#matthew tkachuk imagine

[angelwithdemonictendencies]

i'd sigh in bliss, even while drowning, if only it was your hand holding me under; your kiss is the most violent death i've ever known.

qh43 x reader: let's take this bitter tension on the water, shall we?

(warnings: blasphemous filth, unprotected penetrative sex (m on f), fingering, hair pulling (have you guys seen his hair, recently?), choking (it's really been too long. too many nice guys), talking (he brings out the best in me), tears (or the worst idk), lots and lots and lots of miscommunication and tension and being kinda mean, obviously i'm forgetting things but all my usual stuff.  please be warned, don’t read if you’re not 100% sure.)

(a/n: thank you for waiting, my favorites. i give you qh43 x doll (on deck). this idea has taken me a long time to flesh out, with lots of work and outlining and such, so i really hope you enjoy. i told myself it was going to be short and it ended up being 16.5k, because i have no self control. i guess i was just in the mood to write angst-filled argument after angst-filled argument, given all the sweet boy content i've been putting out recently (don't worry, that will be back soon enough). and qh43 is my go-to for the sad stuff, for the fights and kisses in the rain (literally, this time). can you tell i was listening to taylor's is it really over? way too much and thought... what if it wasn't? over, that is? obviously, none of this makes any logistical sense, you guys know this. thank you for reading anyways. let's see, what else? loving the nico slut headcanon i'm committing to. also love a good mt19 gap-tooth takeover (is he not the perfect cruise ship fling?). and luke is here, too, for all the people telling me to write for him. i'm sorry, i know the miscommunication trope is frustrating and the one-bed trope is cliche. please, for the love of god, take this as a sign to be clear with people about how you feel. life is too short. i have like one billion baby stories started right now, so we will see for which inspiration proves most fruitful. will it be golf pro cc22 x bevcart girl? geology ta js1 x classics ta? the tj17 one i've been trying to finish forever? none of the above? we'll see. pretty, pretty please, tell me what you think. go canucks (dare i say cup-bound), tell your snakes i love them. until next time. love, always).

as much as you wanted to be completely and purely excited for this little excursion, as much as you wanted this to be a truly undiluted celebration of your best friend's wedding next weekend, something was standing in your way.

"c'mon," the bride-to-be, savannah, said, standing on the pier next to you as you gazed out at the obscenely massive cruise ship, its numerous windows like the eyes of a spider, much too many and much too close together, "you've worked so hard, babe." she gave you a tight side-hug, which you returned. "you've made this whole process so easy, hm? let loose for a weekend, and then, i promise, you can go right back to being the militant maid of honor you are."

you let out a short laugh, let your shoulders settle back into place. "thanks for this weekend, sav," you said. "it's gonna be great." she was right, of course, in some ways, and wrong in others.

you had worked hard, very, very hard, because you cared about savannah, loved her like a sister, and you wanted her wedding to be one of dreams. you liked jack, her fiance, a lot, too, and you liked them together, saw how they brought out the best in each other.

it had been months of making sure everything during the planning process went over smoothly, of being there for savannah when the world felt like it was ending, when the pressure of a wedding felt like it was insurmountable.

when bridesmaids had a little too much to say about their dresses, or when family members had a little too much to say about their hotel arrangements, or when savannah herself had a little too much to say about how it just had to be perfect, you were there, mitigating the worries and stressors and potential problems.

it had been a rewarding but draining couple of months.

savannah had seen that, had appreciated you even more because of it, so her and jack had planned this mini-vacation as a thank you for both of their wedding parties. the big day was next week, so this was supposed to be a final relaxing deep breath before the inevitable whirlwind of white lace and dress shoes and pink flowers.

and it would be relaxing, you were sure of it, you wouldn't let it not be, if only because your best friend wanted it to be so adamantly. it would be a perfect weekend vacation, the perfect cruise getaway, the perfect source of pre-wedding bliss.

it would be, it would be all of these things, as long as you stayed as far away from quinn hughes as was humanly possible.

the brother of the groom, the best man, your counterpart in the wedding, whom you had been fairly successful in avoiding whenever possible, all things considered. you'd been in the same friend group for years, after all, since the end of college. years of averted glances, charged comments that you pretended to ignore, of memories that left your cheeks hot and anger hotter.

you hadn't had a major blowout with him yet, and you were confident enough in your self-control to believe you wouldn't start now. you'd never been confined on a boat with him before, though, hadn't been stuck in a room with him without an escape plan, so that would present a new challenge.

what was every day in the periphery of quinn, though, if not a new challenge? a challenge more devastatingly taxing with each passing moment?

as you and your best friend boarded the ship together, you hoped that you could postpone seeing him for as long as possible. maybe if you stayed in your room the whole weekend, you wouldn't have to see him at all. wouldn't that be fun?

savannah dropped her stuff and told you she was going to find jack, leaving you to unpack your things and enjoy some moments of silence before what would surely be a tornado of a weekend.

unfortunately, as you folded your clothes and organized them in drawers, your mind wandered, with nothing to focus on but your anxieties. your anxiety, personified, in a broad, shaggy-haired, soft-featured best man.

you sighed, as you often did when you thought of quinn, because no, it hadn't always been this way. there had been a single, lovely, dreamy night during which the two of you hadn't hated each other. quite the opposite, actually.

it felt sort of unfair that, even now, years later, he could still evoke such a visceral feeling in you, a kind of hatred you felt in your stomach, a kind of shame that rattled through your skull, a regret that set your chest ablaze. and as much as it pained you to think it, it felt sort of unfair that savannah was getting married to jack, because you had known quinn first. it had been you and quinn, first.

it had been you and quinn, both of you at the just-off-campus bar alone, waiting for your respective friends to show up. you had spotted him across the room, his pretty face made so angelic by the hazy neon light. he had spotted you too, had been so unapologetic about letting his gaze settle in the pockets of your exposed collarbones, then flickering up to meet your careful eyes slowly, heatedly.

it had been you and quinn, in a back booth, once he'd bought you a beer and motioned for you to join him, a precise but easy tilt of his head in invitation. on that waxy bench seat, as time passed, you grew much closer together than you could have made a real excuse for, until the outside of your thigh was pressed up against his, until he angled his shoulder back so you could lean your side on his chest, until there was really no question as to where the night was going to go. where it was going to end.

until he rewrote the script you'd assumed into place, too, because when you talked with him for that hour or so, drinks practically forgotten on the table, friends absolutely forgotten, he wasn't like the one-night-onlys you'd had in the past.

he was pretty, sure, almost embarrassingly so, but he spoke to you so gently, with such care, it stunned you.

when he asked you about your day, you were shocked to find completely genuineness in his gaze.

when you asked about his friends, when they were showing up, you couldn't help but feel a little endeared by his short laugh. "athletes," he told you, then, "most unreliable people on the planet, doll, swear it."

it had been you and quinn, basically melting into each other, in that booth, and it had been you and quinn, at his place, after. when you'd discovered that he tasted like something citrusy, maybe grapefruit, from whatever he'd been drinking, when you'd felt his rough hands on your face, your hips, when his voice had grown low and husky and brutal, barely pausing for even a moment when he pushed into you for the first time, so overwhelmingly deep and hard.

he'd been so gentle, yet undeniable, so tender, but he'd said things that now made you blush.

he'd been the best fuck of your life, somehow also the kind of person you'd truly, genuinely, been able to see yourself developing a relationship with. you'd thought he was a once in a lifetime kind of person.

you'd left his place early that morning to get to class, kissed his shoulder softly in goodbye while he slept soundly.

little did you know that, that next night, savannah would meet jack, who was out with quinn. as such, savannah would introduce you to jack.

"this is my brother, quinn," jack would say to you, eventually, and your eyes would soften at the sight of him as you turned.

you would open your mouth to say something along the lines of oh, we've already met, but then quinn would extend a hand to you.

"nice to meet you," he'd say, stony, cold, and you'd narrow your eyes, search his gaze for anything humorous, come up empty. surely he remembered you, right? it was almost worse to imagine that he did remember, that he just didn't want his brother to know about you. it was almost worse to imagine that he thought you were something to be hidden.

so you'd swallow a breath that felt like a forbidden pill, stare at his outstretched hand with something like disgust.

"yeah, you too," you'd bite out, your hands remaining at your sides, hoping his empty hand felt awkward enough to hurt. "really nice."

so, as much as it had been you and quinn, starry-eyed in a back booth, as much as it had been you and quinn, tangled up in each other as your eyelids grew heavy with sleep, as much as it had been you and quinn, first -

it had also been you, embarrassed and ashamed, and quinn, expressionless and indifferent.

so, what did that night really matter, however life-altering you had thought it to be? he obviously didn't feel the same way. you obviously meant nothing to him.

you had thought that to be a very disappointing end to a chapter. you were ready to move on, but, of course, savannah and jack only grew closer. of course, your friend groups merged. of course, it seemed like you couldn't go more than a few days without an especially painful reminder of exactly how much you weren't wanted, exactly how mistaken you had been.

it had been several years now, and you'd gotten a little better at hiding your feelings, sure, but you wouldn't describe your relationship with quinn as civil. certainly not amicable.

you were both known to have an especially short temper when it came to the other, to become inexplicable hot-headed in their presence. still, no one, not even savannah, you assumed not even jack, knew exactly why. they just assumed you didn't get along. that you were just completely incompatible as people, probably.

now, you took a deep breath, putting the last of your clothes away, zipping up your suitcase and stowing it under your bed. you wouldn't let him ruin this trip for you, you decided in a moment. you would be kind, and lovely, and you'd enjoy the time with your best friends. everything was going to be fine. everything was going to be perfect.

this was the mindset you were carrying with you when you finally made to join everyone else on the deck for a welcome happy hour.

you quickly spotted your group, immediately locking eyes with your other best friend, lexi, who must have just arrived.

she squealed and pulled you in for a hug. "it's been too long," she whined, and you laughed.

"i missed you," you said, and you meant it. for the longest time, it had been you, savannah, and lexi, a trio for the majority of your time at university. guys came and went (for the most part), your circle expanded into friends from classes and clubs and sororities and such, but the three of you were inseparable.

it still felt weird that you didn't get to see them every day, with all of you at different places, some working, some in school. it felt weird that the real world still spun even if you three weren't cackling on the way into a lecture, whispering about lacrosse boy when he walked into a party, whining about midterms in the dining hall. it felt weird to grow up.

"i want to hear about school," you said as you pulled away from her embrace. "tell me everything."

"what, no hug for me, eh?"

you rolled your eyes, immediately recognizing that overconfident voice as jack's best friend.

"hello, nico," you said, sugary-sweet, mustering up a smile. "how's daddy's money treating you?" you didn't like nico, not really, found that he hadn't changed at all since school.

nico wasn't like quinn, though, he never took what you said in a heavy way. he just laughed, and his eyes shone with it. "business is thriving, thanks for asking," he said.

"so humble," came quinn's grumbly voice, somewhere on the line between light-hearted fun and genuine disapproval. you wondered briefly if nico had any more luck reading quinn than you did.

"oh, that's what they say," nico responded, running a hand through his longer dark hair. "the humblest around."

you caught up with lexi about medical school, learned it was somehow even more draining than she expected.

"i wouldn't be able to tell for a second," you assured her, gesturing to your face. "you look insanely well-rested. glowing, practically."

lexi waved you off, but she looked pleased. "don't lie," she chastised, "i wake up everyday and look like i got run over by a truck."

she told you about her classes, and her classmates, and her professors, and you listened intently, always interested to hear about situations you had no experience in.

"sounds hectic," you said, finally, blowing out a breath.

"eh, you know how it is," she responded with a shrug. just then, luke, jack's younger brother, arrived, looking especially disheveled, but you knew him well enough by now to understand that was just how he looked.

he was greeted with hugs and handshakes by everyone.

"you're so big, now," you said, almost teasingly, as you pulled him in for a hug.

he swatted at you, good-naturedly. "lay off, would you?" he said, but when he smiled it was genuine. "not a baby."

you knocked your hip against his, anyways. "happy you're here," you told him.

out of all of jack's groomsmen, you supposed luke was the clear frontrunner for your favorite. nico, the narcissistic playboy, was out of the running, and so was quinn, for obvious reasons.

even without those two, though, you'd developed a soft spot for the youngest of the hugheses. he was a couple of years your junior, but surprisingly mature and well-spoken. he was into football, like you were, too, and had invited you to join his fantasy league before he even knew you that well. now, years later, he came to you for girl advice and you thought of him as the younger brother you never had.

"me, too," luke responded, his eyes alight. when you looked away from him, however, you felt another gaze on your side like a blistering burn, were barely surprised to find quinn's rocky eyes on your side, somewhere between your hip and waist.

his attention sparked something dangerously flammable inside of you, an anger that felt like being coated in lighter fluid.

if quinn had been beautiful the day you'd met him, he was devastating, now, having aged in a subtle way that only enhanced his features, made his jaw sharper, cheekbones more prominent. his hair was a soft shag of brown, curling onto his forehead, at the nape of his neck, the tops of his ears. he'd filled out a bit, too, wider in the chest, softer in the middle. if you had to describe to someone your type, you figured you'd get maybe ten seconds in before realizing you were just describing quinn.

now, his eyes met yours in a clash of flame and ancient rock, immovable and disastrous.

coward, you seemed to say without words, mean, rude, coward.

and, as always, he seemed to say absolutely nothing.

you were being kind, though, you were being lovely, so you just rolled your eyes and made to join savannah and lexi as they chatted by the bar.

the sun set over the distant sky line, making the sea ripple purple and orange as music played from the deck, as more and more people seemed to gather, as drinks flowed easier and voices grew louder.

you caught up with luke about his last year of school, listened to nico talk about his last girlfriend (who he insisted was really, truly crazy, as he had claimed about the last girl, and the one before that), asked jack about how work was going and savannah how her cats were doing. you were including everyone, you were being a wonderful maid of honor, you were being kind and lovely, all while quinn remained oddly quiet, talking only when directly addressed, every now and then looking at you with an intensity that made you dizzy.

what are you doing? you wanted to scream at him, you're not allowed to look at me!

he didn't seem to particularly care about your unspoken wishes, anyways, though you supposed he never had. he just took small sips from his fruity cocktail, and you pretended not to notice how it made his pouty lips more pink, like he was wearing a shimmery gloss. you hated yourself for the way your stomach flipped at the sight.

"so, how's your week been, q?" luke asked him, eventually, taunting him with a smile. "awfully quiet over there. what're you hiding?"

and you shouldn't have done it, it was not very lovely and kind of you, but you gave a light scoff at this. because you knew just how good quinn was a hiding things. people, even.

of course, he noticed. he seemed to notice just about everything, when it came to you, ever the perceptive observer. it was something you'd adored about him, for a night.

"what?" quinn bit out, and he wasn't looking at luke, instead looking directly at you. "got something to say, doll?"

you felt your eye twitch, only just barely, because out of all of his mannerisms and actions that drove you absolutely crazy, this one might be your least favorite. how, after all this time, he still rarely called you anything but doll.

how, now, it was said with such condescending distaste, when it had once been 'm dyin' to kiss you, doll, murmured in a bedroom doorframe. when it had once been give me one more, doll, hm? be good for me, hot against your temple.

"nothing, quinn," you said, with a smile that felt more similar to baring teeth, his name some malicious hex. "don't worry about it."

there was a brief pause charged with meaning, his slate-like eyes boring into yours.

you were the first to look away, to look down at your hand before he finally answered luke's question, went into some noncommittal explanation about work.

eventually, somehow, the conversation veered towards wedding dates.

"wait," savannah said, pausing as if having trouble understanding. "you're telling me that out of all of you, both wedding parties, the only one with a plus-one is luke? and it's not even a date?"

"mackie still counts," luke said, shrugging. "no one said we weren't allowed to bring friends."

"regardless," savannah said, exasperated. "how did this happen?"

nico grinned. "not all of us can be so easily tied down, sav," he said with a wink, to which you and lexi groaned.

"oh, what?" nico retorted, looking at the two of you, "if it really matters, i'll bring a date. hell, i'll bring four dates."

you shook your head vigorously. "do not bring four dates. please do not bring four dates."

"do not make our wedding an episode of the bachelor, nico," savannah warned. "but you guys should bring someone!" her eyes grew wide with excitement. "you could even find someone on the boat!"

lexi whistled.

"do we really want a bunch of strangers at our wedding?" jack mused, joking.

"oh, hush," savannah said, laying a hand on his forearm.

he smiled. "you're right," he conceded, "not like this lot could find dates anyways."

the only people who seemed especially opposed to jack's judgement were nico and lexi.

you just shrugged. you didn't really want to bring a date to the wedding, because you didn't have a serious boyfriend, right now, and you didn't want to invite someone you weren't serious about. you could find a date, sure, it wouldn't be too hard, but that would just be another person to entertain for a night during which you were already going to be pulled in a million different directions.

"okay, so lex and nico are going to find dates," savannah said, then turned to you, "what about you?"

"i'm good, sav," you said, plainly, cordially, with a smile that she returned. you knew that she just wanted you to be happy, and that it probably hurt her to imagine you lonely.

"or you, quinn?" savannah continued.

you fixed your eyes on him, too, as did the rest of the table. as much as you maybe shouldn't have been, you were straining to hear his answer.

"yeah, didn't you say you were thinking of bringing someone? what was her name, again?" jack asked, snapping his fingers as if trying to summon his memory.

terrible envy bubbled through your veins, thick and green, at the mention of quinn wanting someone who wasn't you. at the reminder that he was fully capable of wanting someone, he just hadn't wanted you.

quinn's eyes flashed with something dangerous. "i never told you i was thinking of bringing someone," he told his brother, sounding almost annoyed, his tone sharp.

jack's half-smile told you he knew something you didn't. "my bad," he said, "must've forgotten."

quinn's full mouth twitched to the side, almost undetectable, but of course you noticed. he looked almost angry that jack had suggested that he bring a date. there was the faintest pink across his nose, too, as if he was almost embarrassed.

something heavy settled in your chest, made your throat tight, because you knew what it was like to be embarrassed in a group. to want something so adamantly and have it go the other way in front of your eyes.

as if pulled by some magnetic force, some power fueled by history and shed tears, quinn's eyes briefly met yours, like you were the calm in some hurricane, like you tethered him to the world. for a second, you remembered just what it felt like to be his. just how consuming it was.

but you weren't his, you reminded yourself. so, of course, the anger followed, along with a bloodthirsty self-loathing at your momentary protection of him, your fleeting feelings of sympathy.

you weren't his, and yet he was looking at you now like he was begging you to do something.

"you know what, sav?" you said, although you were looking right at quinn, "changed my mind. think i'll bring a date, actually."

it was quinn's turn to scoff, which had rage rolling in your head like high tide. "yeah, right," he said. "you haven't been with someone in years, doll."

you furrowed your brow, because that just wasn't true, flat out. did quinn actually think you hadn't been with guys since you'd had him?

lexi was the one to laugh. "what're you on about, quinn?" she said. "what planet have you been living on?"

"you think i call you up as soon as i scratch another notch in my bedpost?" you asked, incredulous. "course i've been with guys."

a million emotions rumbled through his eyes like a slow-building earthquake, which made realization spark in your head.

"unless," you started, "unless you haven't been with-"

"i'll bet that you don't end the weekend with a date, then," quinn said, cutting you off as you'd gotten dangerously close to saying something incriminating, something he didn't want others to know.

it took no convincing from you to agree to his bet, even if nico and luke were nudging you on. "you're on," you said, your voice lower than you anticipated.

he hummed, ran his tongue along the inside of his cheek, cocked his head in a way that made your nerves spring to life. "and what do i get when i win?"

he said the words like he knew exactly how you'd take them. in a way that made everything else fade away, for a moment, made you forget your audience of friends, made the music lull to a halt in your ears, made the massive deck of this boat feel altogether too small.

"what do you want?" you asked, almost blushed at how rough your voice sounded, promptly cleared your throat again.

his heavy gaze dropped to your mouth, making warning sirens blare in your head. making you so, so angry.

"decide the terms later," jack said, obviously done with this topic, which really only concerned you and quinn, "deal or no deal?"

quinn extended a hand to you in answer, which you stared at for a second, suddenly delirious with deja vu. remembering when he had last went looking for a handshake.

this time, though, you took it, squeezed it so tight you hoped it hurt, although he didn't even wince, held eye contact with you the entire time.

"eager to lose, eh, doll?" he asked, his eyes shining.

