn’t stop the smile from forming on your lips. “oh hush, this isn’t about us, not even remotely close.”

taryn rolled her eyes and shrugged her shoulders. “maybe...” she trailed off before the wedding planner was moving her into position.

your hands shook as you held the bouquet. lily, one of the other bridesmaids looked back at you and mouthed “are you okay?” when you nodded and gave her a shaky smile, she turned around.

you weren’t nervous for a good reason, but walking in front of crowds always scared you. what if you tripped? what if the heel of your shoe broke? what if what if what—

but then it was your turn to walk down the aisle and every anxious thought went quiet the second you saw matthew.

it really wasn’t fair, how he could put you at ease so easily, without even saying a single word. how his blue eyes would meet yours and the racing of your heart would beat for a different reason. sure, there were moments where you were anxious around him, around the feelings that came with dating for ten years, but the truth was you never felt more safe than you did in his arms.

you kept your eyes locked on his as you walked down the aisle. not once did you stumble or fall. though, you nearly laughed out loud when he winked at you. a flush creeped into your cheeks when he smirked. you’d known him most of your life and you were still reduced to a school girl whenever he looked at you. when you made it to the end, you took your spot next to lily, taryn eventually took the spot next to you.

personally, you loved weddings. you cried every time. so obviously you were wiping tears with brady when emma walked down the aisle. it was almost surreal, watching the boy you knew as when he was eight years old was now marrying the love of his life. when did you grow up? when did that happen?

you met matt’s eyes over brady’s shoulder. in another life, it would've been you two getting married. the very thought sent an ache through your chest, but it didn't hurt the way it did a few months ago, hell, even a few weeks ago.

sure, you might not have ended up with matt, but you reconciled. he would still be in your life, even if it wasn't in the same capacity as before. that thought used to be debilitating, now you were just thankful he was around at all.

the crowd cheered as brady kissed emma. you could barely see them through the tears. you managed to wipe most of them away in time to walk back down the aisle. you were supposed to be linking arms and walking back down the aisle with quinn hughes. so when matt was standing there and holding his arm out, you almost stumbled back out of sheer confusion. in a haze, you took his arm.

“you weren’t supposed to walk me,” you said just loud enough for him to hear.

matt scoffed and pulled you a little closer. “like i was letting hughes walk you back down the aisle. that’s my job.”

“you messed up the order.”

he shrugged like the idea didn't bother him in the slightest. “brady will get over it, if he even notices.” the two of you had just walked down the aisle when you went to pull away, but his arm tightened around yours. “you look beautiful,” he said before releasing your arm and walking off.

it felt like you were stuck, rooted where you were standing, until the wedding planner ushered you along to take photos.

you were floating through the pictures, only barely remembering to smile and look at the camera. matt’s words floated around in your head in an endless loop.

when it was time for dinner, you entered with quinn like you were supposed to (and to matt’s chagrin). brady and emma did not want to confuse the dj who was announcing everyone. quinn indulged your excitement and twirled you under his arm as the two of you walked out. there was a huge smile on your face at the sheer fun of it all, a smile that didn't dissipate until you were both seated with the rest of the wedding party.

you were happily chatting with quinn, asking him about how his girlfriend was, and eating your dinner when emma’s maid of honor stood up and started her speech. to be quite frank, you knew it was a beautiful nod to her friendship with emma, but you weren’t fully paying attention, too enraptured with the food and wine in front of you. though, you did clap where you were supposed to and laughed when everyone else did.

it wasn’t until matt stood up to give his speech that you were dialed in. and maybe that made you a horrible person.

you knew matt well enough to know he didn't prepare a speech, not like the maid of honor did. he'd told you so once brady and emma got engaged.

“are you not gonna write your speech down?”

“nope,’ he said, popping the p.

“but he's your brother.”

“the only one who is getting a planned and fleshed out speech is you, when i propose and when we get married. everyone else gets the improvised speech.”

so you weren't surprised when he didn’t have a slip of paper in his hand like the maid of honor.

“thank you all for coming to celebrate the marriage of brady and emma with us. i know it means a lot to them, to see the support they have all around,” he began. “i’ve known brady his whole life, obviously. so i know better than most that he’s a menace to society. both on and off the rink. but seeing him with you, emma, well you’ve brought the little bit of good out in him.” the crowd chuckled at the slight, you even cracked a smile, especially when brady flipped him off.