"you know me," you said, then, "just so eager." knowing exactly how he would take it. in a way that had his eyes glazing over, just a bit, perhaps had phantom breaths of please, quinn, give me all of it echoing in his mind.

and so your weekend getaway began with a wager.

still, you didn't want your heightening anger towards quinn to take over your vacation, so, the following day, you went about your way as you had been planning on.

you ate breakfast with lexi, explored the boat with sav and luke, finally settled down to read by the pool in the late afternoon.

the sun was bright and big in the sky, so you untied the straps of your swimsuit, so as to avoid tan lines. time passed as you flipped pages, engrossed in your book, until you felt the heat on your body like a scratchy sweater.

at some point, you felt a figure next to you, a big body with a face you couldn't see until you brought a hand up to shield your eyes.

the man blocking the sun from you was a little jarring in his beauty, you realized. handsome in a very different way than what you were usually attracted to. he had curly, curly hair, almost red in the light, a symmetrical face, a prominent gap in his two front teeth that you had the sneaking suspicion he used to his advantage.

he had you smiling up at him, nonetheless. "can i help you, handsome?" you asked.

his mouth quirked at your words as his features settled into a theatrical expression. "you're sweet, princess, but i was actually hoping to help you."

you hummed, bent one knee up until the sole of your foot rested flat on your lounge chair. "were you, now?" maybe this whole finding a wedding date business was going to be even easier than you initially thought.

the handsome stranger squatted down until his hips rested back on his heels, until he was eye level with you. like he didn't want to look down at you. like you were even lovelier head on. he raised a wide hand to one side of his mouth, as if telling you some great secret at a cafeteria lunch table. "just wanted to warn you that your straps are untied," he whispered, gesturing with his other hand to his own shoulders. his smirk told you that he knew it was intentional.

you made no move to retie them, let out a small laugh. "my knight in shining armor, hm?"

his shoulders rose and fell in a telling chuckle. "either that or i just wanted an excuse to come over here," he said. "'m matthew."

"'m flattered, matthew," you said, then gave him your own name. "you don't seem like a guy who needs an excuse, though."

his smirk grew wide. "what do i seem like, then, princess?"

you tilted your head to the side, thought for a moment. "don't know," you admitted, "got the smile of a charmer, though, give you that."

matthew appeared about to respond, but was cut off by the approach of a figure to the other side of your chair, standing at full height, looking down at you and your new acquaintance.

a figure you'd know in the dark, a presence you'd sense while unconscious. quinn drew both of your attention, but said nothing. you pursed your lips.

"what's up, man?" said matthew, maybe a little unsure, in a tone that sort of felt like he was making fun of quinn. "all good?" he didn't push back up to his full height, which you found hilarious and endearing. how he didn't seem even the tiniest bit threatened by quinn, when it was so painfully obvious that he was trying so hard to appear threatening.

you peered up at him, found his blatant discomfort and indecision especially unsettling. "what do you want, quinn?" you asked, annoyance creeping into your voice like moss on a damp rock.

"you know this guy?" matthew said, his grin that of a class clown.

"do you know this guy, doll?" quinn retorted, crossing his arms over his chest, and you rolled your eyes, set your book down beside you.

"quinn, this is matthew," you said, gesturing between the two of them. "matthew, quinn."

quinn didn't move, but matthew's smile grew taunting as he extended his hand out for a handshake.

a handshake that quinn just stared at, briefly, did not make a move to reciprocate, his gaze so solid, relentlessly cold. you could have slapped him, if you didn't have an audience.

matthew just laughed, retracted his hand, finally stood up. "well, i guess i'll be seeing you around, princess," he said, looking right at you.

"until then, matthew," you responded, an easy smile on your face.

he gave you one last charismatic smile before looking to quinn again. "you've been a treat, quinn," he said, little more than a chuckle, raising a hand in goodbye before turning and walking away.

when he was out of ear shot, you looked up at quinn, ignoring the way the sun lit up the high points of his face. "so," you began, dangling one leg off of your chair, pulling the other up to your chest. "when did you officially lose your goddamn mind?"

he scrunched his mouth to the side as if tasting something sour. "haven't gone crazy," he said, basically a grumble, "thought he was bothering you."

you laughed, genuinely, from your stomach.

"what?" he said, and it was sharp, heavy.

"babe, is this guy bothering you?" you said, imitating a comically deep masculine voice before returning to your usual tone. you retied the straps of your swimsuit, not looking at him. "get real. since when do you give a fuck about me?"

he didn't answer, just shifted on his feet slightly, which made the muscles of his thighs tense. you could feel his anger building, looming like some poisonous cloud around the two of you. he was flushed, and you had a feeling it was some lethal combination of embarrassment and fury. it made his eyes almost glow, made his shoulders clench with strain.

"jesus, don't hurt yourself," you said, eyeing the tension that radiated from his body. "not a good look on you."

this made him intimidating, somehow, made the difference in height between the two of you feel substantial, significant. "really, doll?" he said, with a bite that you could taste. history made its stinging presence known between the two of you, made the air sizzle. "don't like me like this?"

you wanted to punch him the stomach, made him hunch over, bring him to your level so he didn't feel so high and mighty. who was he, now, to hint at your history? when he had denied it so grossly before?

you were not the one in the wrong here, you remembered, he was the one who had approached you.

"no," you said, through clenched teeth, "no, quinn, i don't like you jealous."

this seemed to set his anger loose, as you had expected it to, his fists now tight at his sides. "i am not jealous," he said, slowly, almost scarily. "maybe if you weren't showing yourself off like a-"

you stood up, then, your pulse in your ears, your heart in your throat. you laid a warning hand on his chest, the closest you'd been in a long time. "oh, you aren't really about to call me a slut, are you, quinn?" you warned, like a storm siren.

his gaze shot down to your hand before returning to your unwavering eyes again.

"are you?" you pressed, with the strength of practiced patience. he still said nothing, which made you want to pound your fists on his chest, get him to say something, anything. how tired and frustrated you were of his silence. "where do you get off playing tough-guy savior, anyways?" you continued. "you've got no say in who i talk to, just because you've been celibate, apparently, which is absolutely insane-"

"'m not playing anything," was his short response, which had you fuming.

"you're no tough guy, quinn," you said, "you're a coward."

your eyes widened when his smoldered, as he brought a hand up to your face, swiped his warm thumb across your jawline. you would have smacked his hand away, you swore it, but you were lost for a moment, drowning in the touch you'd craved for longer than you cared to admit. "and you're desperate, doll," he breathed, like some terrible caress, "where does that leave us?"

his words barreled through you like a battering ram, cruel and sadistic. because what were you most ashamed of, if not seeming desperate to his indifferent? what were you questioning most, if not where that left you?

it had been you and quinn, first. could you truly say it had ever been over?

he dropped his hand from your face, leaving you cold, lacking, all over again. leaving your breath coming out a little bit short, your lips slightly parted. because as much as his words cut through you like a dagger to the chest, he said them with such softness, such warmth.

making it so painfully clear in your mind just how much you still wanted him, even if he drove you mad. even if he was exactly the reason behind so many of your fears.

"i hate you," you said, but of course you didn't mean it.

"i hate you," he said, but of course he was lying.

your body and mind were still buzzing, practically alight, that night, when sav and jack decided your whole group should go out, try the ship's nightclub on for a few hours.

and you probably would have politely declined, in any other scenario. you didn't go out that much now, not like you did in school, at least. in recent history, you'd found yourself much more attracted to a night in on the couch than a bass-boosted speaker in your ear. however, you supposed, you wouldn't be able to really relax tonight, anyways, not when your blood felt hot in your body, when your fingertips felt as if they were laced with electrical currents.

you felt almost ill with energy, crazed with some awful mixture of shame and desire and annoyance and disgust.

and you sort of hated yourself for how practically demented quinn's touch made you feel, how deranged his undivided attention made you.

it was so, so unfair, and you wished it wouldn't be true. but it was, so you figured you might as well use this energy while you had it, might as well lean heavily into this version of yourself. this version of yourself, whose emotions were blown up, heightened to a magnificent level.

this you, who felt embarrassment like rosy handcuffs around her wrists, who felt want like a leaden crown, satisfaction like a bubbly drink, displeasure like a hand around your neck. who felt danger and challenge like some intoxicating drug.

it was this you who pulled on a tight, short dress, who spent a few more minutes than usual lining and glossing your lips. maybe it wasn't the most level-headed you'd ever been, sure, but you couldn't remember the last time you'd felt so utterly alive.

"holy shit," lexi said when she opened her door, found you waiting to walk down with her, "you look insane."

you smiled. "good insane or insane insane?"

lexi grabbed her small bag and shut the door behind her. "oh, please," she said, waving you off. "almost forgot that you're workin' with all that," she added, which made you laugh.

once the two of you made your way inside, you looked around for your friends, quickly spotted luke sitting at a table with sav and jack.

sav whistled at the two of you as you approached. "holy smokes," she said.

"oh, stop it," lexi teased, making to sit down next to her.

you just leaned on the side of luke's stool, knocked your shoulder into his. "past your bedtime, eh?" you joked.

he rolled his eyes, smiled. "what brings you out of your cave?" he mused. he knew how much it took for you to venture from your room.

you just shrugged. "what if i just wanted to see you?"

he gave a disbelieving shake of his head before tilting it up to look at you head on. "heard you and q had quite the blowout at the pool."

you narrowed your eyes. "wouldn't call it a blowout," you said, and you meant it, because you could have done so much worse. "who told you that, anyways?"

he scoffed. "who do you think?"

you scrunched up your face. you knew how close quinn and luke were, but, somehow, it still surprised you that he had told anyone about what had happened at the pool. it felt weird that, after refusing to acknowledge what had happened between you, he'd tell luke anything about you.

it made you wonder just how much he had disclosed, if luke knew much more than he was letting on.

"what did he tell you?" you asked, curiosity overtaking any of your discipline.

the youngest hughes just gave you a big grin, though, like he'd caught you in something. "i forget," he said, and you hit him lightly on the arm.

you turned your attention back to the table. "where's nico?" you asked, as he was the only one from the group you hadn't really seen that day. you didn't ask where quinn was, even though you really, really wanted to know. was he even here? did he stay in his room, like you had wanted to?

jack gestured vaguely. "haven't seen him since we got here."

"'s probably pretty busy," sav added, "i think the last time i saw him he was up to three wedding dates."

lexi groaned while you hid your face in luke's shoulder for a second.

you sighed, then pushed yourself out of your lean.

"where're you going?" luke asked you.

"to save the feminine population of this cruise ship from hurricane nico," you answered, before patting the top of his head and making for the bar.

the music was louder, away from the tables and closer to the dance floor, crowded with people in bold colors and daring cuts.

you leaned forward on the counter, raised a hand to catch the bartender's attention. the man with the platinum buzzcut nodded to you to signal that he'd be right there.

"how'd you escape your keeper?" a goofy voice said from beside you, and you recognized the confident tone before you even turned.

"good to see you again, matthew," you said, peering up at him with an easy smile. "and i have my ways."

"i don't doubt that, princess, i don't doubt that," he conceded, his grin revealing that gap between his front teeth.

"thanks for waiting," the bartender said, now in front of you two, adjusting his black bowtie. "to drink?"

"two of whatever she's having," matthew said.

"vodka soda, please," you clarified, opening your mouth to protest when matthew wouldn't let you pay.

"let me get this one, hm?" he asked, and he was so steady you knew he wouldn't budge.

you blew out a breath like you were annoyed, but the thought was sweet. "fine," you said, "just this once. thank you."

"anytime," was his immediately reply as the bartender dropped the two glasses in front of each of you.

"thank you," you said to the blonde, eyes searching for his name tag, "elias."

he gave a curt nod in response before being summoned by another patron.

you turned, now leaned your back against the bar counter, crossed an ankle over the other as you again looked at matthew.

"did i mention how beautiful you look?" he said, a lazy smirk on his face, telling you he'd used this line before. it brought a delighted flush to your cheeks, nonetheless.

"that one's a heater," you said, "bet it works on all the girls." you took a sip from your cold glass, found it strong and sharp.

"not all of 'em, apparently," he said, and you let out a laugh.

you chatted pleasantly with matthew for a while, your mission to find nico long forgotten.

fortunately, at some point, you were surprised to see nico himself approach the two of you where you stood, his gait as overconfident as his expression.

"who's this guy?" matthew whispered, his breath hot by your ear as he leaned down. you shivered, could feel his sly smile.

"a clown," you whispered back.

matthew hummed. "you seem to know a lot of those, eh, princess?"

and it shocked you, sort of, how part of you jumped to defend quinn. how part of you wanted to explain to matthew, however stupidly, that quinn wasn't a clown, he wasn't dumb, he wasn't like nico.

what did it matter if this almost stranger thought quinn was an idiot? hadn't he made a fool of himself just today?

"hey, nico," you said, when he was close enough. "meant to look for you." your side glance had you locking eyes with matthew again, warm and inviting. "got distracted."

"no worries at all, no worries at all," nico responded, "i've just been sent over by a certain quinn hughes to see what was going on here, but, as he should have known, i am no errand boy." he gave matthew a knowing look. "and you seem like a great guy." nico's mouth gave an impressed sort of scrunch. "good face, too."

"i like this guy much more," matthew said, elbowing you gently, although you were having a bit of a hard time focusing.

because you'd warned quinn about leaving you be, warned him that he had absolutely and completely forfeited any opinion to be had about your life. and yet, just hours later, apparently, he hadn't learned his lesson.

"where is he?" you bit out, and you had a feeling your smile looked menacing. at least menacing enough to make nico do a double take. "eh, over there," he said, motioning over to the dance floor.

sure enough, your eyes caught on quinn's broad figure, practically indistinguishable from the one close to him, the girl he was dancing with. you rolled your eyes, turned to matthew with sympathy.

he seemed to be anticipating your words, if his slightly disappointed sigh was anything to go by. "well, the keeper calls," he joked, and his easy-going smile made you feel almost sick.

because here was this lovely person, right in front of you, so obvious about his attraction to you. and yet, you were walking away from him. the very thought made anger thrum within you.

"i'm sorry," you said, and it was genuine.

matthew gave a one-shouldered shrug. "don't be," he said, "i'm lucky i even got to see you in that dress." he winked at you before turning to walk away.

you were silent for a moment, blinking.

nico, who'd you'd forgotten had even been there, blew out a breath. "hell," he said, shaking his head, "that guy was a smoke."

"how many dates are you at?" you said, your eyeline still firmly on quinn, on the beautiful blonde girl he was dancing with. you stirred your halfway empty drink.

nico shrugged. "lost track," he said, "why? wanna borrow one?"

"maybe later," you said, then pushed yourself from the counter and began to make your way across the room.

the walk felt much longer than it was, as if a chasm had opened up between you and quinn, jagged rocks lining the walls, some treacherous river running through your legs, drenching your heels.

the walk felt longer than it was, but then you were in front of quinn, and the beautiful girl.

you tapped her on the shoulder, first. "could you move to the side for a second, babe?" you asked, completely apologetic. "don't wanna ruin your dress."

her features scrunched in confusion, but she stepped to the side, as you'd asked. you shot her a grateful look before turning to face quinn, meeting his eye.

you were almost shocked to find warmth, there, so unlike the stony coldness you'd expected from him.

still, you just gave him a facetious smile, short, snarky, before tossing the remnants of your drink at him.

it hit him square in the face, better aimed than you could have hoped. liquid dripped from the strong slope of his nose, down his jaw, soaking his white button down near the collar.

the blonde gasped, brought a hand to her mouth in shock.

you turned briefly to her. "'m sorry for the interruption," you said, genuinely. "you look gorgeous."

as quinn ran a slow hand down his face, wiping alcohol from his forehead, cheeks, you hummed and began to walk away, your stride satisfied as you made for the exit.

you dropped your glass on a table, walked through the doorway, onto the deck of the ship, the darkness of the night, sudden quiet a welcomed change of pace.

you had only just taken a breath when you felt a grip on your wrist, firm but not painful.

"just fuck off, won't you, quinn?" you said, just about done for the night. he just pulled you aside, boxed you against the railing on the deck, the noise of the sea in harmony with the faded beat of the club's mix.

you were so, so, done. you hadn't really wanted to come out, anyways, and then, when you were finally having a good time, he had to go and ruin it, send nico over to check in on you, like you needed some kind of babysitter.

he scoffed, a sound that felt beautiful in your ears, somehow. "think you can just walk away, after a stunt like that?" he said the words like they meant something deeper than just their surface meaning, but you couldn't, for the life of you, figure it out.

you blew out a breath, met his gaze directly.

you probably should have known by now that if there was one word to describe quinn, it was unfair.

unfair, how, drenched in a drink you tossed at him, he still looked this pretty. his hair damp, evident that he had run his hands through it. his features almost enhanced by the liquid that shone on them, his shirt practically sheer, now, drawing attention to his broad chest, corded shoulders. unfair.

maybe you had been wrong. maybe you couldn't handle this weekend. you'd been able to escape him before, for years, always had an easy out during gatherings with friends, always had something else to focus on.

he was everywhere here. he was unavoidable. he was inside your head, whispering in your ear. he was a phantom grapefruit taste on your tongue.

here, you were basically back in his bed, two years ago, back in that bar booth. here, you were surrounded by him.

"you sent nico to spy on me," you said, each word pronounced perfectly clear. you clenched your fists tight as if to restrain them. "how many times do i need to tell you, quinn? who i fuck is none of your business!"

he let out a noise that was half-growl. "you wanted him?" he asked, low and loaded, so painfully so it made your stomach drop.

"what does it matter?" you said. "i can't even speak to someone on this boat, apparently, without you breathing down my neck!"

"it matters," was his reply, spoken so softly, with a cutting bite. "it matters, doll."

you narrowed your eyes, searched his face for some clue. droplets of liquid still clung to his lashes, making his gaze impossibly beautiful.

"it shouldn't," you said, careful. "i'm desperate, remember?" your eyes widened in false despair. "don't you remember, quinn?"

his gaze dropped momentarily to your mouth, hung there just long enough for you to notice. "i remember," he said, so gently it shocked you. like he wasn't just talking about today.

the sea air suddenly felt hot, despite the windy chill. you were acutely aware of how close he was to you, his arms on either side of your waist, boxing you against the railing, his bent knee just barely grazing yours. the warmth of him like a radiator, the smell of him overwhelming.

"enough with the overprotective act," you demanded, willing any shake from your voice. "it has to stop, quinn, i can't do it."

"you can't do it?" he asked, calculated, incredulous. "you can't do it?"

you let out an exasperated huff. "what are you saying?" you pleaded. "jesus, fuck, quinn, all you do is stare and stare and stare and say nothing!"

"what am i supposed to say?" he said, gesturing vaguely around. "what could i ever say to you?"

"maybe try something true!" you said. "give that a shot!" your volume was much too loud, and there were probably people around, but you didn't really care, couldn't even register their presence. as always, with him, no one else seemed to matter, to even exist.

you could feel his chest rise and fall against yours for a moment, a pause so thick it almost felt suffocating. "it hurts to look at you," he said, finally.

and it would have been mean, would have been some cheap shot at calling you ugly, if his voice hadn't broken halfway through. if it hadn't seemed to be the hurt that was really the point.

his arms at your sides felt like something scandalous.

"and yet all you do is stare," you said, almost drowsily. "must be doin' a whole lot of hurting, over there."

something that felt like truth rose and fell between the two of you, light as the salty breeze, dark as the deep water below.

"does it hurt, now?" you breathed, your face so close to his as you peered up at him through your lashes.

his exhale felt like a million words, all jumbled up, offered up to you on a silver platter. he looked almost haggard. "so much, doll," he practically whined, and you wanted to taste his confession on your tongue, wanted to know what his honesty felt like on your lips. if it would feel the same as it did those years ago, if it would feel better.

you raised a careful, delicate hand to his damp face, brushed your fingertips along his hairline, slowly, almost mesmerized. he looked so beautiful, then, the faint light of the deck in contrast with the night making his face angelic in a terrible sort of way. "tell me you hate me," you said, little more than a whisper.

he gave an almost undetectable shake of his head, a rogue lock of hair curling into his face. "i can't," he said, soft, pulled into a trance by your ghost of a touch.

his full lips were so close to yours, and you angled your head slightly to made room for him, wanted all of him just so badly-

"no!" came a loud protesting voice that you immediately recognized as savannah. "do not throw her overboard!"

the two of you bolted apart from each other, a few feet between you, now. your pulse was still a pounding thud in your head, though, your body a sack of candy conversation hearts in all of its deliriousness.

you supposed it would look fairly suspicious, quinn so close to you, his hands so close to you, against the railing of the ship. maybe it did look like he was going to toss you over the edge. you could have laughed at how ridiculous the reality was.

savannah now stood in front of the two of you. you couldn't look at quinn, deathly afraid of what you would find if you did.

"what the hell was that, in there?" savannah demanded, gesturing wildly to where she had come from. she fixed her eyes on you. "since when are you a drink-thrower?"

you mumbled something like since a few minutes ago, i guess.

she huffed, turned to quinn. "and i hear you're sending nico on errands to do your dirty work for you?"

quinn looked at his feet, shifted his weight slightly. "wouldn't call it dirty work," he grumbled.

your best friend took a deep breath. "i understand that you guys don't really get along," she said, evenly.

quinn's gaze shot to you for a second, but you didn't return his attentive stare. you have no idea, you wanted to tell savannah.

"and i guess i should have known better than to trap you guys on a boat for a weekend, but you're adults! and the wedding is in less than a week," she continued, not angry but obviously frustrated. "i'm the one who's supposed to have a meltdown on wedding day, okay? not you two."