“love is the best thing this world has to offer,” he continues. “who are we without it? what is life without it?” matt looked around the room until his eyes settled on you, locked in. “falling in love is, dare i say, better than the game itself. once you experience it, there is no game that could hold a candle to the feeling. i’ve found it, and i’m happy that you, brady and emma, found it too. just hold onto it, don’t let it go. not when it gets hard, especially not when things look bad. it’s those times you hold on tighter.”

maybe it was the lighting, but his eyes looked a little misty.

matt cleared his throat. “so here’s to the bride and groom, may you have nothing but good years ahead.”

you swallowed the lump in your throat and clapped along with everyone else. but matt’s eyes never left yours. you could feel his gaze on your face even as you talked to quinn. but he was on the other side of the table closer to brady.

it wasn’t until the dancing started that he even approached you.

outkast’s hey ya blasted over the speakers when matt found you. his hand immediately slid into yours as he tugged you closer.

“great speech!” you shouted over the music. “did you prepare it beforehand?”

matt spun you around. “you know i didn’t. i’m saving prepared speeches for special occasions.”

you expected the answer but played dumb anyway. “your brother’s wedding not a big enough occasion?”

he scoffed, like the very idea was offensive. “not even remotely close. only the love of my life deserves the written speeches.” he pulled you a little closer. your stomach twisted at the thought of him falling in love with someone else, but it didn't hurt the way it would've months ago. “but considering i broke up with her before i could propose, that’s not happening any time soon.”

your heart lurched in your chest, yet you felt yourself stepping back. “matt....”

he sighed like he knew what you were going to say. “i know we need to talk, and that this isn't the time, but can i just dance with you tonight? like nothing changed?”

and in the end, you wouldn’t be able to deny him anything.

you allowed him to spin you around and hold you close when the music slowed down. you allowed yourself to pretend all of it was real. you allowed yourself to live in this fictitious world where new jersey was the happiest place on earth simply because you had matt. the last seven months hadn't happened, you were still together, your future was certain, and maybe one of these days, he'd get down on one knee and ask for forever.

you played pretend even when the night was coming to a close. even when you were all waving goodbye to emma and brady. even when you gathering your things, matt was there, holding your bags for you and walking you to the car you rented.

“when do you fly back to st. louis?” he asked.

“tomorrow. i have work on monday.”

he grimaced. “frankie wouldn't let you off?”

you rolled your eyes and smiled. “some of us don't make millions of dollars and need to pay our bills, matt.”

“right,” he said. “forgot about that.” he cleared his throat and stepped closer to you. “do you think we could get coffee when i get back in town? i really think we should talk.”

you reached out and took his hand in yours. “just let me know when you’re back.”

and he did. days later when you were back at work on your lunch break, you got a text from him. before you could stop yourself, a smile lit up your face.

matty:

just landed, when are you free?

the two of you met at a park not too far from your homes, deciding that you two needed privacy to talk and sitting in a coffee shop where matt’s face was well known wasn’t ideal. it felt like it used to, with the two of you walking side by side, matt walking a little slower to match your pace. your arms occasionally brushed.

“everything okay?” you asked when the silence started to make you anxious.

matt looked at you and smiled. “yeah,” he said. “just wanted to talk.”

“about what?”

“us. what happens next.” when you didn't say anything, he continued. “i wanted to apologize—”

“there’s nothing to apologize for, matt. i understand—”

“but i should’ve just communicated with you instead of letting my insecurity and the pressure get to me. i should’ve done better.”

you bumped your shoulder into his bicep. “you did what you thought was best, i can’t blame you for that.”

matt ran a hand down his face and sighed. “i wish you wouldn’t be so understanding,” he said. “i wish you'd just say that what i did sucked.”

“but i get it—”

“i get that you get it, but i need you to be honest with me.”

“okay,” you said. “i’ll be honest. i hated every single rose you've ever gotten me, but i was too afraid to say anything because you looked so happy to give them to me. and i know it’s what your dad would bring home to your mother after roadies. i hated that you never remembered my coffee order, you changed it every single time, but i accepted it and tried it because i saw how proud of yourself you were and how much it meant to you that you got me a drink. and i hated that you ended things over a phone call with no explanation. i hated that i spent seven months agonizing over what i did wrong.” you swallowed the emotion bubbling up. “but i understand why you did it, and in another life, i might have done the same.”

matt’s hand brushed yours. you thought he was going to leave it at that, a gentle touch, but he grabbed your hand and interlocked your fingers “i wish you would've told me you hated roses.”

you smiled and shrugged, squeezing his hand in yours. “seeing how happy you were outweighed the hatred for roses. it was the thought that counted.”

“so what is your favorite flower?”

“red anemones.”

matt pulled out his phone and typed something into his notes app. “what’s your coffee order?” when you told him, he typed something else into the note. “i do care about that stuff,” he said. “i didn't mean to seem dismissive.”

“you remembered the important stuff like anniversaries and my birthday. you remembered that i hate driving in snow, you used to pick me up from school every time there was more than an inch on the ground.” you squeezed his hand again so he'd look at you. “you weren’t a shit boyfriend for forgetting the little things, matt. in fact, you were a really good boyfriend until you broke up with me.”

he didn’t say anything for a moment, choosing to bask in the summer sounds of the park. “do you think we could try again one day?”

it was a question you'd asked yourself multiple times since the conversation where you found out the truth behind the break up that nearly ruined you. could you two do it again? do it right this time? there was no way to know.

“i don’t know.”

a beat passed. “would you want to?”

would you? being with matt was all that you dreamed about but would you want to risk the heartbreak again? would you want to take the chance that it wouldn’t work out a second time?

yes. it was an easy yes.

heartbreak was inevitable, but you wouldn’t want your heart to be broken by anyone but matt.

but you could love him and also want to prioritize yourself and your wants and desires. you had a plan for your future that didn’t involve him for once. maybe he’d be there years later, but there was no guarantee. if you got into grad school, you wouldn’t be moving to florida. and while long distance had worked before, there was no assurance that things would again.

so you said “maybe one day,” and gave him a smile.

“one day,” he replied. “in the meantime, can we be friends?”

one more time, you squeezed his hand, tugging him a little closer, his arm bumping into your shoulder. “i’ll always be your friend at the very least, from here on out.”

after what looked like a moment of hesitation, matt pulled you closer and pressed a kiss to the side of your head.

after

when matt flew back to florida for the season, you fully expected him to stop talking to you. with distance being a factor, it was easy for you to assume he'd text whenever he wasn't tired or out partying.

but he texted you every waking and unoccupied minute of his day. in all honesty, you were worse at replying than he was. everything felt like high school again, in the days leading up to your first kiss.

you felt like you got your best friend back.

it started with him telling you about his day, asking about yours, and evolved into him telling you a joke he'd heard that day, a tiktok that reminded him of you, remembering your schedule.

god your heart leapt every time he texted you. it was pathetic, but you loved it.

you loved him.

it wasn’t a scary thought, you’d never stopped loving him even after the breakup. to act like you ever stopped was crazy.

and when you got into grad school? he was the first person you called.

it was nearly a year after he ended things, and there you were, calling him on the phone. you waited for him to pick up, for a moment, you were scared he wouldn’t answer. the phone kept ringing and your anxiety built up as the seconds went on. maybe he was busy or his phone was in the other room. or worst case scenario, he was ignoring your call, out with someone else. what if you annoyed him? what if—

“hey!” his cheery voice sounded over the phone. “everything okay? you usually don't call at...” he trailed off. “...3pm?”

you could’ve cried at the sound of his voice, the relief hitting you all at once. “i got in,” you replied.

“what—” he choked. “you got in? nyu’s program?”

you nodded before realizing he couldn't see you, stunned at the news and the fact that he immediately knew what you were talking about. “i did.”

he sighed over the phone. “god, baby, i’m so proud of you.” your heart swooped at the pet name, no longer angering you like it did months ago. “what did your parents say?”

“i haven’t told them yet,” you said. “i just found out.”

he paused. “and you called me.” he didn’t bother asking.

“and i called you. maybe that makes me a horrible daughter for not telling my literal parents but i just wanted to tell you first.”

he paused again. “why?”

your stomach twisted with nerves, your hands felt sweaty. “you know why.”

“i need to hear you say it. tell me there’s still hope.”

“matty—” you cut yourself off with a shaky inhale. “matt, we shouldn't.”

“why not? i love you, i’m sorry but i love you. i fucked up and lost the best thing that’s ever happened to me because i was scared.”

“matt, we shouldn’t be having this conversation over the phone...”

“then i’ll book a flight.”

you closed your eyes and smiled. this was a side of matt that you knew, someone who’d drop anything for someone he loved or the game he adored.

“you have games and practice,” you reminded him.

you could practically hear the scowl through the receiver. “we play the blues in a week. can we talk about this then? i’ll take you out to dinner.”

“you usually get dinner with your parents.”

matt scoffed through the phone. “i see them enough, i want to be with you.”

you smiled because you just couldn't help yourself. “we’ll talk about this in a week,” you agreed.

matt whooped over the phone, the glee evident in his tone. “i’m really proud of you,” he said, changing the subject back to the original point of the call. “grad school is a big deal. you worked so hard to get here.”

“thank you, matty.”

“i’ll talk to you soon, okay?”

the week leading up to the panthers vs. blues game was agonizing. you kept thinking of his confession over the phone:

i love you, i’m sorry. i love you, i’m sorry. i love you.

his words rattled around in your head like the cartoon birds that would fly over a concussed cartoon character.

five more days.

then four.

then three.

two.

tomorrow.

today.

matt bought you tickets to the game, one that you offered to simone, but she declined saying she “wouldn't want to be in the way.” when you told her she wouldn't, that you would like her company, she laughed.