"sorry, sav," you said, and you felt bad, really.

she waved her hand. "it's my fault, too," she said, "just, i don't know, sleep this off and tomorrow you'll be able to get off this boat. think we're docking for a few hours, or something."

you sighed, snuck one last look at quinn like a last bite of a shared dessert. evidence of emotion just barely hid under his casual mask, evidence of being affected by you.

"i'll do better, okay?" you said, just to savannah, as you passed her, pulled her in for a quick hug in apology. "i promise."

she hugged you back. "i know it's not just you," she whispered into you ear. "and i trust you."

you nodded, squeezed her a last time before making the trek back up to your room. you passed jack, waiting just off to the side, keeping an eye on savannah, presumably.

"goodnight," you said to him, giving him a feeble wave.

he offered you a smile. "don't tell him i said this," he whispered, "that was one of the best things i've seen in my life."

you rolled your eyes at him as he bid you a returning goodnight.

you spotted lexi, sitting at a table just outside of the club entrance, your eyes widening when you recognized the blonde in her lap as the girl quinn had been dancing with. you smiled, slightly. they looked lost in conversation. they looked good together.

as you turned the corner to the stairwell, you almost jumped, then brought a hand to your heart, let out an alarmed exhale before recognizing nico, making out with a girl against the stair railing in an almost violent way.

you tried to squeeze past the two of them, eventually giving him a light shove. "move, nico," you whisper-yelled at him.

when you finally got past him and up the stairs, you were only a few steps from your door, finally closing yourself back into your room, exhaling a heavy breath, slipping off your heels.

you didn't quite make it to your bed, instead opting to fold a leg underneath you on the floor, lean back against the side of the mattress.

you weren't really sure why you suddenly felt that undeniable pressure on your waterline, that heat at the edges of your face that signaled coming tears.

the breeze through your window was a calming chill as you ran your palms up and down your thighs, trying to bring your breathing back to normal.

it felt like your heart was ten times its normal size, like it was so heavy it was sinking down into your stomach, like an anchor into the ocean waves.

your mind was a flurried rainstorm of quinn's hand on your wrist, his arms by your sides, his chest through his button down. his parted lips, so close to yours, his eyes, so unlike the fixed iciness you'd grown used to from him.

tell me you hate me, you'd asked him, practically begged him, your tone a sinful sort of plea.

i can't, he'd answered, like your request for the truth was some binding promise, like your pure want was some altar-laid sacrifice.

you went to sleep that night jittery, dreamed of slate eyes and stolen touches, glances that meant something stark.

of course, the next day, the last full day of the cruise, your energy had not dissipated. it left you just as uncertain and edgy as ever, because now, you wondered what quinn would do when he saw you.

more probable than not, you knew, he would do nothing. he would probably pretend like, just last night, he hadn't been about to kiss you, like he hadn't confessed to something monumental.

he would probably revert right back to staring, staring, staring, and nothing more. he might even revert back to hating you, for all you knew.

and then there was the part of you, a scary, maybe delusional part of you, that believed that maybe last night had changed something. that maybe he would do more than just look, that maybe you'd do more than just fight, that maybe this time would be different.

oh, how you wanted it to be different.

it had been you and quinn, first. how you wanted it to be you and quinn, now.

at the very least, you thought, as you got ready to leave, you'd have a way out, this time. you were finally getting off the boat, going to the beach for a few hours.

if he got to be too much, you could just walk away, this time, like you had grown used to in the past.

it was this positive outlook that you clung to as you made your way off of the boat, meeting up with luke on the stairs.

"and where were you last night?" you asked, after greeting him, raising a questioning brow.

he gave a playful eye roll. "no where as exciting as you," he said, teasing. "almost getting tossed overboard, and all."

you smacked him lightly on the back of the head. "i did not almost get thrown overboard," you clarified, "i was having a civilized discussion with your brother."

luke hummed. "were you?" he asked, "not quite what i heard."

"when did you become such a gossip, hm?" you pestered, stepping off onto the dock, exhaling with slight relief at the feeling of solid ground underneath your feet.

he shrugged. "people tell me stuff," he said, simply. he didn't have to clarify who people were.

you narrowed your eyes. "how much stuff?"

luke met your gaze, and there was an understanding there that scared you. "enough," he said.

you looked at your feet as you stepped onto the sand, found it warm, calming. "oh, great," you mumbled. you could only imagine what quinn must have said about you. how desperate and deluded you were, how you had gotten so attached to him after a single night, how you'd suddenly grown so malicious towards him as soon as he didn't return your feelings. your head hung, just a bit, because you hated to think that luke, someone you trusted and cared about so much, would think this of you, just from hearing it from quinn. "shocked that you even hang out with me, then, honestly."

you could feel luke's gaze on you like the sun. he cleared his throat, making you look up at him. "think, uh," he began, scratching the back of his neck in a nervous sort of habit. "think maybe you should just talk to him."

you laughed, spotting savannah and jack setting up an umbrella further down the beach. "because that's worked so well for us," you joked, but your heart jumped in your throat. because, oh, how easy it felt to refer to yourself and quinn as an us.

luke just shrugged. "it's worked better than the alternative," he said, putting his towel down before making to help jack with beach chairs.

his words stuck with you, suspended in your mind, for a moment, because he was right. you realized, however painfully, that you would prefer a screaming match with quinn by the pool to silent staring across the room at a gathering with your friends.

you'd take an excruciating argument with him over feigned, false civility any day of the week.

there you stood, your feet in the sand, looking out at the water, and you finally understood that you'd take all of the ugly, all of the hurt, all of the cold, if only it'd give you all of him.

"uh, you good?" sav said, giving you a confused look as she registered your quiet stillness.

you shook yourself from your mind, smiled at her. "all good," you said, and it was true.

lexi joined with the blonde from the night before in tow, whom she announced as erin.

you gave erin a guilty smile when you introduced yourself. "sorry again about last night," you said.

erin waved you off. "don't worry about it," she said, "that was the most dramatic night out i've had in forever."

she set up her towel next to you and lexi, and you quickly found how easy she was to talk to.

nico ambled his way down, at some point, eyes hidden behind massive sunglasses, a baseball cap on his head, a giant hoodie on despite the heat.

jack laughed when he got close enough. "the feds onto you, or something?" he said, referring to nico's ridiculous getup.

nico's pretty face contorted into a scowl. "i'm never drinking again," was his rough reply as he sat down on a towel, practically hissing at the bright light of the sun.

"yeah, right," you laughed. "you said that last time."

"fuck off," nico grumbled, hanging his head between his bent legs.

"oh, don't be mean, nico," savannah said, "it's not our fault you can't hold your tequila."

luke's face scrunched up is distaste. "you were drinking tequila last night?" he asked, "when did you join delta gamma?"

nico made to protest, but you didn't hear it, not really, because you were distracted.

your attention had strayed to where quinn now stood, right beside luke's chair. his approach had been silent, practically stealthy, but he was here, and he was looking at you.

the conversation around you seemed to fade away, to dip down deep below the gentle waves that lapped at the shoreline.

it was still a shock to your system every time you saw him, even though you'd known each other for so long. maybe it was an even greater shock, now, because you weren't quite used to seeing so much of him, of getting so much of him, on back to back to back days.

after being practically starved of him, or at least of his true emotions, this weekend had felt like being drowned in him, held under the water by your throat until your vision swam and your chest was on the edge of exploding.

it didn't help that the way he looked, now, in broad daylight, was so brutally stunning that it stole your breath.

he looked almost weary, the shadows of his face defined and sharp, his jaw rough with stubble. maybe he'd tossed and turned all night, as you had? maybe he'd dreamed of you, too?

your languished gaze caught slowly on his bare arms, returned reluctantly back to his face. he appeared to be just barely on the cusp of, well, something, spurred on by your obvious attention, something alight in his eyes that made your stomach flip.

you felt your cheeks grow hot, bit your lip, slightly. when he was looking at you, like this, you could all but hear his firm rasp in your ear, feel his callused hand tug at your hair.

you looked away, down at your hands, afraid that your eyes were giving too much away, afraid that he could somehow tell exactly what you were thinking, exactly what memories his presence was bringing to mind.

everything felt overheated, and not just because of the sun.

time passed at an agonizing pace. hours during which you could sense when he was looking at you, could feel his stare like a bullet to the heart. during which you would occasionally look back, meet his heated, cryptic eyes, silently beg him to do something, to do anything.

but, for hours, he didn't, and you grew angrier, more fiery with every passing second.

of course he would do nothing, you tried to rationalize, this was quinn you were talking about. this was quinn, in front of all of his friends, so of course he would pretend like you were barely there.

the hurt of it all made you feel almost seasick, woozy and disbelieving, mentally grasping wildly for something to grab on to.

the hurt of him made you seasick, the whole of him made you lovesick, but what did it matter, you thought. at what point were you not just dizzy over him?

"i'm going for a walk," you said, abruptly, getting up and mumbling some affirmation when sav reminded you the boat was leaving soon, so you should hurry back.

the sand shifting under your feet, the pleasant chill of the water at your ankles, you wanted it to calm you down, you wanted your escape plan to calm you down, like it had so many times in the past.

that's what you'd said all weekend, wasn't it? that it had been so hard to be around quinn without a clear way out?

you wanted to scream, felt heat prick behind your eyes, because here you were, walking away, and it didn't feel any easier. you didn't feel any relief, any satisfaction.

he was back there, and you were here, and it didn't look like last night had changed anything, for him. it didn't look like you were as life-altering a person as he was, for you.

the thought made slow, hot tears finally, finally break through. you blinked hard as you continued to walk, the pressure in your head painful, scorching droplets hanging onto your throat before falling to the sand below.

you had no idea how long you had been walking, how long you'd been crying, but eventually, you looked up, and realized it was actually getting darker. the sun was much lower in the sky, the wind a bit quicker. clouds had began to creep in, making it grey and ominous.

great, you thought, rain on your impossibly long walk back was exactly what you needed.

you stilled, looked down at your feet, let out a deep, heavy breath, watched the water twist and pool around your ankles. maybe you could just stay like this forever. maybe your body would eventually decompose into the damp sand and smooth pebbles, turn into something beautiful.

"jesus, doll, there you are."

your head whipped back as you turned around, found a slightly out of breath quinn now in front of you. you blinked at him, your lips shut. was this some trick of the storm? what was he doing here? how dare he follow you?

your eyes didn't leave his, as you watched his gaze visibly soften so beautifully when he took in your face.

it must have been bad, you thought, evidence of crying for however long all over you. your cheeks must have been splotchy, your lashes clumped together, your lips puffy, eyes red.

this vision of you seemed to sober him, to make his heightened breathing cool down to something more composed.

he exhaled, braved a step closer to you, now only a foot apart. his gaze dripped down you in a way that had you wanting to just sink into the earth. "doll," he began, almost a warning, "you been crying?"

you didn't say anything, for a second, didn't indulge his obvious question with a response.

"what are you doing here?" you said, eventually, but it came out like a statement, a whisper, as you messily wiped your face with the back of your hand.

he had the gall to blink back at you, as if confused, that sorry softness still drenching his face, his posture. "you'd been gone for a while," he began, "the boat was leaving, and i just-"

"do you just want to fight, again?" you asked, your blood growing hotter with each second he was here, so close to you. you hated how wobbly your voice sounded, how resigned you already seemed to be. you peered up at him, felt your heart crack in two. "do you know your lines, yet, quinn?"

"i don't want to fight," he said, and conflict burned bright across his gaze, indecision.

"should i start or you?" you pressed, ignoring his admission, "how many times do i have to make a fool of myself before i finally stop expecting you to act like i matter?"

his breath was sharp in silence. the wind whipped your hair around your face, sticking to your tear-stained cheeks.

"of course you matter," he said, almost incredulous, like the whole idea of thinking otherwise was ridiculous.

your laugh was bitter, mean. "oh, of course," you bit out. "of course, right? how could i not be able to tell? you say you don't hate me, but you won't even talk to me in front of our friends," you swung you arms about in gesture. "jesus fuck, quinn, you almost kissed me, last night, and today it's right back to whatever bullshit we've been pulling for the last two years." you looked away from him, so overwhelmed with emotion. "it wasn't me who ruined this whole thing."

"you think i ruined it?" something equally terrifying and lovely melted across his eyes.

you scoffed. "it wasn't me who pretended like we'd never met," you snarked. you could almost sense a well of feeling rumbling through him like a cresting wave.

"you left!" he finally rasped, the most emotion you'd seen from him, maybe ever, his voice echoing in your head as the wind continued its assault, as small raindrops began to fall. "you left, doll, okay? i thought that night was special, but i woke up alone," he said, and it was so gravelly, sad, you felt it in your teeth.

you blinked, watched his chest rise and fall in heaving breaths. how could that be true? it dawned on you that you barely remembered much of what you did that morning, having focused so intently, for so long, on him. was it possible this whole thing was a misunderstanding?

"so you pretend not to know me?" you pressed, rain cold on your legs, your face, an icy contrast to the hot tears that had stopped flowing.

he gave a resigned gesture, blew out a breath. "i was embarrassed!" he said, "i am embarrassed, okay, doll? it's fucking embarrassing to be so into someone and then have them leave without saying goodbye, alright?"

your split heart thumped despite its brittle ache. there was a pause as you both registered just what the other had just admitted to.

both of you were soaked, now, rain dripping down your faces, but you didn't feel cold. you felt as if every inch of your skin was on fire, like your heart was trying to claw its way out of your chest.

you didn't know what to say. he had laid all his cards on the table, right in front of you, given you the honesty you'd been begging him for.

"and, you know, you wanted to kiss me, too, last night," quinn said, finally, defensive, hot, a thermometer approaching the highest temperature. as if the fact made it easier on him, somehow, as if it was a thread tying him to the earth, keeping him from floating away. "it wasn't just me."

you groaned through clenched teeth, a guttural sound. "of course i did! of course i want to kiss you!" you almost yelled, laying a tight fist on his solid chest, just barely holding back from slamming it into him.

his eyes were a forest fire, then, as your choice of words registered, a pause heavier than rock between you.

"wanted or want, doll?" he asked, and it was a breath, a whine, a plea as he allowed himself to wrap a heavy arm around your waist, pull you closer to him, until you could feel the warmth of his breath on your face. the closest he'd been, dizzyingly close, like a dream.

you realized your mistake even in your dazed state, how he'd said you'd wanted to kiss him the night before. how you said you want to.

you could have easily laughed him off, said it was a tenses slip-up. you unfurled your fist, instead, laid your palm flat against his chest, perhaps imagined his heart beating in your grip.

he had been so honest with you, after all, had finally told you the truth. the least you could do was return the favor.

"want," you all but whispered, gazing up at him through raindrops and vulnerability.

what was and what could be melted away in a single moment.

he was a blur of relief and desperate motion. "thank fuck," was his murmured groan as he took the side of your face in a rough hand and guided your lips to his in a kiss that felt like a feat of nature one million times more impressive than the storm that blew around you.

it had been years of countless petty fights and cruel misunderstandings, of bitter jealousy and longing gazes, of deifying the last time you'd had quinn, like this. and yet, still, it was so much better than you remembered. he was.

the way he clutched at your hip like he couldn't bear to let you go, not anymore, not this time. the way his hand on your face was so firm, but so gentle. that undeniable faint grapefruit taste, so completely him.

how you melted into his chest, wrapped your arms around his neck, just wanting him closer, closer, just wanting him so close that you'd never be apart again.

you whimpered against his mouth when his teeth pulled lightly at your bottom lip, like some punishment for all you'd put him though. you just rooted your hand in his hair, now soaking wet, tugged at the curls near his neck, in your own kind of retaliation, until he gave a choked moan of his own.

that's for what you did to me, the soft sensation of pain screamed at both of you.

but his chapped lips moved with such intention against yours, like he wanted to swallow down all of the tears you'd cried over him. your body against his felt so right, so warm and comfortable even in the wet and cold weather.

but this is for what you are to me, was the ultimate response, communicated wordlessly through your kiss, through his.

at some point, you both pulled away, only just slightly, your forehead leaning against his as you both caught your breath, so elevated. his stony eyes were so molten, so clear and telling, as he traced his thumb down your jaw, finally wrapped both arms around your back and clasped his hands.

the silence was so beautiful, for a while.

"did the boat really leave?" you asked, dazed, finally, your voice low, husky.

quinn just nodded. "jack said they'll reimburse us for the night if we stay at the inn downtown," he explained, looking around to locate the road, the civilization that existed outside of your perfect bubble. his eyes found you again, something like mirth hidden in there, somewhere. "probably should get out of the rain."

your swollen mouth quirked up in a half-smile as you nodded your agreement, let him hold your hand in his as you made the short walk to the inn jack had been referring to.

you checked in together, ignoring a slightly confused look from the person at the desk, probably at the fault of your rain-drenched appearances. quinn made to grab some overnight necessities at the supermarket next door, kindly letting you take a warm shower while he did so.

when you opened the door to your room, you quickly realized that there was only one bed to share between the two of you. your stomach rolled at the thought, at the pressure that would exist, or not exist, when he returned. at the question of how far you were going to take this. your heart hurt at just how far you'd take it, take him, if he'd let you.

the thought vibrated through you as you let the warm water wash away the day's wear from your skin, eventually wrapping yourself up in a towel.

you hadn't realized how late it was, the quick storm messing with your conception of passing time. it was almost nine by the time quinn got back.

he closed the door behind himself, and the clicking noise that followed felt like something serious as he turned to face you, set the bag of things he had gotten on the dresser.

he cleared his throat as his gaze caught haphazardly on your bare shoulders, the slope of your neck, then finally registering the bed that you were sitting on, the singularity of it. he flushed down to his collar, making butterflies flutter to life in your chest.

he eventually averted his gaze enough to maintain a glimpse of dignity, opening the bathroom door. "got some stuff for you in there, doll," he called, gently, over his shoulder before he shut the door behind him, seemingly to take a shower himself.

you tried not to blush, because you were too old for that, too mature. you exhaled, tried to convince yourself that you would be fine no matter what happened, tonight. you'd kissed, sure, and there seemed to be an air of lightness, of understanding between you, but that didn't necessarily mean you were entirely past all of your issues. that didn't mean quinn wanted to move as fast as you did.

you distracted yourself by going through the bag on the dresser, trying to put together some semblance of your nighttime routine. the clothing options, understandably, must not have been plentiful. you smiled, laughed lightly as you pulled out the tshirt he'd gotten for you to change into, which was one of those touristy ones that read the person who bought me this shirt loves me very much!

and it was obviously because there had been no other options, but a piece of you clung to the sentiment, dug your nails into the flesh of it so hard it began to bleed.

regardless, you got ready to go to sleep, pretended to ignore when you heard the shower head turn off, the bathroom door eventually open, averted your gaze and forced away your blush upon quinn's reappearance.

the air of the room felt almost metallic, tangible, like it was rattling around the space instead of flowing.

you knew it was partially due to the way he looked, now, damp and flushed from the warm water, his chest bare and broad, a towel slung low on his hips. you swallowed, looked up at the ceiling, as if there was something very interesting up there. as if there was anything more captivating to you than him.

he pulled on the cheap clothes he'd gotten for himself, went through the motions of his own little routine, all while you pretended to be on your phone, scrolling through apps but not retaining even a bit of information.

"good if i turn the light out?" he eventually asked, soft, to which you nodded, consenting to the darkness that followed, the rustling of comforters and sheets as he joined you on the bed.

you set your phone down, tried to close your eyes, but you couldn't relax, not with him just so, so close, not with so much that you still wanted to do. not with years of complete lack weighing on you, not with the memory of his lips on yours so beautifully fresh in your mind.

you were turned away from him, a bit of space between you, but you could somehow feel that he was awake, too, that he was just as aware of the energy and expectation that coated the two of you like a watery film.

the texture of the inn's cheap sheets felt grating and terrible against your hot skin, made you restless, rubbing your legs together against the other slowly, fussing with your pillow, tediously careful to not make contact with him.

"doll," was quinn's inevitable comment, more of a warning, a statement, spoken low and rough, rumbling through you.

you didn't turn to face him, but stilled. "sorry," you mumbled, your cheeks warm.

"what's wrong?" you could basically feel the words on your back, the heat from his breath, his body.

you exhaled, still refusing to face him head-on, knew you'd be done for if you did. "nothing's wrong," you whispered.

he hummed, almost like this was amusing to him. "can feel you thinkin' from here," he said, soft. "tell me."

the pause before you spoke was solid, weighted. "just don't want to go back what we were before," you said, and it was the tone of a beggar, so honest in want. "just want this time to be different."

then he reached his arms out, wrapped them around your middle, pulled you back against his soft frame. you swore you must have exhaled a thousand anxieties as you melted into him, shifted your hips back against him.

"i want that, too," he admitted, and you could barely stop your smile as you finally turned to face him, undeniably beautiful even in the darkness.

"really?" you asked, not caring for a second how pathetic it sounded, how glutted with hope, almost childlike.

you felt his nod more than saw it as his grip around you tightened, his hands firmly grasping the flesh of your hips as you reached up, traced your fingers along the edge of his jaw.