“honey,” she said. “there is no one else in the room whenever you and matt are around each other.”

you’d flushed when she said that, but didn't deny it.

your mother and father were seated in the living room when you came bounding down the stands to head out to the game. “you going to see him?” she asked. there was a fond look in her eye, one that only brightened when you smiled and nodded. “have so much fun, honey.”

you looked to see if your dad would say something, but he just nodded and went back to reading his book. it was fine, you were past caring what other people thought of you. in a month, you'd be moving to new york for school and out this cycle of mediocrity and settling. you bid your parents goodbye and left.

there was no time to waste when you got to the arena. you immediately made your way to the seat matt paid for and waited. you were a bit outnumbered in your panthers jersey (again, courtesy of matt), but he was no stranger to the st. louis crowd.

you were sitting close enough to the glass to be spotted when matt came out for warm ups. he tossed a few pucks to the kids next to you, but his eyes never left yours. the smile on his face eased the anxiety about coming, the anxiety about the conversation you'd have afterwards.

seeing him beam at only you? the world could've stopped turning and you didn't think you'd even care.

the game, unfortunately, did not turn out in their favor. with a 4-1 loss, you were two seconds away from asking matt to reschedule. the conversation both of you needed to have shouldn’t be done when he was coming off a loss.

nevertheless, your phone vibrated with a text.

matty:

where’d you park?

you replied with the vague location of your vehicle and headed that direction. you weren’t sure how he beat you out there, but he was propped against your driver’s side door like it was a luxury car and not the used vehicle you’d had since you were sixteen.

he held his hand out, and to anyone who didn’t know any better, they might think he wanted to hold your hand. but you tossed him your keys and he caught them mid air.

matt unlocked the car and threw his bag in your backseat while you got in the passenger seat.

“where are we going?”

“waffle house.”

suddenly, you were seventeen again, sitting shotgun in matt’s car at 2 am when neither of you could sleep. sometimes, you'd go to a 24 hour drive through and sit in the parking lot to eat. but your favorite moments were spent in a waffle house booth that had a half ass wipe down and food prepared by people who’d rather be anywhere else.

it was the best food you’d ever had every single time.

the bonus was that no one asked any questions, no one batted an eye at the son of keith tkachuk sitting in a waffle house at 2 am.

matt knew the drive by heart and minutes later, you were entering the establishment, trying not to slip on the greasy floors.

both of you slid into a booth and picked up the menus.

“didn’t think you could eat this stuff, with your diet and what not.”

matt shrugged. “it’s the holiday season, i’m allowed a few cheat days?”

you quirked a brow, remembering a time in calgary where you fixed dinners based on the diet given to you by the team nutritionist once she realized matt didn’t and couldn't cook. “i didn’t think that was allowed.”

“what they don't know won't kill ‘em.” he gestured to the menu. “what do you want?”

“you mean you don’t remember?” you teased.

matt rolled his eyes and gestured to the waiter. he recited both of your orders with an alarming amount of accuracy, given the fact the two of you hadn’t eaten at a waffle house in over a year.

“what?” he asked when he saw you looking after the server walked away.

“how do you remember that but not my coffee order?”

he blushed a little. “i feel like your coffee order changed with the seasons—”

“because they have seasonal drinks, matthew!” you exclaimed with a laugh.

“your waffle house order is simpler, easier for me to remember.”

you rolled your eyes with a smile on your face but accepted his answer. you sipped at your water and stared at him. “so what did you want to talk about?”

matt flinched back, like the sudden change in topic slapped him in the face. “what? you didn’t wanna wait until we got our food?”

you shrugged. “i’d feel less anxious if we just talked about it now.”

matt reached across the table and grabbed your hand in his own. it felt like being twenty-two again, living with matthew in calgary and holding hands under the table when you hung out with him teammates. his palm fit perfectly in your own.

“you don’t need to be anxious, i’m not gonna pressure you into anything.”

“i just wanna know what's’s going on in your head.”

matt’s thumb stroked the back of your hand. “you are all that’s in my head right now,” he confessed. “i get it, i fucked up by breaking up with you a year ago. and if i could go back, i would in a heartbeat. i would tell you everything i told you a week ago. that i love you and i’m sorry. i’m sorry that my insecurities got in the way, that i made a decision for you and in doing so, made you doubt my love for you.”

he continued. “but if you hear nothing else, hear me when i say i love you from the deepest part of my soul. if you asked me to give up the game and move with you to new york, if you asked me to request a trade to the fucking rangers, i’d do it in a heartbeat.”

“i would never ask you to do that,” you whispered.

“i know, but i would. because i love you, and if you’d let me, i’d like to be with you again. i’d like to marry you like i should’ve years ago. i’d like to have babies with you, however many you want. i wanna grow old and live in a house big enough to fit all of our grandkids for holidays. i want all of that with you,” he said. “what do you want?”

there were so many things you could say, so many things you wanted to say. but with watery eyes, and a heart that raced faster than a treadmill at full speed, you couldn’t vocalize any of it.

your mind raced with thoughts.

i wanna know the nicknames you gave your teammates. i want to use that specific combination of paints to make your eye color. i want to stick my cold feet between your legs and laugh when you pull away. i want my birthday to be your passcode again.

“i want you” you said, unable to say anything more. it was a miracle you even got those words out, your voice cracked on every syllable.

“yeah?” he asked, eyes shining with hope.

you nodded. matt immediately leaned over the table and kissed you, you met him halfway. and it felt like every question you ever had was answered. it felt like the best possible ending of your favorite tv series.

he felt like home, more than st. louis ever could. more than calgary.

when you both pulled back, neither of you could keep the smiles off your faces. “what do you say to doing long distance again? just while i’m in school,” you proposed.

matt’s smile could’ve lit the entire city.

“baby, for you? i’d do anything.”

#matthew tkachuk imagine #matthew tkachuk x reader #matthew tkachuk #nhl blurb #nhl imagines #nhl imagine

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chukys-mouthguard · 1 year ago

Note

fluffy rare moment of peace w chucky post scf pls?

done dreaming

750 words

genre: fluff

featuring: matthew tkachuk x female reader

request: yes

The sound of the front door closing awoke you from your much needed slumber. Rolling over you checked the time.

4:45am

To be honest you expected him to stay out later, or possibly not even come home. This night being the most amazing night in his life. Your boyfriend was now a Stanley Cup Champion.

Saying that still didn’t seem real. You felt like you needed to pinch yourself every few minutes, the image of him hoisting the cup not leaving your mind. The pure joy he felt, seeing his family embrace him and the love you felt on the ice among them. It was a day you’d never forget.

Throwing back the covers, you pulled on one of Matt’s t-shirts, heading to find him off somewhere in the house. Wondering why he hadn’t come into bed.

As you peeked your head into the living room, you saw Matt sitting on the couch. His back facing you as you heard him watching back different videos, surely from the eventful night he’d had. An occasional chuckle leaving his lips, a smile on yours as you made your way over to him.

Wrapping your arms around his neck as you rested your head on his shoulder, smiling at the photo of him and his dad with the cup that was currently on his phone.

“I’m so proud of you babe.”

His hand rested on your forearm, thumb tracing over your skin as he smiled to himself. A sigh leaving his lips as you could tell he was getting emotional. His breathing getting shaky as he tried holding in his tears.

Quickly moving around the couch to join him, you wrapped him in a hug. Matthew crying into your chest as he threw his arms around you. Your hands entangled in his curls as you held him, not saying anything, giving him the time to finally feel all the emotions. Letting him process how his life had changed in the span of a few hours.

“I’m sorry.”

He chuckled as he pulled away from you, wiping his eyes as he sniffled.

“Don’t be sorry, you’re allowed to be emotional. You just won the Stanley Cup babe. Hell I cried for an hour earlier while you were gone. It’s such an amazing thing, and you worked so hard for this moment! Think back to last year, a broken fucking sternum, and you still went out there and worked your ass off. It all paid off for you baby, and I am so proud of you.”

Your hand caressed his cheek as he smiled at you, tears welling in his eyes again as he hung on your every word. Your compliments his favorite thing on earth, he’d listen to you speak those words to him on a loop all day.

“Well, it took a village to get here. And, you honestly played such a big part in this.”

“Me? No way!”

You brushed your hair behind your ear as his hands rested on the skin of your thighs. His smile making you blush as you shyly looked to the floor.

“Yes you. The sacrifices you make to be with me, it’s not easy. But you’ve never left my side. And I know there’s been times where I could be an asshole. Hard to deal with for sure. And, fuck last season with the broken sternum. You’re the one who got me out of bed, got me moving. Kept me going on the days I didn’t think I had it in me. You do so much for me everyday, this win is yours too babe.”

His hand moved to your cheek as he pulled you in for a kiss. You could feel the love he had for you, through his words and his touch.

“I love you so much Matthew.”

His forehead resting on yours as he kissed your nose.

“I love you too baby.”

The two of you staying on the couch for a little while longer, sifting through the photos and videos to savor the moment even more.

Before you knew it Matthew was sound asleep on your chest, his phone falling out of his hand as his soft snores were the only sound in the room.

Knowing he needed his sleep you’d grabbed the blanket that was draped over the couch. Covering the two of you before you curled up next to him. Drifting off to sleep relieved, as the dream you two had been hoping for, was finally now a reality.