"i'm sorry i left," you breathed, and you could feel his chest contract at your apology. "i never wanted to hurt you."

"i'm sorry, too," he said, "'m sorry i acted like you didn't matter to me, doll." his tone dripped with meaning. "'m sorry i lied."

your mouth quirked. "done a lot of lying, haven't we?" you mused. it was honestly impressive, how long you'd both kept up the charade.

he mumbled some affirmation that you felt against your forehead, the heat of it making you rub your calves together, again. "still nervous?" he asked.

you peered up at him. "not nervous," you clarified, "i just-"

you exhaled, lowered your gaze, almost stumbled over your words, because how could you tell him exactly what you thought?

how could you say all i've wanted for years is for you to touch me like you did that night?

somehow, maybe because he was feeling something similar, he seemed to know exactly where your head was, exactly the dilemma that existed in your mind.

"ask me," he said, hard, firm, "ask me, doll. know i like you desperate."

you whimpered, because his words could have been a taunt, had been a taunt before, but not this time.

because you were desperate, only for him. and he wanted you anyways.

"i need you, quinn," you whined, gathering his shirt in a clenched fist, "fuck, i need you so bad."

that was enough, though you supposed the truth had always been enough, for the two of you.

it was enough for his lips to crash against yours for the second time, that night, this time so soft, no longer fueled by anger or revenge but by something lovelier, slow burning, something you felt in your feet.

your lips parted almost immediately in a soft moan, making space for him as his hand braced the back of your neck, holding you tight as he shifted you so that he was on top of you, the weight and solidity of him almost oppressive, if not exactly what you'd been craving for so long.

he kissed you hard, adoring, like he wanted the outline of your mouth imprinted on his forever, as his other hand traced down the side of your body, eventually stilling to push your searching hips into the mattress.

"be good, doll," he murmured against your jaw, leaving messy kisses down your neck that had your throat feeling tight.

"can't," you whined, grasping for the curls at the nape of his neck, lifting your hips again to try to get some kind of friction against his lap. "can't, baby, been waiting so long." you tugged at his hair as his hand rested heavily on your inner thigh. "been wantin' you forever."

he let out a groan, finally moved his broad hand to tug your clothes aside, run his fingers through your folds. "yeah?" you could feel him smile against your neck as your breathing picked up, as he just barely grazed your clit, making you squirm. "been thinkin' 'bout me?" he asked. "'bout the last time i fucked you?"

you whimpered, nodded feverishly, because you had been thinking about it. a day rarely went by that you didn't think about it. it felt like something mythical that it didn't have to be just a memory anymore, that he didn't have to be your haunted house. that he could be here, with you, like this.

he pushed a thick finger into you, urging a strained sound from your throat. "'s okay," he cooed, watching you adjust to the pressure, the sensation.

he began a steady pace, adding another finger, making the slick sound of you seem to echo off the thin walls of the inn, making you wonder briefly if there was someone staying in the room next door. such a concern was quickly overwhelmed, though, as you got used to the stretch of his fingers, began to hunger for something else.

"know 've been dreamin' 'bout you, don't you?" he asked, moving his fingers faster, "fuck, got me all worked up, all those times, doll." his smirk grew arrogant. "so mean of you."

you clutched at his tense forearm. "''m sorry, quinn," you begged, rough and wild, "please, baby, please fuck me."

he slowed his pace, let you paw at his clothes before helping move them out of the way. "ask so pretty for me," he praised, spitting into his hand, pumping himself up and down, so hard and hot against you as he lined himself up, his voice dipping down even lower, somehow, like he was speaking only to himself, as if in a dream. "been dyin' to fuck you."

you whined when he began to push into you, the stretch dizzying, making your vision swim, your chest tighten. you grabbed a fistful of a sheet with one hand, the other arm grasping for him, eventually looping around his neck, your nails digging into the tense muscles of his shoulders.

his exhale was a shudder, one you felt so deeply, so intimately, one that told you that he was feeling a similar way to you - like you were being pulled between memory and reality, what was and what would be.

the pressure felt impossible as he bottomed out, let you adjust to him. "you're, fuck," you bit out, squeezing your eyes shut, "'re bigger than i remember."

someone else probably would have smirked, said something self-satisfying, but he didn't, seemingly too lost in the feeling of you around him, of having you, like this. "open your eyes, doll," he said, strained.

you gave a slight shake of your head in protest, knowing exactly what your refusal would do to him, knowing exactly the roughness it would bring out as he began to fuck into you, slow and deep, so overwhelming and perfect you could have cried.

"don't be a brat," he ordered.

a greedy smile fell across your lips when you felt his warm palm on your throat, his hand squeezing just barely, just enough feel him, everywhere. you opened your eyes, met his dark gaze, felt yourself clench down so tightly around him.

his rhythm grew brutal. "still like that, do you, doll?" he groaned, to which you whined at the insinuation that he remembered every detail of that night the way you did. that he had remembered what you liked and didn't like so vividly, even now.

"more, baby," you pleaded, feeling your head grow fuzzy with pleasure, that pressure inside of you so extreme, heat bursting through your waterline like you were about to cry. "fuck, quinn, need you harder."

"yeah?" he rasped, releasing your neck and bringing his hands down to tease your clit, making your back arch up off of the mattress, your hips jolting. "'f you needed a good fuck, doll, should've just asked."

you whimpered at his words, so cruel, but they pushed you impossibly closer, regardless, as he placed a wide palm on your lower stomach, intensifying the sensation. "i needed it," you babbled, feeling the wet feeling of hot tears on your cheeks but not really registering anything besides him, "needed your cock, baby."

he groaned, looked up for a second as if praying. maybe he was. maybe this was something worth praying for. "can feel you close, doll," he said, his thrusts growing wild, his face flushed with exertion, "give me it, hm?"

"'m gonna cum," you breathed, not recognizing your husk of a voice as you rooted your hand in his hair.

"cum on my cock," he said, a plea, "fuck, doll, been so perfect for me, waited so good."

you came apart at his words, your vision growing dimmer even in darkness, your thighs tensing as you felt your high trigger his own orgasm, warm and wet, his rough groan louder than even the storm-heightening waves outside, somehow more powerful.

his heavy body collapsed atop yours, both of you damp with sweat, your hair sticking to your tear-stained face, his soft curls to the back of his neck. you could feel every exhale against your chest, every twitch of his muscles in your bones.

at some point, he rolled off of you, pulled you against him, so, so tight, like letting you go would be something unforgivable. his arms around you felt like a million apologies, like something solid underneath you, finally, after being seasick and dizzy for so, so long.

he traced a drowsy thumb under your eyes, collecting the remnants of tears you'd barely noticed you'd shed.

"that good, eh?" he rasped, and you could hear his smile.

you rolled your eyes, couldn't stop your own grin as you playfully slapped him on the chest, relished in his low laugh against your hand, into your hair. "hey, can i ask you something?" you said, propping yourself up on your elbow.

"'course," he said, and that alone felt like something too lovely to be true.

"will you be my date to the wedding?" you asked, and your smile grew wider at his obvious conflict of interest. "even though it means you'll lose our bet?"

he groaned, rubbed a hand over his face. "fine," he said, his eyes flashing in the dark, "but only 'cause you look so pretty like this."

you gave a light noise of excitement in celebration, leaned forward to press a kiss to his cheek. "and for my prize i choose," you said, trailing off, thinking, tapping a finger to your mouth in contemplation before pointing it at quinn. "you."

his gentle smile was something surreal as he pulled you even closer to him, your cheek against his chest. "done," he breathed, and when he pressed his lips to the top of your head, it was something right.

when you finally reconvened with your friends the next day at the port, savannah approached you first, pulling you in for a hug.

"i'm so sorry," she said, "i wanted to stay and wait for you, but quinn said he was going to go by himself, and then luke said i shouldn't-"

"it's okay," you said, "it all worked out. we're here now, safe and sound."

savannah's brow quirked. "you seem awfully chipper," she observed, taking a step back as if to get the full picture.

you smiled at her, and you could feel quinn smile too, next to you, your stomach flipping when he looped a hand around your waist and pulled you to him, his grip strong and sure.

sav's eyes went wide, lexi laughed. nico whispered something to jack, luke gave an exaggerated fist pump.

"well," savannah said, "took you long enough, jesus."

"wait," you said, slowly, "you knew?"

she waved you off. "of course i knew, i'm your best friend."

you gestured around to the group. "who else knew?"

lexi raised her hand as if in a classroom. you nodded, invited her to speak up. "like knew that you guys fucked a couple years ago?" she clarified, "or knew that you guys secretly were super obsessed with each other?"

"because the answer to both of those questions is yes," nico piped up from the back.

quinn was silent, his low laugh against your neck as he clasped his arms around your front, pulled you back against him.

you turned your neck to look up at him. "did you tell them?" you asked.

"i told someone who probably told them," he mused.

you fixed your gaze on luke. "you absolute drama queen," you scolded, though you were smiling.

luke put his hands up in the air in surrender. "not my fault," he said, "we would have figured it out, anyways. not like you two were doing a good job of hiding anything."

"he's got a point," quinn whispered just behind your ear.

you sighed. "fine," you conceded. "i forgive you. and i forgive all of you for abandoning me in some random seaside town."

nico huffed. "yeah, really slummin' it, eh?" he asked, "you were at a bed and breakfast for a night with your pretty-much boyfriend. relax."

quinn pinched your hip, which made you smile. "so, where are we dropping nico off?" you asked, "might i suggest a deserted island?"

"finally gets the guy she wants and suddenly she's got jokes," nico muttered.

you felt quinn smile against your neck, and you smiled, too.

the wedding, the next weekend, was exactly the beautiful occasion you knew it would be, with only the most predictable of issues and the most simple of solutions.

you walked down the aisle with quinn, whose touch on your waist lingered right before you split apart to stand on opposite sides of the altar. when you both stilled, you shared a soft smile that felt like home.

lexi walked next, arm and arm with nico. erin was somewhere in the pews, as her and lex had really hit it off, and you were pretty sure about four girls here were under the impression that they were nico's one and only date.

luke walked by himself, a ring-bearer and flower-girl, of sorts, his tie a little too loose, his suit jacket too wide in the shoulders. his friend-date, mackie, you remembered, gave an emphatic cheer when luke tripped over the carpeted aisle, stumbling on his feet.

finally, sav walked down, looking just so beautiful, alight and glowing with the sort of beauty that comes with being a kind person surrounded by those you love.

it was a beautiful ceremony.

the reception was distinct in its energy, heightened by an open bar and big dance floor.

you danced with your best friends, smiled as you watched jack and sav enjoy dances together, laughed as nico tried to juggle his several dates.

"might not have been the best idea, eh?" you asked him, once, when he passed you and luke on the dance floor.

he made a pft sound, waved you off. "i can handle it," he said, his eyes suddenly filling with alarm, "but if you see the redhead, warn me."

you danced goofily with luke for a bit, giggling at his awkward moves, mimicking them in an exaggerated way.

when the songs grew slower, lazily, you felt a hand on the small of your back that you'd know anywhere, that you'd known even in absence.

"mind if i cut in, lukey?" he asked, and you rolled your eyes at his funny wording, but luke complied with a smile, and then it was the two of you, quinn's hands around your waist, yours looped around his neck, your fingers playing softly with his hair.

"you look really pretty, tonight," you said to him, unable to hide your smile, and it was true. his unruly hair, sharp features, full lips, it was distracting. that, combined with his pressed pants and the fact that a few buttons had come undone from his shirt over the course of the night. "everyone's jealous of me, i bet."

you'd tell him a thousand times to see the way his gaze softened, the way a faint pink blush bloomed across the bridge of his nose. "thank you, doll," he said, genuineness evident in his voice, soft. "'re too good to me, yeah?"

you laughed, at this, felt it light up your face. "makin' up for lost time," you teased.

he pulled you so close to him, then, until his embrace was basically a swaying hug, a tired excuse for a dance. "got all the time in the world," he said, low, only for you, against your temple, and it felt like rebuilding a world from devastation. it felt like beginning, like living. it felt like him.

it had been you and quinn, first. it had been you and quinn, the coward and the fool, in the middle, however violently.

and, finally, it was you and quinn, now. now, and forever.

fin.

#hockey #hockey smut #nhl #smut #jack hughes #jack hughes smut #nhl smut #quinn hughes #trevor zegras smut #jack hughes x reader #quinn hughes x y/n #quinn hughes x reader #quinn hughes smut #quinn hughes imagine #luke hughes #nico hischier #matthew tkachuk imagine #matthew tkachuk smut #matthew tkachuk #mackie samoskevich

[starsandhughes]

I Know Places

inspired by i know places by taylor swift <3

pairing: quinn hughes x tkachuk! reader

word count: 2.4k

warnings: drinking, use of y/n, mentions of throwing up (not actually done), fade to black smut

MASTERLIST

-----------------------

Maybe it wasn't the best idea you've ever had, but it wasn't like you planned this! You didn't plan to fall for one of your brother's best friends, someone that was a groomsman at his wedding, it just happened.

You and Quinn kept sharing looks during the start of the wedding reception. It was a dangerous game and you both knew it. Quinn and Brady were best friends, and both of your families were friends— you were terrified that too much was at risk with this relationship.

There wasn't a fear that your families wouldn't be happy about the relationship, because there was no doubt in your mind that everyone would be thrilled, it was the fear that your relationship would no longer be just yours.

It would be theirs, too. It would belong to your parents, Quinn's parents, Brady, Matthew, Taryn, Jack, Luke, and eventually all of the fans.

Your relationship would be under the scrutiny of the public eye. You'd be subjected to hate from Quinn's "fans," and probably your brothers's as well. You knew that some girls online tended to take every single blink as a chance to over analyze a relationship from a player they obsess over. Many fans were supportive of the various WAGS, but there were a few that would be sobbing over the fact that Quinn is taken. These fans are the hunters, and you're a fox trying not to be caged.

Your relationship was fairly new, only a couple weeks old, and it started back when the Devils were still in the playoffs. There was a gap between one of Matthew's games and one of Jack and Luke's, so you hopped on a plane to go see one of them before Quinn got his wisdom teeth out. Quinn drove you back to your hotel at the end of the night and well... things spiraled from there.

Love was fragile. It could burn out. And in your experience, especially new love.

The more alcohol that you put into your system, the less careful you and Quinn were being. There were cameras everywhere, but it slipped your mind for just a moment. You two had been friends for a long time and an innocent touch surely wouldn't be enough for everyone's heads to turn, so you let it happen.

Quinn stood behind you with his hands on your waistline as you moved your hips to the music. You knew they were his hands before you even turned around, you were familiar with his touch at this point. It wasn't until you heard Luke whisper to Jack, "look!" that you had any concern.

"Let go, Quinn," you whispered to him. "Luke is looking suspicious."

"So let him," Quinn whispered back.

"Quinn," you groaned.

Quinn obliged to your concerns and took his hands off of you. He extended his hand towards you instead and lifted it up when you took it, a subtle motion signaling you to spin under his arm. You laughed as he did this, and to play it off like you were just two friends dancing, he called out to Luke to catch you as he spun you outward.

You fell into Luke laughing before you turned back to face Luke and threw your arms around his neck to dance to the beat with him.

"What was that about?" Luke asked you. You internally panicked, but outwardly remained calm.

"What was what about?" you laughed it off.

"Quinn's hands on you," Luke said, as if it were obvious. In his defense... it was.

"We were just dancing, Luke. I've known him forever! I've known you forever and now we're dancing! Is there something wrong with that?" you turned it all on him.

"No, no, nothing wrong with that," he said calmly. He was too smart for his own good and you knew it, but he was also respectful enough to not call you on your bluff.

Luckily, keeping an eye on you was the last thing on Brady and Matthew's minds with everything that's going on around them. As the night went on, Jack was getting drunker and Luke was on Jack duty, so Quinn's brothers were finally less of a problem.

All you wanted was to be with Quinn. If you two were further along in your relationship and unworried about your families, you two would be attached at the hip and having a good time. But everyone in your family was around. Grandparents and cousins and aunts and uncles. Everyone. Hell, even Josh kept eyeing you and Quinn. But the wine running through your veins was making you crave Quinn's touch even more.

All the happy couples surrounding you certainly weren't helping. Every kiss you caught a glimpse of made you think of Quinn's lips. His soft lips. You felt your face begin to heat up as your mind wandered too deep into memories of your last time with Quinn.

"I know that look," Quinn said as he walked up to stand beside you.

"I don't know what you're talking about," you feigned innocence. Your thoughts were nowhere near innocent.

Quinn stepped in front of you, dangerously close, "Yeah, you do. You've got that look on your face that you have while we're..." He leaned in close to whisper the rest of his sentence in your ear, "...alone."

You closed your eyes and gulped. He has you in the palm of his hand, and right now was not the best time to be feeling such things.

Quinn's hands found your hips and pulled you closer to be pressed up against him, "I don't think anyone's watching."

"Quinn..."

"Just one kiss," he proposed. "To get it out of our system."

You looked around and discovered that your boyfriend was right. Everyone was too wrapped up with the party to pay any mind to you two. You gave into him and wrapped your arms around his neck, kissing him softly.

Quinn brought a hand up to your cheek and cupped your face when you pulled away, "I love how red you get every time I kiss you."

Then it happened.

A flash. A camera flash to be exact.

You began to panic. Once Brady and Emma get all the wedding photos, your secret would be out. There was no chance that you could play off whatever the camera caught as something just between friends!

"Shit!" you said, a little too loudly.

Your big brother was more keen to you than you thought, because you saw Matthew spin around in search of you. Those stupid protective tendencies never shut off for him. He was the oldest. He felt responsible for his siblings. His protectiveness is normally your saving grace, but it was your number one enemy right now.

"I know a place where we won't be found," Quinn hurried out. You grabbed his hand, "Let's go."

You two dashed out of the reception hall, not too fast as to make a scene, but you weren't moving slowly.

You two were practically sprinting through the hotel towards the elevators once you escaped the reception hall.

"Quinn, your hotel room would be too obvious!"

"That's why we're going to Matthew's," he said as if it was obvious.

"What?!"

"He gave me his key to watch because he tends to lose things," Quinn explained. "Your brother's hotel room is the last place people would think to look. I don't even think Matthew knows which room he's in."

Quinn had a point. You were pretty sure if anyone actually saw anything it would be Matty, and his own hotel room was not going to be his first idea of places to look. You immediately pulled Quinn closer to you the second he got the door open. You kissed him hungrily as you walked backwards, only parting when he gently laid you down on the couch.

Quinn climbed on top of you and started to kiss you again. His tongue slipped into your mouth as his hands gripped your hips, wrinkling your bridesmaids dress between his fingers. You moaned into his mouth when he bit your lip, which only made him bite harder before he tugged and pulled away. He then trailed his lips across your jaw and down your neck. You gasped and gripped your hands onto the ends of his hair, feeling the oxytocin flood through your body now that you finally get to feel his touch.

His left hand found its way under your dress. He traveled up your thigh slowly, making you shudder. His fingers lightly grazed across your silk panties, teasing you as he snapped the top edge against your skin.

"Please," you whimpered. It's been so long since he was last able to touch you— really touch you. Long distance is hard, but a secret long distance relationship? It's hell. "I need you."

"We don't plan on going back down to the party, do we?" Quinn asked you low. You hummed a no, pursing your lips as you tried to keep it together. "Good," he smirked.

Your heartbeat quickened when he reached up a hand to caress your cheek, something he does when he wants you to look at him. You opened your eyes to stare into his greens, completely mesmerized by the hold this man has on you. Just with one touch he can get you to do what he wants and he knows it.

"I want you to beg," he instructed. He tilted his head and raised his eyebrows expectantly, and did so subtly.

"Please," you whined.

Quinn tutted in disapproval. He wanted more than that from you. He leaned down close to your ear as he slid his hand up your body to your tit and softly squeezed, "I'm going to need more than that, baby."

"Please, fuck me," you said with more urgency. He was driving you insane.

"Please, fuck me, what?" he smirked.

"Please, fuck me, Daddy."

Quinn gave you a sly smile, "Well... since you asked so nicely.”

– – –

Your naked frame laid atop of Quinn’s, your head against his chest, as the two of you fought to catch your breath. If you were home, at either of your homes, the notion of having to get up and get dressed wouldn’t even have even crossed your minds. And if it did, you would’ve laughed it off. You don’t get that luxury when you decide to sneak off during your brother’s wedding to your other brother’s hotel room.

“Q–”

“Don’t,” Quinn cut you off. He brought a hand up and ran it up and down through your hair, “Not yet. We have time.”

“How do you know?” you whispered.

“Because the world can’t be that cruel to me,” he mumbled, holding you tighter.

Turns out, the world could be that cruel to him. To both of you. Because the loud and rowdy voices of Matthew, Jack, and Luke were coming closer and closer.

You practically dived off of Quinn and started to put your dress back on. Quinn was frantically looking for his jacket before giving up entirely and going without it.

“Act drunk!” Quinn whisper shouted at you.

“What?!”

“Act drunk! Go sit by the toilet and act like you’ve been throwing up!”

You finally caught on to what Quinn was saying. There was no way you two could escape out of Matthew’s hotel room, but you could act like you intended to be in here. Quinn grabbed a hand towel and got it wet. He rubbed it across your face so it seemed like he had cleaned your face off post you throwing up. You then threw open the toilet lid and flushed it, hoping that the boys were close enough to have heard it. Quinn sat down on the bathroom floor with his back against the wall and his legs straight out, and you curled up into a ball and laid your head on his thigh. You weren’t drunk by any means, but you were pretty inebriated, so forcing yourself to cry like you normally do post throwing up wasn’t that hard.

You guess they went to the front desk to get another key to Matthew’s room, because instead of a knock, you heard the door click open. Matthew immediately heard your sniffles and rushed into the bathroom, “What’s wrong?!”

“Y/N got super drunk, and your room was closer than mine, sorry,” Quinn said softly, rubbing your back up and down.

“I didn’t see her drinking a lot,” Luke said suspiciously.

“She can be a lightweight if she doesn’t eat enough,” Matthew said, completely oblivious to what Luke was insinuating. He was crouched down on the ground trying to tend to you. He looked at Quinn, “I got her.”

Quinn helped move you into a position where Matthew could pick you up and carry you to the bed.

“I don’t feel good, Matty,” you fake cried.

“I know, Y/N/N,” Matthew shushed you. “I’m here, it’s okay.”

Matthew told Quinn to unmake the bed so that he could put you in it. Matthew gently laid you down and Quinn covered you up. Matthew left to get you some water and Advil and told Quinn to watch you.

“Next time, I’m picking the place,” you mouthed. Quinn silently chuckled and sent you a wink before leaning down to kiss your forehead.

“You got this?” Jack asked his brother.

“I had it before you got here, so…” Quinn trailed off.

“Alright, alright,” Jack said. “No need for sass!”

Jack left, but before Luke followed him, he stopped to look at you and Quinn. He looked out the door and when Jack was far enough away, he spoke.

“I won’t tell anyone,” Luke started.

“Yes! Oh my god, yes! Happy?” you shouted out, not lifting your head to look at him.

Luke smiled and looked back at Quinn, who sheepishly ran his fingers through his hair and nodded.

“I knew it!”

Quinn came back to you once Luke had left and knelt on the ground to be eye level with you.

“You put on quite the show just to cave and tell Luke,” he said.

“Yeah, well, your little brother is relentless,” you pouted.

“That he is,” Quinn laughed lightly.

“My brothers will make a big deal of it. I want the beginning of this relationship to be us figuring us out, not them telling us what our relationship is,” you told Quinn. Quinn grabbed your hands in his and kissed them, “Just as long as you know better places we can hide.”

“Trust me, Q, I know a lot of better places than my brother’s hotel room.”

#quinn hughes #quinn hughes imagine #quinn hughes x reader #quinn hughes fanfic #quinn hughes fic #quinn hughes x tkachuk! reader #quinn hughes fluff #matthew tkachuk #matthew tkachuk imagine #brady tkachuk #jack hughes #luke hughes #nhl imagine #hockey imagine #luke hughes imagine

[haddonfieldwhore]

i miss you, i’m sorry - matthew tkachuk

matthew tkachuk x fem!reader

summary: you go with your bf to a hockey game; he is unaware of your history with one of the players (please read warnings!)

warnings: abusive bf, violence, strong and derogatory language, angst, a few uses of y/n

word count: 3k

you felt like you hadn’t been able to breathe properly in hours, sitting rigid like a stone next to mike, who’s mood has only deteriorated as the night went on. mike was a diehard coyotes fan, and had brought you to the game with him last minute when his friend had cancelled last minute.

“are you sure none of your other friends would want to go? they would probably have more fun than i would,” you had offered, desperately trying to get out of going.

“they’re all busy,” he replied. “i know you hate hockey, but can you try to have a good time, for me?” he asked sweetly, pulling you into his arms. you weren’t fooled by his tone; you would go and you would enjoy it, you didn’t have a choice.

“okay,” you smiled, and he kissed you softly before going to your shared room to get ready. you sighed, trying to figure out how you were going to make it through this game. you didn’t hate hockey - you used to love it actually, but when you started dating mike you chose to keep that part of your life a secret. it seemed silly at face value, but there was a bigger secret you were hiding from him, and you asked the universe why it had to be the panthers that arizona was playing tonight.

a little less than two years ago, you had dated their star player, matthew tkachuk for almost a year, before the travel and hectic schedule got to be too much for you, and you decided to leave; the hardest thing you had ever done. the relationship had been kept pretty quiet thankfully, no traces of it online except for one or two group photos from when you were together still floating around instagram; though you had done all you could to erase any evidence.

if mike found out, you honestly weren’t sure how he would react; but you knew it wouldn’t be good. you had met mike a few months after you and matthew broke up, and he was nice enough, until he wasn’t. he kept up the good guy just long enough for you to move in and become dependant on him, and suddenly you found yourself trapped. things were okay most of the time, but if he got angry, sometimes you got caught in the crossfire. he had only actually hit you once, but he yelled, and would sometimes grab you too hard, leaving you with bruises to cover before he could see them; he had the audacity to say that they made him upset.

he had been in a good mood when you got to the arena, and you were thankful that your seats weren’t too close to the ice, though you shuddered at the possibility of matthew seeing you in the crowd, despite how slim the chance was. you hadn’t seen him since they day you broke up, and as the familiar head of curly hair came out from the tunnel, skating on to the ice as part of the starting line up, your heart felt like it was being twisted in a vice.

you missed him. you missed your friends on the team, having grown pretty close to some of the guys, as well as their girlfriends. you hadn’t heard from any of them since leaving; it was too hard at first, and then it became a safety concern. any connection to your former life meant more risk of mike finding out about matthew, and that couldn’t happen.

“can you at least look like you want to be here?” mike whispered in your ear, and you knew it wasn’t a suggestion. you put on a smile, and thankfully it was good enough, as he turned his attention back to the players on the ice.

the game started off a bit slow, however the panthers had a 1-0 lead at the end of the first, and through the second as well. the coyotes were playing pretty rough, getting quite a few penalties for some dirty hits, all while mike cheered them on, booing the refs anytime they called a penalty on arizona. you watched as one of floridas players, nick cousins, ran into one of the coyotes while he was low on the boards, the hit landing on his shoulders or maybe his head, you couldn’t really tell. another coyote skated up and checked nick face first into the boards; hard. he hadn’t been looking that way and had no warning to protect himself, and you watched in distress as he crumbled to the ice, and you were worried he was unconscious.

nick had been one of your closest friends while you were dating matt, and your heart pounded as you watched him struggle to his feet.

“that pussy folded like a piece of paper!” mike laughed, enjoying every second of him getting hit. floridas players jumped on the guy who had laid the hit on nick, defending their fallen teammate as a fight broke out, sending players from each team into the penalty box. mikes mood dropped with each second of the refs deliberating passed, the officials eventually awarding nearly 20 penalty minutes to forsling for florida, as well as enough penalty minutes to arizona to give the panthers a man advantage.

“that’s fucking bullshit!” he screamed, the crowd of arizona fans not happy about the decision either. you said nothing as mike spilled some of his fourth beer on your lap, just thankful it hadn’t got on his spare coyotes jersey that he had insisted you wear. as the players got ready to continue the game, you looked across the ice, locking eyes with the one person you hoped you could avoid more than anything. something flashed in his eyes as he saw you, but his attention was quickly back to the game as the whistle blew, and soon the second period was over and he was gone down the tunnel for intermission.

the coyotes scored in the third to tie the game, but the panthers got the lead back, scoring twice in close succession. matthew looked to you after putting the puck in the net, and it took everything in you to ignore him. mike was livid at this point, the alcohol not helping in the slightest, and you cringed internally as he grabbed your hand, holding it way too tight.

forsling finally came out of the penalty box after serving 17 minutes, and immediately scored an empty netter, solidifying a 4-1 victory for florida. with 2 minutes left in the game, mike dragged you out to the concession area. matthews eyes noticed your empty seats, and his heart dropped, wondering if he had imagined you even being there in the first place.

downstairs, mike pushed you against the brick wall next to the restroom.

“wait here. i gotta piss before we leave,” looking at the long lineup already formed outside the men’s room. the arena was small, and there were limited washrooms, so you had a feeling this was gonna take a while, but you dared not move from your spot against the wall.

you could hear the final buzzer go, and the florida players began walking out from ice level, and you realized that they had to walk through the main area to get to the visitors locker room, and your blood ran cold. most of the panthers paid no mind to you, but you held your breath as you saw matthew approaching, praying that he ignored you like the others had.

he thankfully didn’t say anything, but your eyes locked for the second time that night as he passed by, disappearing down the hall and into the locker room. your foot tapped anxiously on the floor, grinding a small piece of gravel under your shoe as you willed mike to hurry the fuck up.

10 minutes went by, and you exhaled in relief as he finally appeared, not even caring about the death grip he took on your wrist as he literally dragged you behind him towards the exit.

“y/n?” a familiar voice called, and you hoped with all you had that mike would ignore it and keep walking. “wait- y/n.” mike stopped, causing you to bump into his back with how fast you were following behind him. he turned around, and you were sure he was quite confused as to why matthew tkachuk was calling after you.

“what the hell do you want?” mike asked, looking matt up and down before turning to you, still holding you tight. “do you know this asshole?”

“no, let’s go home,” you pleaded, but he wasn’t budging.

“you got the wrong girl.” mike shrugged. “shouldn’t you be circle jerking with the other guys in the locker room right now?” he spat, still bitter about his team losing the game.

“i told them to start without me,” matthew joked dryly, and you could feel his eyes on you, however yours were glued to the floor.

“funny,” mike replied. “let’s go,” he pushed you in front of him to leave.

“wait, y/n - please.”

“i’m sorry, you have the wrong person.”

“yeah, chucky,” mike laughed. “you must be thinking of some other whore. i’m sure there’s a lot of desperate chicks around here that would suck your cock though, so stop talking to mine.”

“you really shouldn’t talk about women like that,” matthew threatened, and while his tone sounded calm, you knew he was furious.

“or what? what, you want to fight or something?” mike asked. you noticed a few people gathering to watch, either out of concern or just to see matthew, but you knew this wasn’t going to end well.

“baby, can we please just-“

“shut up!” he shoved you and you fell to the floor, landing hard on your ass, before punching matthew in the face. matthew swung a fist at mikes face, hitting him square in the jaw. your eyes widened in horror as mike swung more drunken punches back at matt, and people backed away from the fight. you looked down the hall to see a familiar face, and you called out to your former friend.

“carter!” his eyes snapped up from his phone and he took out an airpod before he noticed the fight, and he quickly pulled matthew off of mike with the help of security guards that had come to help break up the situation. you stared at the ground in front of you again, feeling like the room was spinning and wishing that the floor would open up and swallow you. security handcuffed mike and escorted him out of the building, while carter and another security officer took matthew back down the hall towards the locker room.

an officer asked you to come with him, and he took you to an empty office room to take a statement about what happened. you just hoped matthew wouldn’t get in too much trouble.

•

when you left the office, there were thankfully little to no fans left in the arena, the hallways eerily empty as you walked towards the door. before you could reach it though, something - or someone - made you pause. you looked back down the hall to the locker room, and with a sigh walked towards it. you knocked on the door, your heart hammering against your ribcage as it opened, one of the team staff looking at you.

“i’m sorry, you can’t be back here-“

“it’s fine. she’s a friend,” carter interrupted her, opening the door to let you in. the room was empty, the team having already left, and you forced yourself to look at carter.

“are you okay?” he asked, and you nodded.

“thank you. i’m sorry-“

“don’t, it’s not your fault.” he opened his arms and you fell into them, hugging him tightly. “chuckys just getting patched up in the medic room. mostly procedure that they have to check him after a fight - usually it only happens during a game though,” he joked, and you found yourself smiling for real for the first time that night.

“is he in a lot of trouble?”

“no more than he normally gets himself into. it’ll be fine, y/n,” he assured you, but you were still worried there might be some legal repercussions. deciding there was nothing you could do about that right now, you managed to push the thought away and sat down on a bench in the locker room.

“you waiting around for him?” verhaeghe asked, and you nodded, eyes on the floor again.

“yeah. i think i’d be a shitty person not to.”

“you could never be a shitty person,” he smiled. “we miss you. chucky especially.” you looked up at him sadly.

“i miss you guys too.”

the medic door opened with a creak, and matthew walked out. you kept your eyes on your feet, counting the laces on your shoes over and over again.

“i’ll see you later,” carter said goodbye to both of you before leaving the room. you didn’t dare look up as matthew walked over slowly and sat down next to you, leaving space between you as his gaze lingered on you.

“you waited,” he said softly.

“yeah…. i don’t think i should have, but i wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“you wanted to make sure i was okay?” he laughed softly. “yeah, i’m okay.” he said, and an awkward silence filled the room. “was he always like that?” he asked gently, and you shook your head sadly.

“nope,” you said bitterly, eyes growing wet with tears. “he was perfect at first. until he wasn’t.”

“i’m sorry.”

“don’t be. it’s not your fault.”

“i still am. you don’t deserve to be treated like that.” you didn’t reply, knowing he was right. “y/n, you haven’t even looked at me.” he hand touched yours on the bench next to you, his touch so soft and gentle it was unfamiliar.

you turned your head towards him, and his heart broke at your sad expression. his lip was split open, red and forming a bruise already. you reached for his face without thinking, pulling your hand back before you went too far.

“what do you want me to say?” you whispered, a tear rolling down your cheek. with the carefulness of someone touching glass, he brushed it off your face, and you closed your eyes, leaning into his touch.

“do you have somewhere to stay tonight?” he asked, somewhat ignoring your question. he didn’t want you to say anything, he just wanted to make sure you were safe.

“i can figure something out,” you said, going through the options in your head; likely a hotel or sleeping in your car.

“please, i would feel a lot better if i knew you were somewhere safe. i have an extra bed in my hotel room-“

“no, matthew. i can’t do this.”

“do what?” he asked.

“this,” you gestured between the two of you. “thank you for protecting me, but i can’t let myself be near you. it’s too hard.”

“please,” his blue eyes looking in yours. the smell of his cologne wafted to your nose, filling you with a sense of safety that only he could ever bring you.

“okay,” you nodded.

•

the drive to the hotel was short and silent, but you felt at ease for the first time all night. the more time you spent with him, the more it felt like no time had passed; like things were back to how they were before. matthew held your hand the whole drive, his thumb drawing little circles on the back of it gently, his touch like a feather.

you got up to the hotel room and he grabbed a t-shirt from his suitcase for you.

“you a coyotes fan now?” he teased, and you laughed. matthew hadn’t realized how much he missed the sound, but did he would do anything to hear it again and again.

“not by choice,” you laughed, pulling mikes jersey over your head, putting the t-shirt over your undershirt you had on.

“did he know about -“

“no,” you shook your head, dropping the jersey in the small garbage can, and matthew cracked a smile. “he probably wouldn’t have liked it very much.”

“i’m sorry, i don’t mean to -“

“it’s okay. i know. how’s your lip?” you asked, still feeling guilty about it.

“it’s not my first split lip. i’ll live,” he smiled.

“is nick okay?” you asked, remembering the nasty hit during the game.

“he wasn’t feeling too hot after that. i’m not sure yet,” he admitted, and you nodded, before covering your mouth as a yawn slipped past your lips. “come on, sleepyhead, let get you to bed.”

you nodded, dragging your exhausted body into the nearest of the two queen sized beds. matthew tucked you into bed, leaning down to kiss your forehead, and you reached for his hand before he could walk away.

“lay with me?” you asked sleepily, knowing it was selfish to use him as a safety net right now; but you felt you would fall apart without him.

“are you sure?” he asked, and you nodded. he crawled into bed next to you, letting you cling to him like a life raft. “you’re safe now. i won’t let anyone hurt you, baby, i promise.”

“i know, matty,” you snuggled into him, everything about him bringing you comfort you hadn’t felt since you left; his scent, his voice, the feeling of his arms around you. “i missed you.”

“god, i missed you to. i don’t want to let you go again.”

“please don’t,” you begged, your eyes wet with tears that fell onto the fabric of his shirt, your fingers gripping it so tight your knuckles hurt. “don’t let me go.”

“i won’t.”

you felt like you were dreaming; what had started as a nightmare turning into the first time you had felt safe in months. you were scared that you would wake up and it hadn’t been real - you would be next to mike in his apartment, the cold draft from the window on your side of the bed would prickle you skin like it always did and you would have to apologize for not having his lunch ready for work.

but instead you would wake up in the arms of someone who actually cared about you, the sun peeking through the cracks of the blinds, casting warmth onto your skin. along with it, matthew brought a light to your life that had been missing for so long, you thought it was lost for good.

matthew pressed another soft kiss to your forehead as you felt yourself falling asleep, knowing you were protected as long as he was next to you.

“thank you matty,” you murmured, barely awake as you nose brushed the side of his jaw, your face tucked into the crook of his neck.

“anything for you.”

disclaimer: all screenshots, events, and/or interactions depicted in this are a work of fiction. i have no association with any parties mentioned

#nhl #nhl fic #nhl imagine #real person fiction #nhl players #matthew tkachuk x reader #matthew tkachuk fic #matthew tkachuk imagine #matty tkachuk #matthew tkachuk #tkachuk #hockey imagine #hockey fic #hockey player #hockey #florida #panthers #florida panthers

[selfindulgentpoorlywritten]

My Sweet Girl (Matthew Tkachuk Imagine)

This is by far-- I repeat, by far-- the longest reader insert I've ever written. It's my submission for @wyattjohnston 's Winter Fic Exchange, a gift for @matthewtkachuk ! Excellent URL, by the way.

The creative process here went as follows: Shelbs shows me her On Repeat Spotify playlist -> I see The Band Camino on it and remember that I love that band -> I listen to nothing but them for two weeks -> I hear the song Know It All and am struck with inspiration -> I write this and inflict it on everyone else.

I jumped around a bit while writing, so please let me know if there's anything I screwed up! This is also the type of fic that has had 20+ tabs of Wikipedia pages, ESPN articles, and stats pages open on my computer for two months, but there was still information I couldn't find, so please be gentle with any inconsistencies.

Anyway, I truly hope that you enjoy this one! I apologize for being a day late posting, my job sucks.

Rating: M

Pairing: Matthew Tkachuk/fem!Reader

Words: 26, 028

Warnings: a lot of angst

Contains: best friend's brother, friends to ??? to strangers to lovers, situationship, idiots in love, everyone knows but them, Matthew being kind of a dick, guest appearances by the Weinberg-Hughes family and Jane Gaudreau

Summary: As Brady's best friend, it was your duty to love and support him. You're pretty sure falling in love with his brother does not count as "support", but here you are.

-----

You weren’t expecting this to be as hard as it is.

Luckily, you’d been given a little warning beforehand, but apparently a week wasn’t enough to prepare yourself. Was it kind of fucked up that the news had to come from Brady, because Matthew hadn’t bothered to tell you himself? Yeah, kind of. Sure, Brady and you have been best friends for years, but it’s not like you’re not close with Matthew, too.

You hadn’t realized what was going on at first, convincing yourself not to be upset when Matthew’s texts slowed and his calls stopped outright. It had been the beginning of the playoffs, you reasoned, of course he was going to be too busy to talk to you as much. Despite the fact that communication between the two of you had never waned because of the season before. It was his first year on a new team, you’d told yourself, a team with a great shot at the Cup, at that. You could deal with missing him a little more than usual if that’s what he needed.

When you’d called him to congratulate him on passing the first round, he’d thanked you and wrapped the call up as quickly as he could. Seeing the 3:24:41 call duration on your phone afterward had felt wrong. It was one of the shortest calls the two of you had ever had.

You’d brushed it off, chalked it up to him being tired or busy. Then they’d won the second round, and the process repeated itself. A quick phone call, a few scant minutes. It had sounded like other people were there that time, so you’d convinced yourself that he would call you back when he was alone. He never did.

You got to watch Game 4 of the third series, got to watch them sweep Carolina to win the Eastern Conference. Your friend Terri had laughed and clapped as you cheered, jumping up and down like a child. She was a Carolina fan herself, but was good enough of a loser to hug and congratulate you despite it. She’d offered to leave so that you could talk to Matthew, but you’d waved it off. You knew he’d be celebrating with the boys that night, so there was no real reason to try calling. You’d shot him a congratulations text and spent the night smiling so much your cheeks hurt.

When you’d tried to call Matthew the next day, his voice had been hushed when he answered. You’d given him your congratulations, bubbling over about how well they’d played. It’s not the first time you’d had a phone call exactly like that, him letting you gush about his team’s play and basking in the attention. This time, he interrupted you before you even got a chance to really get going. His voice was still quiet, almost a whisper as he said he had to go. The wind was immediately taken out of your sails and you’d barely had time to say goodbye before he hung up.