#matthew tkachuk fanfic #matthew tkachuk x reader #matthew tkachuk fic #matthew tkachuk imagine #matthew tkachuk #nhl imagine #nhl fics #nhl fanfiction #hockey imagine #hockey fic #nhl blurb

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misshoneyimhome · 6 months ago

Text

What’s up, festive buttercups! 🎄✨

We’re back with another chapter of Sexy Christmas, and this one is for all my Matthew Tkachuk fans. 🖤 Who doesn’t love a little teasing, a little heat, and a whole lot of “naughty list” energy? Matthew had an absolute blast starring in this cheeky, steamy tale, and I hope you enjoy it as much as I did writing it.

As always, thank you for all the love and feedback—it keeps this holiday magic alive! Let me know what you think of this naughty little treat, and don’t forget to tell me if Matthew’s making your naughty list this year 🎁🔥

Merry reading, my lovelies!

xo ❤️

➼｡ﾟ

Santa’s Naughty List - Matthew Tkachuk

The hockey player teases OC about being on Santa’s naughty list, but by the end of the night, it’s clear they’re both interested in exploring who’s been the naughtiest this Christmas.

Tropes & warnings: 18+ smut, Matthew Tkachuk x reader, oral sex (m and f receiving), unprotected sex (p in v), sexual intercourse with guests in the house

Word count: 2.7K

The annual team Christmas party at the captain’s residence was in full swing, a mix of laughter, holiday music, and the clinking of glasses filling the room. Matthew Tkachuk had been his usual self all evening—charming, quick with a joke, and somehow always finding his way back to you no matter where you moved in the room.

It wasn’t unusual for the two of you to exchange playful banter, but tonight, there was something else in his tone, something that sent shivers down your spine whenever his gaze lingered a little too long.

You were standing by the bar, sipping a glass of wine, when he approached again, a mischievous grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“Careful there,” he teased, nodding to your glass. “Too much of that and Santa might just keep you on the naughty list.”

You raised an eyebrow, matching his playful tone. “Oh? And what makes you so sure I’m on the naughty list?”

Matthew stepped closer, his towering frame casting a shadow over you in the dim light. His voice dropped slightly, the teasing edge still there but laced with something deeper. “I’ve got my reasons,” he said, his eyes trailing over you briefly before locking onto yours. “But I guess we’ll just have to find out how naughty you’ve been, won’t we?”

Your cheeks warmed, though you refused to let him see you falter. “Bold of you to assume I’m the naughty one. What about you?”

He leaned in, his breath warm against your ear. “Oh, sweetheart,” he murmured, his tone low and inviting. “I’ve made peace with being on that list a long time ago.”

The heat in his voice, combined with the way his eyes sparkled with mischief, sent a thrill through you. You weren’t sure if it was the wine, the festive atmosphere, or just the way Matthew seemed to have your full attention tonight, but your heart was racing.

“Prove it,” you said, surprising even yourself with the challenge in your voice.

Matthew’s grin widened, and for a moment, you could see the flicker of surprise before he leaned even closer, his hand brushing lightly against your arm. “Careful what you wish for,” he warned, his voice a husky whisper.

The party continued around you, but it felt as if the two of you were in your own little bubble. When Matthew reached for your hand, his touch lingering just a moment longer than necessary, you followed him without question as he guided you away from the noise and into a quieter corner of the house.

The room, seemingly a mix of a home office and lounge area, he led you to was warm and softly lit, the faint glow of Christmas lights from outside spilling through the window. He closed the door behind you, the sound of the lock clicking into place making your breath hitch.

Matthew turned to face you, his eyes dark and filled with an intensity that made your pulse race. “Now,” he said, his voice steady, his hands finding your hips as he stepped closer, “let’s see who’s really been naughty.”

You tilted your head, your hands finding their way to his chest, your fingers grazing over the hard lines of muscle beneath his shirt. “I think we both know the answer to that.”

He smirked, his hands sliding up your sides as he pulled you flush against him. “Then it’s only fair we settle this,” he murmured, his lips brushing against yours in a kiss that started soft but quickly deepened, the tension between you igniting like a spark catching fire.

Your hands moved to his neck, tangling in his curly hair as his grip on your waist tightened. His lips were insistent, his movements deliberate, as if he’d been holding back for far too long.

“Matts,” you breathed, his name falling from your lips as he kissed along your jawline, his hands exploring with a mix of confidence and reverence.

“Just tell me to stop,” he murmured against your skin, though his actions made it clear he hoped you wouldn’t.

“Don’t stop,” you whispered, your voice trembling with need.

Matthew’s lips claimed yours with a playful urgency, his hands gripping your hips as he pulled you against him, a low chuckle rumbling in his chest when your breath hitched. The chaise pressed against the back of your legs, and with a teasing nudge, he guided you down onto the soft cushions, his body following close behind.