At that point, you’d given up convincing yourself that everything was okay. Something was very clearly wrong, and you’d spent the next nine days trying to figure out what it was. You’d reached out to Brady, and he’d told you that he hadn’t noticed anything weird from Matthew at all. Knowing that, you’d tried to downplay what was going on between the two of you, lest Brady go bother Matthew about it. You don’t do well with embarrassment, so you’d preferred that whatever was going on stayed away from any third parties.

The finals started, ending rather anticlimactically ten days later in a 4-1 loss for the Panthers. Knowing Matthew, he was going to go straight back to his hotel room and beat himself up. For the last three, almost four, years, you’d called Matthew after every big win or loss, and this was his biggest loss to date. Yet your finger hesitated at his contact name, hovered over the picture of him with bedhead and a lazy smile. With how things had been going, you knew he probably wouldn’t want to talk to you, even if you hadn’t figured out why yet. But part of you hoped that he would, that everything to that point had been stress, and there, at his lowest, he would talk to you again, and everything would go back to normal.

That, of course, is not what happened.

He hadn’t answered at all. And when you’d tried a second time an hour later, it rang once before going to voicemail. That meant that he’d declined your call, but you didn’t know what that meant.

Two more days passed without you hearing anything from him, so you’d called Brady. All of this had been concerning, but that had been too much. Miraculously, you’d managed to stay calm when you spoke with Brady, sounding impressively level-headed when you relayed what happened and asked him if he’d heard from Matthew. Brady had seemed shocked at the situation, immediately calling Matthew after he’d hung up with you.

Thirty minutes later, when you’d received a text from Brady, your heart had sunk to the pit of your stomach, and it’s stayed there ever since.

Because what the text had informed you of is that Matthew hadn’t lost or broken his phone, hadn’t been sick or depressed or, god, lost in the fucking desert or some shit. It told you that he’d been with his girlfriend, and hadn’t wanted her to see him call or text another girl. Because, apparently, Matthew has a girlfriend now. And just hadn’t deigned to tell you.

When Brady had told you that she would be spending the offseason in St. Louis with Matthew, you’d tried to hide your shock. You’d cleared your throat and told Brady how great that was, even as you wanted to throw up. They’d gotten into town a few days ago, and you’d done your best to keep your distance. But Brady asked you to come to dinner at his parents’ house tonight, citing the limited time you have to see him before he goes back to Ottawa, and you couldn’t refuse.

So now here you are, curled up in a chair in the Tkachuks’ den, across from said girlfriend. Her name is Tessa, she’s 26, and she does remote work for a marketing firm. That explains how she’s able to pick up and go to St. Louis for three months, at least. She’s already recounted the story of how they’d met, a romcom story of spilling his drink on her dress at a party and getting to know each other from there. She talks about the instant connection, the way they clicked so quickly that she knew they were meant for each other. That part of the story was when you’d excused yourself to get a glass of water, just so you could stick your head in the fridge and take a few deep breaths.

Matthew and Tessa are on one of the couches, the older, comfier one. Matthew is propped up against one of the armrests, Tessa curled into his side, his arm around her shoulders. You’ve spent the night pretending not to notice the way Matthew keeps glancing at you.

Brady and Emma are posted up on the other couch, one on either side, Emma’s feet in Brady’s lap as she lounges. Emma is great, and does a great job at keeping the conversation going, despite how little you and the boys are participating. Tessa either doesn’t notice your silence or doesn’t mind, chatting happily about some film she and Emma have both recently seen. You’re pretending not to notice the looks Brady’s giving you, either.

You should really be trying harder. You know Brady wasn’t expecting you to curl up under a blanket and mope when he invited you, and he really is right about time being limited. You should be engaging, enjoying the time you get with the boys while you have it. You would, if you could open your mouth without feeling like you’re going to scream.

Eventually, Chantal calls you all to dinner. It’s easier once you’re all gathered around the table, somehow, and you’re able to talk a little. Chantal has always put you at ease, has always made you feel like just another of her children. If you had it your way, Taryn would be here too. She has a way of lovingly bullying you that always makes you feel better. Unfortunately, she’s visiting some college friends out of state. But you’re doing okay, you think, at acting normal.

Then you lock eyes with Keith, and any sense of ease you’ve gained flies out the window. You wouldn’t be inclined to say that Keith is the most observant person in the world, so the way he’s looking at you– like he knows something is very, very wrong– makes it clear that you’re doing an absolutely dogshit job at hiding your feelings. You look away from him quickly, swallowing hard and forcing yourself to talk even more. 

Maybe if you can just act normal, if you can push down the emotions and act like everything is okay, it will be. There’s nothing else you can really do about the situation anyway. Matthew has made it clear that he’s not interested in talking about it, so you’ll have to suck it up and deal with it on your own.

Dinner goes by a little quicker once you’re actually actively involved in the conversation. Typically, you help Chantal with the dishes after meals, but when you reach for the sponge at the sink, she shoos you away. She sends the girls back to the den, insisting that it’s the boys’ turn to help.

You curl back up in your chair, mind wandering as you operate on autopilot. You’re saying things, contributing to the conversation with Emma and Tessa, but you have no idea what you’re actually saying. Mercifully, they either don’t notice or don’t care.

This entire situation is fucked. What’s really getting to you, though, is how you’d been introduced. You’d walked in, giving out hugs to everyone except Matthew and Tessa. She’d approached you, shaking your hand enthusiastically.

“Matthew said you’re Brady’s best friend, right?” she’d asked. It was simple, innocuous, and true. Brady and you have been best friends for years, and that would be an adequate title in any other scenario. But it felt like a punch to the gut, knowing that after everything, Matthew had told her that you were just his little brother’s best friend. You’d glanced at him as she said it, and the intentionally cool, unaffected expression Matthew had in place still couldn’t hide the guilt in his eyes.

In that moment, you knew that he hadn’t told her anything about you, about whatever the two of you have been to each other for the past few years, and that he never intends to. There was a second where he’d made a decision, a second that you weren’t present for, that had cut off everything you’ve been to him and relegated you back to Brady’s Best Friend.

You want to pull Tessa aside, spill out everything. You want her to know that you’re Matthew’s friend too, that you’ve been more than that. More than that, you want Matthew to do it. You want him to tell her, to acknowledge whatever the hell you’ve been doing for all this time. You want him to admit that you’re something, anything to him.

Instead, you keep it all to yourself. The knowledge of everything between you and Matthew will live and die where it is now, in the minds of the two of you, and nowhere else.

June, 2018

You’re wiping down the counters when the man enters. You force a bright smile at him, still annoyed from the previous customer but doing your best not to show it. He returns the smile, approaching the register. You move to settle across from him, greeting him politely. The shop has a lot of regulars, but you don’t recognize this guy.

“I’ll be honest,” he says, giving a single nervous laugh, “I’m not really a coffee guy. Do you have any recommendations?” It’s not an uncommon question, and there aren’t any other customers right now, so you don’t mind.

“Do you like the taste of coffee?” you ask. He shakes his head. That eliminates about half of the menu, so it’s progress.

“How much caffeine are you going for?” you ask next.

“As much as possible,” he replies. The dark circles under his eyes could have hinted you to that conclusion. He has a laptop and notebook in one hand, down by his side. It’s normal for people to bring work along with them, and he’s definitely young, so you guess it’s probably school work.

“You could always do a triple shot latte with a flavor,” you suggest, your own go-to drink, “The caramel is the strongest. I can put in an extra pump if you want.” Technically, you should charge extra for that, but the kid looks kind of pathetic, and you feel bad. He can have a pity pump this once.

“That sounds good,” he agrees. You do the math in your head and punch in the price manually on the vintage register. The whole cafe is supposed to have a vintage vibe, a real hipster magnet. Math was always your weakest subject, but having to calculate totals in your head has made you a lot better with it.

Once he pays on the very not-vintage card reader, you direct him to the far side of the bar. You start on his drink, pulling shots with practiced ease. You’ve been working  here since high school, so you’ve gotten pretty good at making coffee. He doesn’t try to talk to you while you work, which is nice. There’s something oddly calming about his presence, though, and it’s helping your annoyance fade.

You hand off his drink, and he retreats to a booth in the back corner after thanking you. You go back to wiping things down, bobbing your head along with the music playing quietly over the speakers. It’s later in the evening, so you only get a few customers over the next hour. It’s one thing you like about working the night shift. Not many customers, and most of the people getting coffee around this time are tired enough to not give you much trouble, and are usually extremely grateful for the caffeine.

It’s quiet for long enough that you pull your stool up to the counter, pulling your textbook and notes out from under the counter. You start working on the homework for your summer semester, singing quietly to yourself as you read.

“You have a nice voice,” the guy from earlier says, suddenly standing in front of you. You jump, hand flying to your chest as if you’re a damsel in a period piece. You’d forgotten he was here.

“Thank you,” you say, once the surprise fades. You laugh a little, shaking your head. He laughs too, apologizing for startling you.

“Could I have another?” he asks, holding up his now-empty cup.

“Of course,” you reply, “Same cup okay?” You do your best to be environmentally friendly, so you don’t want to use another cup if you don’t have to. He says that’s okay, so you take the cup and start pulling another shot.

“Y/N,” he says absently as he leans on the counter, “That’s a pretty name.” You thank him again, dumping the first shot into the cup. It’s odd, because people are usually flirting when they say something like that, but his tone isn’t suggestive at all.

“What’s your name?” you ask, feeling like you should say something. You start pulling the second shot.

“Brady,” he says, extending a hand toward you. You look between his hand and your own, feeling rude but needing both hands to pull the shot.

“Oh, um,” you stutter, “Sorry, I’m–” He seems to realize what’s going on and retracts his hand, using it to rub at the base of his skull.

“My bad,” he says, shaking his head at himself, “I’m tired, sorry.” You smile at him, much more genuine than the first time.

“What’s got you so tired anyway, Brady?” you ask, dumping the second shot and starting on the third. His face twists at what you’d thought was an innocuous question. He’s clearly debating something in his head, so you stay silent.

“I’ve got something big coming up in a couple weeks,” he explains, tapping his fingers against the counter, “I’m just trying to be prepared.” You nod, not minding how vague he’s being. You don’t actually need to know every detail of a random customer’s life. There’s a moment of quiet as you dump in the third shot and pour some milk into a metal container.

“And I might be a little nervous,” he says, looking at his hands instead of you. You smile again, beginning to steam the milk.

“Just a little,” you repeat, slightly teasing in a way you usually aren’t with customers.

“Yeah,” he chuckles, looking up at you, “Just a little.” You smile at each other for a second, both knowing he’s seriously downplaying his feelings. You wonder what it is that has him so anxious, sure that it must be something serious. He doesn’t seem to be the neurotic type.

“What are you working on?” he asks as you pour the milk, gesturing toward your books spread out next to the register. You shrug.

“Organic chemistry,” you reply, pumping in the flavoring, “The worst class ever.” He cringes at the mention of it, which you feel in your bones.

“I’ve heard it’s awful,” he says.

“It is,” you confirm. You snap the lid back onto the cup, sliding it over the counter to him. He cradles it between his hands, but doesn’t move to leave. He’s looking up at you from where he’s hunched over, and you can’t help but stare back.

“Do you want to come sit with me?” he asks, “We could be miserable together.” The smile that overtakes your face mirrors itself on his own.

August, 2018

When Brady walks in, right at his usual time, you give him a smile and lean over the counter to hug him. You’ve become fast friends, sitting together a few nights a week, probably talking more than studying. His Big Thing is long past, and he still hasn’t told you what it was, but you don’t really mind. You get to know about his family and his girlfriend and his upcoming move to Ottawa, of all places, but you don’t need to know everything if he doesn’t want to share.

You make two of the usual latte, one for each of you. You grab your books from the shelf, meeting him at the corner booth. You get through some small talk as you both set up, going back and forth with an ease that you were surprised to find has been there since the beginning.

“Matthew’s going to come hang out tonight,” he says as he logs into his computer. He’s spoken about his brother before, so you’re somewhat intrigued.

“Any particular reason?” you ask. To your knowledge, Matthew has never been to the shop, so you’re not sure if something special is going on to spur him into coming.

“He thinks it sounds cool,” Brady shrugs, flipping his notebook open. Maybe you’d know what he’s always working on if you could read his tiny chicken scratch. As it is, you don’t mind letting him have his secrets.

You get four pages into your chapter before another customer enters, laying your pen in the divot between the pages while you go make them their drink. Luckily, they don’t stick around. It’s not awful when other people are around, but you always feel like someone is going to complain about you sitting in the dining room and studying while you should be working. But if there’s no work to be done, you don’t think there’s anything wrong with it. Unfortunately, not everyone agrees. So you prefer if it’s just you and Brady.

Another four pages drag by, reading interspersed with breaks to talk. Honestly, the breaks are also a way to keep yourself sane as you read unnecessarily complicated science.

When the next customer enters, you spring up from your chair, shooting them a smile as you make your way behind the counter. You give your standard greeting, asking what you can get them.

“What do you recommend?” the man asks. You were kind of hoping he’d have something in mind so that this interaction could go quickly, because he may be the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen and it’s making you flustered.

“Do you like the taste of coffee?” you ask. He nods, looking you up and down with a critical eye. It feels personal, feels like he’s searching for something, and you’re not sure if you like it.

“How much caffeine are you looking for?” you ask next. You do your best to maintain eye contact, ignoring the way you have to look up to do so.

“How much you got?” he asks in return. The crooked smile he gives you makes your stomach flip. You grasp for a drink to suggest, all knowledge having fled your mind in order to focus on the curl of his hair over his forehead, the glint of his bright eyes.

“A Lazy Eye would probably be the most,” you say, clearing your throat, “But if you don’t want to have a heart attack, you could do a regular Red Eye.” He tilts his head, smile turning smug, as if he’s noticed your distraction. Something about it snaps you out of your daze, slightly indignant. You’ve seen plenty of hot guys in your day, and you’re not about to look like a fool in front of him just because he’s pretty.

“Red Eye, Black Eye, Dripped Eye, Lazy Eye,” you list off with as much confidence as you can muster, “Each with one more shot than the last. Pick your poison.” Your attitude change only makes him smile wider. Your hand is poised over the buttons of the register, ready to ring up whatever he decides.

“Let’s go with a Black Eye,” he says, bearing a surprisingly sharp canine, “I’ve had a few of those in my time.” That doesn’t surprise you, with his smug face and oozing self-confidence. Something about it feels so disingenuous that it makes your teeth itch. It’s clearly an act, but you can’t exactly call him on it.

You give him his total, he pays, you get to work. You empty the last dregs of coffee in the pot into the sink and set the machine to brew a new batch. No matter how annoying a customer seems, you’re not about to serve them shitty coffee.

“Y/N,” he says, leaning on the counter, “That’s a pretty name.” It’s exactly what Brady had said when you’d met him, which makes you eye the man a little suspiciously. Whereas Brady had clearly not been flirting when he’d said it, this man’s tone is ambiguous enough that you’re not entirely sure what his intentions are.

“Thank you,” you say, dumping the first shot of espresso into the cup. Normally, you would ask for his name in return, but you’re not sure if you want to encourage him talking to you.

“How long have you worked here?” he asks anyway.

“Almost three years,” you reply. You’re not sure you want to tell him anything about your life, but you’re trying to be polite.

“Experienced,” he says, smiling like he’s a lion closing in on its prey, “I like that.” It’s cheesy and kind of sleazy, and you can’t help but scoff in disbelief. He’s watching you like a hawk, studying your reactions to everything he says and does. You dump the second shot, wishing the coffee would brew faster so this interaction could be over.

“I don’t think I want to know what else you like,” you say, crossing your arms over your chest. You used to get embarrassed and rattled by customers making comments like this, but at some point something had changed inside you. Now you just get annoyed, no matter how hot the person may be.

“Feisty,” he says, smile changing slightly in a way you can’t parse, “I like that too.” You roll your eyes, making a quiet noise of disgust. It’s not great for business to react to customers this way, but you can’t help it.

“I like it when men are silent,” you reply, able to feel how withering your gaze is. His expression changes yet again, smile getting smaller but more genuine, scrunching the bottom of his eyes up a little. That feels more natural to you, looks more right on his face. Something about the new softness in his eyes soothes something inside of you.

The coffee machine beeps to signal that it’s ready, and you waste no time in grabbing the pot and filling the cup. You hand it off to him, giving your biggest, most obviously fake smile.

“Have a fantastic night,” you say, immediately rounding the counter and heading back to the booth. When you settle back into your seat, Brady is smiling at you like you’ve told the funniest joke in the world.

“What?” you ask, picking up your pen. Brady’s eyes flick up above your head, slightly to the left, staying there, prompting you to turn around. The man is standing behind you, small smile still in place.

“Brady’s told me so much about you,” he says, and it dawns on you, “Nice to meet you, Y/N. I’m Matthew.” Your jaw falls open and you turn back to Brady, kicking him in the shin under the table. He yelps; Matthew laughs.

“You’re both the worst,” you spit, trying to hold onto your irritation and failing. You laugh alongside the brothers, begrudgingly amused by the ridiculousness of the situation.

“Sorry about that back there,” Matthew apologizes, seemingly genuine, “I couldn’t help myself.” You shake your head at him as he bullies Brady further into the booth so he can sit. Brady shoves him back, but moves his things over anyway.

“It’s okay,” you say, pointing at him, “But if you ever pull that shit again, I’m banning you from the shop.” That startles a laugh out of him.

“I didn’t know you had the power to do that,” he replies, using his crossed arms to lean on the table.

“I do now,” you say, tilting your chin up, “Gonna put a picture up of you with a big X on it and everything.” You stare at each other for a second, and he breaks first, ducking his head as he laughs.

“Fair enough,” he concedes, looking up at you through his lashes. Your heart skips a beat, but you do your best to seem unaffected. This is your friend’s brother, for Christ’s sake. You can’t be all aflutter over him. You’re not sure you have a choice in the matter.

June, 2023

You might actually kill your coworker one day. He’s such a smug rat bastard, and every meeting including both of you makes you think you’re going to grind your teeth into dust. It’s just lucky that the job is remote, so you don’t have to be around him physically. Probably best for both your sanity and his safety.

“I mean, at least you were right in the end?” Terri says, sounding uncertain through your headphones. You’re sauteeing some onions and peppers, moving them around more than you should be just for something to do with your hands.

“Yeah, I guess,” you sigh, “I just don’t understand why he wants to make me look bad.” Ian– the coworker– seems to always have some kind of comment on your work, some type of criticism. Constructive criticism is part of the game, but his is never constructive. It doesn’t help that you’re the only two in the graphics department, so he’s always there when you present work. And really, being the only two should mean that you work together and support each other, honestly.

“Because he’s an insecure man-child,” Terri replies easily. You shake your head down at the vegetables, startling as the oven timer goes off. You jab at the button to turn it off, opening the door to remove the chicken.

“I think I’ve had enough of insecure man-children,” you grumble. You cut open one of the chicken breasts with more force than is strictly necessary, grateful that it seems to be done.

“You finally wanna talk about that?” Terri asks, and honestly? No, you don’t. Ideally, you’ll never talk about it, just push it down into the darkest recesses of your mind and bury it there. Unfortunately, you possess some level of emotional maturity, which means you know that you have to talk about it eventually.

It’s hard, because despite Brady being your best friend, you can’t exactly talk to him about this. If he knew any part of what’s been going on, he’d probably go physically fight Matthew on your behalf. Part of you thinks that might actually make you feel a little better. But he’d also probably be mad that you’ve had a not-thing with his brother, and that would make you feel worse.

“She seems like a nice woman,” you say, trying to keep your tone neutral. Terri sighs, and you take your plate of food to the living room to eat.

“She’s not the problem, here,” she says. She’s right, and you know it. You really don’t have anything against Tessa, and obviously you can’t blame her for any of this. Clearly, she had no idea about your not-thing with Matthew, and genuinely fell for him. There’s no point in being mad at her.

“Yeah, well,” you push some food around your plate, “He’s a fuckface and she can have him.” The mention of Matthew has ruined your appetite, the meal now looking completely unappealing. You push the plate to the other side of the coffee table with a huff. You’ll try eating again later, you tell yourself, knowing that you haven’t been eating nearly enough lately. You can’t help it, your inner turmoil chasing away your hunger most of the time.

“He is a fuckface,” Terri agrees, adding, “But don’t pretend you don’t still want him.” Ugh. Friends are the worst, actually, and you should just become a hermit in a cave somewhere. There’s no point even trying to deny the claim, both of you knowing that she’s right.

“I’m not allowed to want him anymore,” you say, voice coming out weaker than you want to admit, “I never should have let myself want him in the first place.” In the beginning, despite being attracted to Matthew, it was easy to maintain distance. He was in Calgary most of the year, and reminding yourself that he was your new friend’s brother actually worked as a deterrent back then.

You can’t pinpoint exactly when you started letting yourself get caught up, but you’d ended up completely entangled with him. Now he’s put that distance back between you, ripping away the strings you’d been tied up in, leaving you with all these empty spaces where he used to be. And it’s making you hate yourself, knowing that if you’d just kept things cordial, restricted your attention and connection to Brady like you should have, you wouldn’t be feeling any of this right now.