“Well, well,” he murmured, his voice thick with amusement as he hovered over you, his dark eyes gleaming in the firelight. “Who would’ve thought Santa’s naughtiest little elf would look this good under me?”

You rolled your eyes, though your grin gave you away. “Says the guy who’s been on the naughty list for years.”

“Touché,” he replied, dipping his head to press a hot, open-mouthed kiss to your neck. His teeth grazed your skin, making you shiver as his hands slid beneath your blouse, fingers splaying across your bare waist. “But tonight… I think I’m about to outdo myself.”

“Oh, really?” you teased, your fingers finding their way to the hem of his shirt, tugging it up and over his head. Your breath caught slightly as his broad, toned chest came into view. “Show me what you’ve got, Tkachuk.”

“I told you: careful what you wish for,” he shot back with a wink, his lips curving into a wicked grin before capturing yours again. The kiss deepened, his tongue teasing yours as his hands moved higher, pulling your blouse off and tossing it aside.

His eyes roamed over you, lingering just long enough to make you squirm. “Fuck,” he muttered, his voice dropping an octave. “If this is what being on the naughty list gets me, I’m staying there forever.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, though it quickly turned into a gasp as his lips trailed lower, tracing the curve of your collarbone before descending to the swell of your chest. His hands made quick work of your bra, and when it joined the growing pile of discarded clothing, he leaned back just enough to take in the sight of you again.

“Absolutely perfect,” he murmured, his hands sliding to your waist as his lips followed the path of his gaze. His kisses grew bolder, his teeth grazing your skin in a way that made your back arch beneath him.

Your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging lightly as he worked his way lower, leaving a trail of heat in his wake. “Matts,” you said, your voice trembling but laced with a teasing edge. “Are you just going to admire me all night, or…?”

He grinned against your skin, his hands hooking into the waistband of your trousers. “Patience, babe,” he drawled, his voice dripping with mischief. “Santa’s got a whole list to check off.”

You laughed, but again, it quickly turned into a gasp as he tugged your trousers down, his hands sliding over your bare thighs with deliberate slowness. “Mat- Mmm…” you began, but the words died on your lips as he pressed a kiss to the sensitive skin just above your hip.

“Don’t worry,” he said, his lips curving into a smirk as he looked up at you. “I’ll make sure you get exactly what you deserve.”

Matthew’s hands gripped your thighs firmly, his thumbs brushing over your skin in slow, teasing circles. The firelight flickered, casting shadows that danced across the room, but all you could focus on was him—his smirk, his dark eyes that seemed to burn with unspoken promises, and the way he made your breath hitch with every deliberate touch.

He trailed kisses along your inner thigh, his lips warm and lingering, each one building the tension that was already crackling between you. “You’ve been good at hiding just how bad you want this,” he murmured, his voice low and laced with amusement, his hands slipping higher.

“Matt…” you breathed, your voice catching as he hooked his fingers into the waistband of your underwear, tugging them down with agonising slowness. The cool air hit your skin for only a moment before his warm hands replaced it, his touch confident but maddeningly slow.

“I said patience, babe,” he teased, his lips hovering just above the sensitive spot that had you arching into him. “I’m enjoying this way too much to rush.”

Your fingers curled into the chaise beneath you as his lips finally found your core, his touch gentle at first, exploring and deliberate, like he was savouring every moment. The heat of his mouth and the firm pressure of his tongue sent a jolt of pleasure through you, your hips bucking slightly against him as a soft moan escaped your lips.

“God, you’re so needy,” he murmured, his voice a mix of awe and hunger as he glanced up at you. His hands slid to your hips, holding you steady as he pressed deeper, his movements growing bolder, more purposeful. Each stroke, each swirl of his tongue was designed to drive you closer to the edge, and the way he watched your every reaction only added to the intensity.

You gasped his name, your hands finding their way to his hair, tugging lightly as he continued his slow, deliberate assault on your senses. “Matthew… I—”

“Mmm yes, that's it,” he murmured against your skin, his voice vibrating through you as he worked you closer to your climax. “Be a good girl and come for me.”

The heat built steadily, his touch never faltering, his hands and lips working in perfect harmony until the tension inside you snapped. Your release crashed over you, leaving you trembling in his hands, his name spilling from your lips in a broken moan.

Matthew didn’t pull away immediately, his movements gentle as he eased you through the aftershocks, his hands stroking your thighs soothingly. When he finally looked up at you, his lips glistening and his eyes heavy with satisfaction, he grinned. “That’s one thing checked off the naughty list.”

You let out a breathless laugh, your cheeks flushed as you tugged him up to meet you. “Your turn,” you murmured, your hands already working at the button of his jeans. The firelight painted his skin in golden hues as you helped him out of the last of his clothing, your breath catching at the sight of him.