“You can’t help who you love,” Terri says, so gently that it only hurts more. You’re not fragile, okay? You don’t need the softness, the careful handling. You’re not fragile. You’re not.

“I gotta go eat,” you say, not wanting to lie, but needing a way out of the conversation, “Bye, Ter.” She says your name, but you just repeat the goodbye. She sighs, says goodbye, and you hang up. What you should do is eat something and go to sleep. Instead, you eye the easel in the corner of the living room. You sigh, heaving yourself up off of the couch to go grab a glass of water to rinse your brushes with.

April, 2019

It’s probably going to become your new favorite day of the year: the day Brady comes home from Ottawa. His plane had landed yesterday, and his parents had even brought you to the airport with them to pick him up. As quickly as you’d bonded last summer, you’d only gotten closer through the season. It feels like you can talk to each other about anything, like you were meant to meet, like he’s the platonic version of a soulmate. You had patiently waited your turn to hug him after his parents, squeezing him as tightly as you could manage. He’d only squeezed back harder.

With their seasons ending right around the same time this year, Matthew had landed the same night. Knowing they’d have to go back to the airport, the Tkachuks had decided to just spend the day out instead of going home. They’d invited you to come with them, an invitation you’d eagerly accepted. They’re quickly starting to feel like family to you, and you love spending time with them. For the first time in your life, it feels like you fit somewhere.

Unfortunately, you hadn’t been able to come along to pick up Matthew. You’d had to work last night, so the Tkachuks had dropped you off at home to get changed and get going. You’d still gotten to spend most of the day with them, which would have to be enough.

You’re going over to their place today, and you decided to bake and bring along cookies. All of their local family and friends are going to be there to welcome the boys home, and you haven’t met most of them yet, so you want to make a good first impression. Besides, it’s just polite to bring something along to someone’s house.

Though Brady still tries to hug you when you arrive, despite your hands being full, the plates need to be deposited on the dining room table before he can get a real one. There are a few people chatting in the room, so Brady introduces you to them.

Most of the next hour goes much the same, Brady introducing you to family and friends, having small conversations with all of them. You know that Brady isn’t trying to embarrass you, but he has a habit of hyping you up to people. He’s more outgoing than you are, and he uses that social ease to brag about how smart you are, how talented. It feels a little like he’s trying to justify being your friend to them, but you know better than to think that Brady cares what anyone thinks of him and his choices.

The kitchen exits onto a large cherry wood deck, scattered with chairs, some of them already occupied. The back yard is sprawling, green grass lined with lush bushes. There’s a pool to the right, not opened for the summer yet, a jacuzzi positioned between it and the house. You’re still not really used to all of this, the casual wealth of the family. It’s so far from what you’d grown up with, something that had astonished you when you’d realized just how far above you the Tkachuks are.

There are a few yard games set up in the grass, cornhole and ladders and something you don’t recognize. And there, in the center of the yard, Matthew is teaching a child how to play ladders. The kid is probably a cousin, of which they have many. Matthew is barefoot, wearing a bright red Flames hoodie and black shorts that only come to mid-thigh. You’ve narrowed your staring down to a minimum, so your eyes only linger for a second or two before you turn back to Brady.

He guides you around to meet the few people braving the chilly spring weather, much as he had done inside. Everyone is so nice, saying how pleased they are to meet you, and seeming to mean it.

Your last stop is Matthew, who interrupts his lesson to hug you. It’s only the second time the two of you have done so, the first having been the last time you saw him before he left for the season. Despite that fact, he squeezes you almost as hard as Brady had, as if you’re his best friend too. Not that you’d presume to be Brady’s best friend, but. Still.

“It’s good to see you, Y/N,” he says when you pull apart, and the expression on his face tells you how genuine it is. Your smile is almost involuntary, turning up the corners of your mouth and baring just a hint of teeth.

“Welcome home, Matthew,” you reply, “We missed you.” You’re not sure what “we” you’re referring to, but it feels less incriminating than saying “I missed you”. You get the feeling that he understands anyway, beaming at you.

The three of you chat for a few minutes, Matthew introducing you to his little cousin. With there being four of you, you decide to play a game of ladders, to test the little one’s skills. He’s pretty good, for a kid, and you and Brady make sure to throw well enough to convince him that you’re trying, but still let him win. Throughout, Matthew gives him tips and instruction, so kind and gentle that it makes your heart ache. They cheer when they win, high fiving and teasing you and Brady.

You go inside to spend some time with Keith and Chantal. Chantal gives you a big hug, as if she hadn’t just seen you yesterday. Keith gives you a hearty clap on the shoulder. Taryn appears at some point, sneaking up behind you and poking your sides to make you jump. You laugh along with her, enfolding her into the conversation easily.

Time flies by, the sun setting around you, the house lights turning on one by one as darkness descends. Eventually, you end up lounging in the den with the other adult kids. From your visits last year, the chair in the corner has become yours. You’re settled in, legs folded up under you as something that no one is watching plays on the TV. Brady and Taryn get into a heated debate about something or another, and Matthew gives you a long-suffering look as his younger siblings bicker. You just smile back at him, finding the family’s passion entirely endearing.

“Seventeen years of this,” Matthew gripes, clearly not as annoyed as he’s trying to seem.

“And sixty more to go,” you reply. Matthew chuckles at that, looking to Brady and Taryn with such fondness that you almost can’t stand it. It’s the kind of relationship you’d wanted with your own brothers, but that’s best not to think about.

“Hopefully,” Matthew says, turning that fond look toward you. Your heart skips a beat, and you’ve gotten good at ignoring that.

May, 2019

You shouldn’t be this nervous, but you are. Terri is on speaker phone, telling you about her new job. You’re half-listening, staring at the clothing laid out on your bed. You’ve been agonizing all morning about what you’re going to wear, how you’re going to do your makeup, if you should wear makeup at all.

“I’m glad that your boss defended you,” you say to Terri, still tuned in enough to follow her story, “She seems cool.”

“She’s so cool,” Terri gushes, “She’s my favorite now.” You’re so happy that Terri has finally found a good job, especially with how hellish her previous one had been. This one pays almost double what she was getting before, too, which definitely doesn’t hurt. She expounds a little more about the things she loves about her boss, and you decide to hang back up the dresses you’ve laid out. It’s still a little too chilly to wear them, especially after sundown.

“You’re still staring at those damn clothes, aren’t you?” Terri asks, switching the topic suddenly. Your face gets warm as you make a plaintive hand gesture, despite her not being able to see you.

“Clothes are stupid and I can’t decide,” you complain, trying to imagine how each of the final two options will come across. If you try too hard, Matthew might think that you think this is a date, but you still want to look good. You know it’s not a date, but you’re still kind of acting like it is, and it’s embarrassing.

“Definitely wear jeans,” Terri advises, “That’ll make it more casual.” You agree, putting away the skirt you’d paired with the one shirt, trying to picture how it would look with jeans. You move the pants between each shirt, before giving up and just putting them on. You’ll just try on both outfits and see which one you like better.

Once dressed in the first option, you take a picture to send to Terri. You look at yourself in the mirror, turning this way and that. After a minute or two of consideration, you switch tops. You take another picture and send both to Terri for her opinion.

“Oh, definitely the second one,” she says, “The first one makes you look like you’re going to a job interview.” You look at the picture again, and can’t deny that she’s right. You put that one away, settled in your decision. You’re not sure if Matthew has ever seen you in anything but jeans and a t-shirt, so you hope the red tank top layered with a tucked-in sheer pink printed blouse isn’t too much of a change.

When Matthew had invited you to take a walk around the park yesterday, just the two of you. You’ve never spent more than a few minutes alone with him, always having Brady or Taryn or Emma to provide distraction and distance. This time you’ll have nothing to focus on but him.

The time comes soon enough, and you gather your things, not wanting to make Matthew wait for you when he arrives. You’d offered to drive yourself and meet him there, but he’d waved off the idea immediately, saying that he’d pick you up.

A knock comes at your door right on time. You take a deep breath before you open it, settling your frenzied heart. Matthew smiles as soon as he sees you.

“Oh wow,” he says, almost absentmindedly, “You look great.” Your blush is immediate, and you hope he can’t see it. It seems that anything that comes out of his mouth makes you blush, sometimes.

The drive to the park isn’t too long. When you arrive, you gather your bag from the floor of the passenger seat, and by time you move to get a hand on the door handle, Matthew is already opening the door from the outside. It’s a sweet surprise, and you thank him as you climb out of the car.

It’s a nice day, not too cold or windy for once. The two of you walk, talking about this and that, moving from topic to topic as they arise. You point out a few birds as you go, and Matthew listens to the little fun facts you give about them. He seems genuinely interested, but even if he’s not, at least he’s polite enough to pretend.

“I guess we should have left a little earlier,” Matthew remarks as the sun goes down, the light fading around you. The sun sets quickly this time of year, so you’re still a few minutes out from the car by time it’s completely dark. The lights along the pathway bathe Matthew in yellow light, casting warm shadows in the dips and hollows of his face.

“At least I have a big, strong man to protect me,” you joke, elbowing him.

“Oh no, if we get jumped I’m running,” he replies, shooting a shit-eating grin down at you. You gasp and press a hand to your heart, as if you’re truly scandalized.

“You would really abandon me like that?” you ask. His smile softens at the edges.

“Never,” he says, looking so genuine that it makes your heart flutter, pausing before he adds, “Unless we’re getting robbed.” Your combined laughter rings out through the trees.

June, 2023

You’ve managed to avoid any questions about your odd behavior, and it’s getting easier to act normal over time. A couple weeks have passed since your first meeting with Tessa, and you still feel like ripping your skin off when you see her touching Matthew, but you’ve gotten better at hiding it. It’s not your place to be upset, anyway.

The diner is bustling at this time of day, the tail end of lunch rush. You had to wait a little bit to get seated, but now you’re sitting at the end of a booth in a chair they’d pulled up to the edge to make up for all five of you not fitting into the booth. It makes you feel a little left out, the only one not paired off, a fifth wheel to the two couples on either side of the table. You block that out, a skill you’ve had for years, but have had to strengthen rapidly over the past few weeks.

Brady has an arm around Emma’s shoulders, and you can tell by the angle of Matthew’s arm that he has a hand on Tessa’s thigh. You remember when that was you, Matthew touching you so casually, so naturally. Sitting across from Matthew as he nudges your foot under the table, sitting next to him with your shoulders pressed together, fingers tangled together on the seat, where no one could see.

Emma is telling a story about a night out with some of her girlfriends, and you’re laughing along at the antics with everyone else. When she asks you about work, you try to clear the perpetual lump in your throat before answering, succeeding in sounding happy, though the tightness remains.

When your food arrives, you spend most of the time pushing it around your plate to make it look like you’re eating. You never have an appetite around Matthew anymore, weirdly embarrassed about being seen eating in a way you haven’t been since you were a teenager. You’ll take it home and eat it later, if you can stop thinking about Matthew for two fucking seconds.

You’re not sure how long that’s going to be impossible, but you hope it’s not much longer.

January, 2020

You’ve been to a few games when the boys have played the Blues, but you’ve never made the trip up to Canada to see them play each other before. Ottawa is nice, Brady and Emma having shown you around a little when you’d arrived. Your nerves had been shot from the anxiety of traveling abroad for the first time, even though it was just to Canada. The couple seemed to understand, only taking you around for a few hours before bringing you home.

Brady’s apartment is nice, really nice. He’s offered you the guest room for a few days, and you appreciate not having to pay for a hotel. He’ll be home for six days before he has to go to St. Louis for the All Star game, so you’d arranged to stay in Ottawa and fly back home with them.

Luckily, the cafe is pretty cool about rearranging your schedule, so you’ll just have to work some extra days when you go back to make up for what you’re missing. You’d asked for the days of the skills competition and game off as well, Brady having managed to get you a ticket. Your manager has always thought it was cool that you were friends with the Tkachuks, so she had agreed to give you the time off if you brought her a souvenir. Matthew and Brady had offered to sign a jersey for her without you even having to ask, and you’ll owe them for a while, though they insist you don’t.

Matthew gets in that first night, the three of you meeting him at his hotel. You’re not sure how he managed it, but he’ll be staying a few days instead of returning to Calgary with the team after the game. Maybe he got a special exception because this game is the last before All Star week, and he has to go to St. Louis anyway. No matter the reason, you’re glad he gets to stay.

The game the next night is exciting, and definitely worth the trip. With the Senators’ performance in recent years, it’s mostly the diehard fans left, so the atmosphere is electric. You get swept up in the passion and joy, especially when the game ends with a 5-2 win for Ottawa.

The boys have to debrief and get changed, which you know will take a while. Emma and you wait with the WAGs, Emma excited to introduce you to them. Some of them think you’re a new WAG at first, which is honestly kind of flattering. All of the ladies are surprisingly kind and welcoming, and you enjoy interacting with them as you all wait.

Matthew emerges first, guided down the hallway by one of the arena staff. His steps pick up pace when he sees you and Emma, and he shoots a quick thanks to the staff member before jogging over to the two of you. He immediately enfolds you in his arms, squeezing tight and holding longer than usual. You know it’s difficult for him to lose at all, let alone to his brother, so you let him hold you as long as he wants.

Once he lets you go, he meets your eyes. His smile is soft, tinged with a slight sadness that you want to wipe away.

“Hey there, sweet girl,” he greets, and your breath catches at the term of endearment. He’d started using it a few months ago, and it still makes your chest tight. You know that it doesn’t mean anything, but you still imagine sometimes that it does.

He turns his attention to Emma, giving her a hug as well, just one quick squeeze before releasing. The three of you start talking, waiting patiently for Brady. It doesn’t shock you that he takes so long to come out, knowing his unofficial position of leadership in the team. The guys come out one by one, hugging and kissing their wives and girlfriends, the number of ladies dwindling as they leave with their men.

When Brady finally emerges, he heads straight over to give Emma a hug and kiss. He hugs you next, before punching Matthew’s shoulder. They have a little back-and-forth as you all exit the arena, taking harmless jabs at each other all the way to the car.

The main issue with the living arrangements for the trip had been that Brady and Emma were going to have two guests and only one spare room. Matthew had offered to sleep on the couch, but he’s too tall for that, and you don’t want him to end up sore or hurting his neck during the season. You’d insisted that you’d sleep on the couch, but both Matthew and Brady had immediately vetoed that idea. Then you’d found out that the guest room has two twin beds instead of one bigger one, and the answer was simple.

Matthew sets his suitcase and backpack next to the door when you get home. You’ve already claimed the bed on the far side, so he gets set up on the one closer to the door. Emma and Brady are in the kitchen, making a post-game snack for everyone, so it’s just you and Matthew.

“You excited to be roomies for a week?” he asks, unzipping his suitcase. Yours is already open under the window, so you grab some pajamas out of it.

“Depends how loud you snore,” you tease. He shoots you a toothy smile.

“Oh, it’s gonna be loud,” he says. You chuckle a bit, knowing he’s joking. Emma calls for you, then, and you leave your clothes on the bed to go to her. The four of you converse as you eat, seated in a row at the kitchen island. You’ve got Matthew to one side and Brady to the other, and they take turns kicking your ankles. You kick back, grinning at Emma when she kicks Brady’s other side.

Brady and Matthew had already showered at the rink, so they sit in the living room while you and Emma get ready for bed. She uses the master suite, and you use the bathroom in the hall. It’s nice, if small, with a simple stall shower instead of a tub. You go through your routine on autopilot, only realizing when you’re done that you’d left your clothes in the bedroom. You wrap yourself in a towel, doing your best to sneak past the door to the living room.

When you look to make sure your stealth is working, you meet Matthew’s eyes. It stops you in your tracks. You can’t discern the look on his face, and you’re not sure that you care to. He shoots you an easy smile, and you wave at him like an idiot, acting on instinct. It only makes him smile wider, and you scurry off to the room.

After you’re dressed, there’s a knock on the door. Brady asks if you’re decent, and you confirm that you are, so he peeks his head in. Once he sees that you truly are dressed, he opens the door the rest of the way. He and Emma bid you good night, telling you to just ask if you need anything. You thank them and say good night in return, Matthew entering the room as soon as the other two retreat to their own room. He’s barely two steps into the room before he’s pulling off his shirt.

“Woah there, cowboy,” you say, holding up a hand in front of you. He just shrugs at you.

“Gotta get ready for bed,” he says, bending over and lifting his foot to remove his socks. You’d figured that he would wear a t-shirt and shorts to bed like you, but you should’ve guessed he’d be the type to sleep shirtless, no matter who’s around. He’s naked in front of thirty people every day, who cares about being shirtless?

You do your best to brush it off, turning down the covers of your bed so that you can crawl in. Normally, you would read for a bit before bed, but you’re tired enough tonight that you don’t think you need to. You pull the blankets up to your chin, turning on your side. Unfortunately, you sleep on your right, so you end up facing Matthew’s bed. Is that weird? Should you try sleeping the opposite direction?

Matthew doesn’t say anything, flicking the lights off and crawling into bed. He sleeps on his left, apparently, so he’s facing you too. That’s a little awkward, right? As your eyes adjust to the dark, you’re able to see the glint of his teeth as he smiles over at you.

“Sleep well, sweet girl,” he says quietly. You return the sentiment, grateful that the darkness means he probably can’t fully see the embarrassment on your face. You’re backlit by the window, so you convince yourself that he can’t.

The next morning, you wake to Matthew already out of bed, stretching. Your eyes roam his back, taking in the dips and ridges of his muscles. Only at the last second do you realize that his head is turned to the side, and he’s staring at you through the corner of his eye. You quickly avert your gaze, turning to sit bolt upright on the other side of the bed, facing the window.

The four of you spend the day exploring the city, Brady and Emma seeming to have planned what they want to show you. It’s nice, peaceful and fun. You make them take pictures with you in front of landmarks or cool art pieces, all of you squished together to fit in the selfie.

It isn’t until the fourth night that anything out of the ordinary happens. You’re lying in bed, having turned on your back to stare at the ceiling, unable to sleep. You probably shouldn’t have had that affogato after dinner, though usually they don’t bother you this much. No matter how long you toss and turn, how many sleeping positions you try, you can’t even make yourself tired, let alone actually fall asleep.

“What are you, a rotisserie chicken?” Matthew asks rhetorically, breaking the silence. His voice is hushed, but it still startles you. You turn your head to stare at him, finding him staring right back.

“I’m sorry,” you apologize, sheepish, “I can’t sleep.” Matthew’s lips quirk up at one end.

“Me either,” he says, sitting up. You mimic his posture, then scoot back to lean against the headboard. He slings his legs over the edge of the bed and stands, and you think for a second that he’s going to turn on the light. Instead, he takes the two steps to your bed, motioning to the mattress. You nod, prompting him to start shoving your shoulder, bullying you into making space for him. You giggle, trying to keep quiet to respect the late hour.

“So,” he leads, taking a long moment to just stare at you before continuing, “Tell me something I don’t know about you.” You’re taken off guard by the request, not sure how to respond.

“I was an Aaron Carter girl growing up,” you pull out of thin air. Matthew’s face breaks into a wide smile, sunshine in the middle of the night.

“Really?” he asks. You nod, mumbling “yeah” in confirmation. That’s all it takes to get you both talking. You trade off back and forth, telling each other small things about yourself that may not come up otherwise, launching into short discussions about some of the statements.

“My favorite color is red,” he says at one point, when you’re starting to think you may fall asleep.

“I thought it was blue?” you reply, remembering Chantal mention that at some point. Matthew starts fiddling with his hands.

“I tell people it’s blue, but it’s really red,” he says. You tilt your head an inch or two, furrowing your brow at him.

“Why?” you ask. He ducks his head.

“Red is an angry color,” he explains, voice quieter than before, “With my reputation, I don’t want people to associate me with an aggressive color. I don’t want to play into the stereotype.” You hum, looking forward. It feels like this isn’t the best time to look at him, like he’ll clam up if you witness his vulnerability.

“It’s also the color of vitality, excitement, love,” you counter, leaving just a breath of a pause, “It’s a good color for you.” The entire room is still for a dragging moment, before Matthew gently knocks your shoulders together.

“What about you?” he asks when you look back to him. There’s a fraction of a change in his face, but you don’t comment on it.

When you wake up in the morning, you’re still sitting up, head resting on Matthew’s shoulder, his head laying on top of yours. You suppress the instinct to startle, not wanting to disrupt him, lest he wake up and move. His skin is warm under your cheek, your arms lined up from shoulder to the knuckles of your fingers. You close your eyes again, trying to keep your breathing steady, as if you’re still sleeping. You’ve been trying so hard to keep distance between Matthew and yourself, but you’ll allow yourself to enjoy this, just for a moment longer.

There’s a shift in Matthew’s breathing, his fingers twitching against yours. It settles after a second, into a different pattern, intentionally deep and even. You’re sure that he’s awake, that he’s doing the same thing that you are. You’re not sure what to do with that information.

The rest of the trip goes by smoothly, Brady and Emma showing you both the touristy things and the better local spots around the city. If the same thing happens the next night, and the night after that, you and Matthew talking in low voices until you fall asleep against each other, neither of you mention it.