His smirk returned as he settled over you, his body pressing against yours as he leaned down to capture your lips in a heated kiss. “Think you can handle me?” he asked, his tone teasing but his gaze dark with desire.

“Try me,” you shot back, your eyes staring at his length with hunger, your tongue sensually licking your lips. “Maybe I’ll just have a bit of a taste first.”

And Mattew would most definitely not say no to that.

His smirk deepened, his eyes narrowing with a mix of challenge and anticipation as he watched you. “A taste, huh?” he murmured, his voice dropping to a low, gravelly hum. “Go on, then. Show me what you’ve got.”

Matthew shifted, standing back slightly to give you room, his muscular frame still towering over you. His hands moved to your hair, his fingers threading through it gently as he watched you with a heated gaze, his breath hitching as your lips brushed over his skin, teasing.

Kneeling on the chaise, your eyes stayed locked on his as you leaned forward, your tongue flicking out to trace a slow, deliberate line along his length. The groan that escaped his lips was deep and guttural, his head falling back briefly before his dark eyes found yours again. “Fuck, baby,” he muttered, his grip in your hair tightening slightly as you took him deeper, your tongue swirling as you set a steady, purposeful rhythm using your hand as well.

You could feel the tension in his body, the way his muscles tensed under your touch, his thighs flexing as he fought to hold himself together. His breathing grew heavier, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he let out a string of curses, his hands tightening in your hair to guide you just a little more firmly.

“You’re… unreal,” he managed, his voice breaking as his hips bucked slightly against you. “So fucking good.”

The power you held over him was intoxicating, the way he reacted to every flick of your tongue, every shift of your lips making you feel bolder. You hollowed your cheeks, taking him as deeply as you could, and the groan that tore from his throat was almost a growl.

“Shit,” Matthew rasped, his hands gripping your hair tighter as he pulled you back gently, his breathing uneven. His eyes were wild, his lips parted as he stared down at you, his voice low and thick with desire. “If you keep that up, I’m not gonna last.”

You smirked, your lips brushing over him one last time before you sat back, your hands sliding up his thighs. “Guess we’ll have to finish this another way, then,” you teased, your voice sultry as you pulled him back toward you.

Matthew didn’t hesitate. His hands found your waist, shifting you effortlessly as he hovered over you again, his lips crashing onto yours in a kiss that was all heat and desperation. His body pressed against yours, his hands exploring every inch of your skin as he settled between your thighs, his cock hard and insistent against your core.

“You’re trouble,” he murmured against your lips, his voice rough as he lined himself up with your entrance, his gaze locking onto yours. “The best kind of trouble.”

You gasped as he pushed into you slowly, the stretch and heat of him sending a wave of pleasure coursing through you. Matthew groaned, his head falling to your shoulder as he filled you completely, one hand gripping the small sofa as though anchoring himself, while the other held you hip steady.

“Fuck,” he muttered, his voice strained as he began to move, his thrusts slow and deliberate at first, each one calculated to drive you insane. The friction, the pressure, the way his body fit perfectly with yours—it was almost too much.

Your hands found his shoulders, your nails digging into his skin as you arched into him, meeting his rhythm with your own. “Matt,” you gasped, his name spilling from your lips like a mantra as the heat between you built to a fever pitch.

“God, you feel so good,” he groaned, his movements growing faster, more desperate as his restraint began to slip. His lips found yours again, his kiss messy and unrelenting, his hand guiding your hip to meet each thrust as the tension between you coiled tighter and tighter.

“Don’t stop,” you begged, your voice trembling as you felt the wave of pleasure building inside you, your body clinging to his as he drove you closer to the edge.

“Not planning to. I’ve got you, baby,” Matthew murmured, his voice rough and full of promise as his hand slid between your bodies, his thumb finding your clit. The added sensation sent you spiraling, your release crashing over you in waves as you cried out his name, your body trembling beneath him.

Matthew followed just moments later, his thrusts growing erratic as he let go, his groan of release muffled against your neck as he shuddered above you. For a long moment, the two of you stayed tangled together, your bodies pressed close as you caught your breath.

When he finally pulled back, his lips brushing over your jawline in a series of soft, lingering kisses, he grinned down at you, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “Guess I’m definitely staying on the naughty list this year,” he teased, his voice low and warm.

You laughed softly, your fingers tracing lazy patterns on his back. “Definitely. If that’s what being naughty feels like, I’m never getting off it.”

Matthew smirked, pressing a lingering kiss to your temple. “Then we’ll stay there together,” he murmured, his voice warm and low as he nuzzled into your neck. “Merry Christmas.”

You smiled, your heart full as you tilted your head to meet his gaze, brushing a soft kiss to his lips. “Merry Christmas, Matts.”

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