April, 2020

While the initial prediction for lockdown was that it would only last a month, it’s clear that it’s going to last much, much longer.

It’s probably lucky that you’d just started a new job, one that can be done remotely, rather than either working at the coffee shop or being laid off. It’s not exactly what you want to do, but it’s at least in the artistic field, so you try to be grateful anyway. It’s difficult being locked away in your apartment, but you’re grateful that you’re luckier than essential workers and people who are losing their jobs altogether.

The thing that keeps you sane in all of this is your phone. More specifically, it’s your friends. You’ve developed almost a schedule with it, calling Terri in the morning for an hour or so before work. At lunch, you facetime Brady and Emma for another hour, not envying them being stuck so far from home. It must be hard to be in an entirely different country than your family.

The highlight of each day is the evening, when you facetime Matthew. Though he spends most of the day sending you videos and memes and updates about whatever little thing he’s doing at the moment, it’s still nice to talk to him out loud. Seeing his face helps your growing loneliness a little bit.

You’re in your living room, your phone propped up against the arm of the couch as you show off the few things you’ve made since picking up crochet a couple weeks ago. Matthew compliments each of them, commending you for your improvement. He’s the only one you’ve shown, too embarrassed to let anyone else see the wonky scarves with uneven stitches.

“You have time to work on any paintings lately?” he asks, once you’re done your little show and tell. The truth is that you’ve got three new canvases drying in the kitchen. The truth is also that the man asking about them is the inspiration for their creation. There’s nothing incriminating about them; it’s not like they’re portraits of him or something. But you’re still hesitant to show him, because even if he doesn’t know, you do.

You show him anyway. The painting of the park is his favorite, and you wonder if he knows that it’s the one you went to for your first time alone together. It’s mostly dark, greens and blues so deep they look black, yellow triangles of light splitting the canvas into section. If you look closely enough, the brush strokes fill in the details of the trees, the grass, the pavement. Your phone camera isn’t good enough for Matthew to see that, but he compliments it anyway.

“You should paint me something for my apartment,” he says after you show him all three. You’re not opposed to the idea, actually enjoy the thought of something you made being showcased in his home.

“What do you want?” you ask, a hundred ideas already flitting through your mind. The only way you’ve seen his apartment is through the background of pictures he sends you sometimes, or little glimpses you catch as he walks around while you facetime. You’re not entirely sure of the vibe, but you’re sure you can figure something out.

“What makes you think of me?” he asks in return. You stop in your tracks in the doorway between the kitchen and living room. The hand holding your phone lowers a couple inches unintentionally, your gaze drifting above the screen, staring into the middle distance. What makes you think of him? Hockey, obviously. Family. Curling up under a blanket on a cold night. Laying on the couch with your feet up on the armrest, your head propped up on a pillow, a sad replacement for his lap. Spruce trees, gold, pitbulls, mushroom pizza, black eyes– both the drink and the wound.

Everything. Everything makes you think of him.

You can’t say that, obviously. You search your brain for something personal but innocuous, something sentimental but still acceptable. You think of all the time that you two have spent together over the past few years, memories springing up, some that you’d even forgotten about. Some that you’ll never be able to forget about.

“Can I surprise you?” you ask. You’re given that familiar smile in response, any iteration of which makes your heart stutter in your chest.

“Yeah,” he says, propping his face up with one hand on his jaw, “I trust you.”

July, 2023

Some people may say that Terri’s apartment is cluttered, but you just find it cozy. She has decorations and knick-knacks on every surface, but the comfiest couch you’ve ever sat on. That’s where you are now, stretched out with your back against the side, Terri mimicking your posture at the other end, your legs tangled together in the middle.

“We should see the Barbie movie when it comes out,” she says, unprompted. You look up from the hook and yarn in your hands, tipping your head to the side for a second and shrugging.

“It looks good,” you say, an indirect agreement. You haven’t been to the movies since before lockdown, so it might be nice to go back.

“D’you think Gabe would want to come?” she asks cautiously, “He could bring the kids.” The mention of your brother still makes ice crawl in your chest, but it’s not as bad as it once was. He’d reached out last year, trying to reconnect with you, and apparently your other brother too. You’ve only seen him a few times since, but it’s more than you’d seen him in the four years prior, combined.

“It’s worth a shot, right?” Terri asks, eyes flicking toward your phone sitting on the coffee table. You look toward it as well, debating for a second. It would be nice to see your nieces and nephews, but it also hurts that they barely know who you are.

“Yeah,” you agree after a second, “Worth a shot.” You grab your phone, feeling as if it’s going to explode in your hands if you move too quickly. There are a few notifications when you wake the screen, which you ignore to unlock it. You open your texts, backing out of your thread with Terri from earlier. You have a picture message from Brady, just a selfie of him and Emma smiling, which you send a heart in response to. Backing out of that thread, you see another new message, underneath the contact name you haven’t had the heart to change. The red and purple hearts next to his name– each of your favorite colors– having been there so long that getting rid of them feels wrong, no matter how it makes your chest hurt to see them.

Can we talk?

You tap the back button as quickly as you can. You can’t respond. You should, to be polite, but you can’t. If you do, you’ll say something you regret. It’ll probably be agreement or the words “eat shit”, and either option will get you into trouble. You can’t respond. You want so badly to talk to him. You want so desperately to go back in time and never meet him.

Your fingers tremble as you draft a text to your brother, typing and deleting and re-typing a few times before you settle on the wording. You have more important things to worry about than Matthew.

August, 2020

The bubble was an interesting idea. It may not be the best idea in the world, despite the safety precautions, but you know Matthew is just happy to be back on the ice. He’s already sent you a dozen pictures of the hotel, of him with his teammates and friends, masked up together in the lobby. You tell him to tell the boys that you say hello, and he texts you each of their responses.

The first round goes well, the Flames only losing one game to the Jets. You know Matthew had been worried about going through all the rules and protocols just to be eliminated immediately, so you’re glad that that isn’t the case.

The series against the Stars starts out with an exciting back-and-forth, the teams trading off wins. Then the Stars win game 5, breaking the pattern. You’re not expecting the last game to actually be the last, convinced that the Flames would at least make it to a game seven. But the Stars pull a decisive 7-3 win, the Flames falling apart in the second period and unable to get themselves back together.

Matthew has called you as soon as he got back to his hotel room after every game, so you’re expecting your phone to ring some time in the next hour or two. You putter around the apartment a little, putting away some dishes and wiping down the kitchen counters. You’d been painting during the game, a commission from a friend of a friend of a friend. You return to that, losing yourself in the meticulous movements of your brush.

It feels like it’s been too long. You try to focus on the canvas in front of you, but there’s a nagging sense in the back of your mind that something is wrong. It sits heavy at the base of your skull as you try to ignore it.

Eventually, it becomes too much. You check your phone to make sure that you haven’t missed his call, but there are no notifications. It’s been a little over two hours. You unlock your phone and pull up his contact in a second, pressing the video icon. Typically, he’ll pick up after one or two rings, but you hear the third ring, the fourth. The call disconnects, shock shooting up your spine. It only lasts a second, your phone ringing with a voice call almost immediately.

“Hey sweet girl,” Matthew greets you in his typical fashion as soon as you accept the call. There’s something off about his voice, and it takes you a second to realize what it is.

“Hey there, darling,” you respond, voice as gentle as you can manage. It’s not the first time you’ve heard Matthew cry, but it breaks your heart every time. As much as he tries to seem tough and aloof, you know how deeply losses like this affect him. Now it makes sense that he didn’t want video involved.

“How are you?” he asks, clearly moving his face away from the receiver as he sniffles, but you can still hear it. You move to the couch, sinking into the cushions, as if you’re as crushed as he is.

“I’m okay,” you reply, “You holding up okay?” You know he’ll say that he’s fine, but you also know that he’s not. He may not be for a while. There’s a pause, a long stretch of silence, only interrupted by his deep, labored breaths.

“I wish you were here,” he says. He sounds absolutely miserable, his voice cracking in the middle of the sentence. The urge to hold him is overwhelming, your arms buzzing with the desire to wrap around him. You want to pull him down into your lap, let him tuck his head into the crook of your neck, let him cry on you as you scratch his scalp and kiss his head. Lockdown isn’t the only reason that can’t happen.

“I’m going to hug you so hard,” you insist, “As soon as I can see you again.”

July, 2023

While you’re still a third wheel with Brady and Emma, it’s better than being a fifth wheel with the entire group. You’d asked Taryn if she wanted to tag along, but she has training to do. Brady had already done his that morning, so he’s free for the rest of the day, and had invited you to spend some time together.

You’re certain that he doesn’t know how you feel about this place, how much it hurts to be here. As far as he’s aware, this is your favorite park, the one you visit with Matthew at least a few times a month every summer. He probably thinks it’s a great choice, something to cheer you up from the slump you know he’s noticed.

Despite the memories tugging at you from every direction, you’re mostly in a good mood. You’d gotten excellent news the day before yesterday, an opportunity you’ve dreamed of for a long time. You wanted to text Brady right after the meeting to tell him, but you’d decided it was better to share it with him and Emma in person. You’re debating something that absolutely doesn’t matter, all of you talking over each other. You’re waiting for the right moment to change the conversation. It doesn’t come until almost an hour into your walk, but you jump on it as soon as it does.

“I have some cool news,” you say, breaking the silent pause that had fallen over the group.

“Well?” Emma replies, “Go on.” The excitement is bubbling up inside of you again at the thought of it, your stomach turning, your chest too full.

“You know that gallery downtown that I love?” you ask, continuing after they agree, “I’m going to do a show there.” They stop in their tracks, Emma immediately enfolding you in her arms. You hug her back, squeezing tight as she bounces on her toes. When she pulls back, she holds your face in her hands, voice high and thrilled as she congratulates you. The smile on your face is unavoidable, happiness from the news mingling with the happiness of your friends being proud of you.

“Cool news, huh?” Brady asks, lightly smacking your shoulder as he says, “What an understatement.” The circle of his arms feels safe, his chest warm against your cheek as he holds you tight. The look on his face when he releases you is the best reaction you’ve gotten so far, his pride meaning more than anyone else’s.

“When is it?” he asks, taking Emma’s hand in his own once again and resuming the walk. You follow along, too excited to be self-conscious of the visible skip in your step.

“August 20th,” you say. There’s an unspoken question there, a silent invitation. You don’t want him to feel pressured to come, knowing that despite how supportive he is of your artistic endeavors, he’s not big on things like art shows. In the end, you don’t have to ask.

“You know we’re coming, right?” he asks, aiming a crooked smile at you, “You can’t stop us.” Though the smile hasn’t left your face since you brought up the topic, it gets brighter in return.

“I’d never dream of trying to,” you reply, and you mean it.

October, 2020

It’s odd to have the boys around at this time of year, the season usually taking them away at the end of August. You’re grateful for it, though. It means that you get to spend time with them, lockdown finally over, freeing you from the confines of your apartment. Your job has stayed remote, so you’re able to be around even more, saving time on what used to be an hour long commute each way.

Right now, it’s you and the boys, Emma, and Terri. You’d introduced her to them less than a month ago, but they already love her, just as you knew they would. She doesn’t always come around with you, considering how you spend nearly every day at the Tkachuks’, but she has some time today.

After twenty minutes of debating what you should watch, you all agree on a true crime documentary. You’ve given up your chair for Terri, squishing yourself onto the couch with Brady and Emma, pressing your cold feet against her leg and laughing when she yelps. She kicks you, only serving to make you laugh harder. Brady playfully threatens to fight you to defend his woman’s honor, and you put your fists up in front of you, jabbing out into the air as if you’re going to take him up on the offer. He chuckles, reaching out to fist bump you instead of punch. You drop your hands, looking past his big ass head.

Matthew is lounging in the second chair, the leg rest of the recliner up despite his legs being crossed under him. It’s the only way the chair will lean back, he’d told you once, and he doesn’t like sitting upright.

The smile on his face isn’t the wide grin you’d expected. It’s small, a gentle turn of the lips. Combined with the look he’s giving you– something unfocused, something unbearably soft– it implies an emotion that you know can’t be the correct interpretation. You swallow hard, turning your eyes back to Brady.

“Press play already, nerd,” you demand, tone playful enough to show that you don’t mean it. He sticks his tongue out at you, but does as he’s told.

Five minutes in, you glance over at Matthew, finding him already looking at you. You look away, slightly embarrassed to be caught. Another five minutes later, you can’t help but peek back at him again, as if your eyes are magnetized to him. It’s almost disappointing that he’s actually looking at the screen. It only takes a second for his eyes to move to the side, peering at you in his peripheral. The corner of his lips quirks up the tiniest bit, almost unnoticeable. But you notice.

You only make it maybe half an hour into the film before Matthew leans forward and snatches the remote from its place next to Brady. The plaintive sound Brady lets out is kind of funny, but you seem to think everything is funny today. Matthew pauses the show, declaring that the group needs snacks.

“Y/N, come give me a hand,” he says, beckoning you to follow him. You grumble a bit, but stand and follow him up the stairs and out of the den. He leads the way through the living room and into the kitchen. They’re fancy, so they have a walk-in pantry, of course. The two of you enter one after another. You start looking at the snack section, deciding what to grab. The good thing about being the one to retrieve the food is that you get to choose whatever you want and there’s nothing the others can say about it.

You’re rifling through the chips and pretzels when you feel a presence close behind you. It’s obviously Matthew, but he’s so close that you can feel the heat of his body radiating into your back. His left hand comes into your field of vision, pressing to the shelves next to your head. You twist your neck to look back at him, confused as to what he’s doing.

You’re not expecting the look he’s giving you. His eyes dark, completely focused in on your face. Your eyes flick from his eyes to his mouth without your permission. He’s not smiling, his lips parted just a fraction of an inch.

He rests his right hand on your shoulder, using it to turn your entire body around to face him. You can feel how dumbfounded your expression is as you stare up at him, your brow furrowed, your mouth slightly agape. He returns the gesture of looking at your mouth, his tongue quickly flicking out to wet his lips. He looks like he’s about to eat you alive. You would let him.

There’s a long, unbearable stretch of silence as the two of you just stare at each other, faces only a scant few inches apart. If this were anyone else, you would know exactly what’s going on, exactly what they want. But this is Matthew, your insanely wonderful, insanely hot, insanely out of your league friend. There’s no chance that he’s about to do what it feels like he is. No matter how many times you steal glances at each other, how closely he holds you, how many times he allows himself to be vulnerable with you, there’s no chance he’d ever want you. And just as you tell yourself that, he speaks.

“Can I kiss you?” he asks, his breath brushing across your lips from the proximity. Your eyes go wide, your mouth falling open wider in shock. You’ve spent the last two years valiantly suppressing any type of attraction you have to him, trying to respect his station as your best friend’s brother. And now, in just four words, he’s let it all loose. It floods you inside, so overwhelming, so much to take all at once that it triggers a full system reset. You swear your heart stops, your mouth opening and closing as you struggle to tear the words from your lagging brain.

The words won’t come. The look on Matthew’s face is changing, something embarrassed, something guilty. He moves back an inch and you reach out, unwilling to let him go. You cup his face in your hands, pulling him in to press your lips together.

It’s lingering, almost chaste, and entirely sensational. Your lips are tingling, sparks shooting down your spine. Your chest feels cracked open, your innards exposed for his inspection, your true self exposed for his judgment.

When you pull back and open your eyes, his are still closed. He looks like he’s in heaven, like he’s trying to imprint this moment in his mind the same way that you are. After a moment, his eyelids slide up and he looks at you again. His eyes are hazy, unfocused, his blown pupils leaving only a thin ring of blue around the edge of his iris.

“Again,” he says, breathless, “Please.”

Who are you to deny him?

The second kiss is as good as the first, your breath abandoning your body to pant out against his lips. You meet again, his tongue flicking out for half a second to touch your top lip. It makes you breath hitch, makes you kiss him again, makes you gently bite his full bottom lip. The sound he lets out is barely audible, but it only feeds the fire inside of you, an inferno that blazes up from your hips to your throat. You cradle his face in your hands, hold just strong enough to move his head how you want, to slot your mouths together perfectly each time.

“Hurry up, asshole!”

Brady’s shout violently snaps you out of your haze. You jerk backward, trying to step away, but already pressed against the shelves. Matthew doesn’t seem as put off as you, smiling as if nothing happened. You relinquish your hold on his face, dropping your hands to your sides. His hands had wandered as you kissed, one on your waist, the other on the back of your neck. He squeezes once at the base of your skull, dipping in to give you one last quick kiss.

After frantically grabbing random snacks, you return to the den. You can feel how hot your face is, and you can only hope that it’s not too obvious how flustered you are. You and Matthew deposit the snacks on the coffee table, everyone immediately selecting one. You curl back up in your chair, legs pulled up to your chest as you lay sideways, head on the armrest.

Every time your eyes drift to Matthew for the rest of the evening, he’s looking back.

January, 2021

Just as the day the boys come home is the best day of the year, the day they leave for the season is the worst. Sometimes you wish you were Emma, that you could follow them back and forth and never be without them. But St. Louis is your home, is where you have a job and friends and more recently, family.

You’d helped both boys pack for the past few days, but you won’t be able to go along to drop them off at the airport. When Matthew had left for the playoffs, Emma had offered you her spot in the car. You’d told her that she didn’t have to, but she’d assured you she wanted it that way. She has to go along this time, so the car is already overpacked. Besides, you have to work that morning anyway.

You still show up at the Tkachuks’ beforehand, so early that the sun hasn’t made an appearance yet. Matthew had forgotten to pack his favorite sweater, of course. You fish it out from where it had fallen under his bed, straightening up to hold it out to him. He thanks you, deciding to wear it for the flight instead of shoving it into one of his bags. It looks good on him. Cozy.

Brady and Emma are double checking their room as well, one door down from you. Keith, Chantal, and Taryn are down in the living room, waiting as patiently as they’re capable of, which isn’t very much.

Being alone with Matthew used to be exciting, used to make your heart change its rhythm, used to start up a buzz under your skin. Now, it’s just… comfortable. Safe. Right.

When Matthew approaches you, crowding up into your space, you know exactly what he wants. The first time you’d kissed should have been the last. You’re too drawn to him, feel too much toward him, more than you should. More than he will ever return. The two of you haven’t discussed exactly what you’re doing here, but it’s clearly meant to be casual. Matthew isn’t typically the kind to shy away from voicing what he wants, and he hasn’t spoken up to define anything.

Is that what you want? You’re not sure. Making out like teenagers for months has been nice, has satisfied a part of you. But only a part.

You’re avoiding thinking about what you want, too afraid of what you’ll find. Some part of you, buried deep inside, hidden behind a recently built wall, already knows. If you allow yourself to acknowledge it, this will end badly. If you allow yourself to want, you’ll destroy yourself in the process.

The kisses he lays on your lips stay sweet, gentle presses, just a tease of tongue here and there. His arms are wrapped around you, resting on your shoulders, while your hands rest on his hips. You haven’t progressed past kissing, and you’re not sure if he wants anything beyond this. You’ll take what you can get.

Keith calls up the stairs for you to hurry up, lest the boys miss their flights. Matthew leaves one last peck on your lips, just as he always does before you part. You glance around his room a final time, making sure everything is packed. You help him bring his bags downstairs, help him and Emma get their things outside and into the car. You’ll have to go home as soon as they depart, and you’re actually a little grateful that you have work to distract you from the first hours of missing them.

As per usual, Emma is the first to hug you. You squeeze tight so that you can lift her off of her feet for a second, just to make her laugh. Brady grabs you next, as if both of them know that Matthew wants to be last. Brady wiggles you side to side, planting a kiss on the top of your head. You headbutt his shoulder, then kiss the same spot you’d hit. He says how much he’ll miss you, something he always reiterates for a few days before he leaves. You return the sentiment honestly, earnestly. When he pulls back, you punch his chest lightly, and he returns the gesture.

Matthew steps up and opens his arms, and you step into them easily. He doesn’t squeeze too hard, just holds you close, hand cupping the back of your neck, calming your anxiety and dulling the sharp edge of your pain.

“Gonna miss you so much, sweet girl,” he whispers into your hair, just loud enough for you to hear. You try to swallow the lump that has suddenly formed in your throat.

“Miss you already,” you reply, a little uneven, a little raw, “Can’t wait to see you again.” He places a kiss on your head as Brady had, but his lips linger, hesitant to let go. But he does let go.

They all wave as they drive off, Brady, Emma, Matthew, and Taryn all crammed into the back seat. You wave back, watching the car go, staring down the street even after the car turns and disappears.

Time to work, you suppose.

July, 2023

Art has never frustrated you so much in your life.

When you were young, the struggle and annoyance came from trying to get things just right, though they were above your skill level. As a teenager, it was due to the struggle of developing your own unique style. In college, it was not having the energy to paint most days, falling asleep at the easel others.

For the past month, the art has been flowing. You’ve been painting most every day, the ideas coming easily, creating almost a compulsion that you can’t resist. It’s only satisfied when the painting is complete. There are a couple dozen or so canvases scattered around your apartment to dry, the most you’ve ever produced in a single month. But the frustration– the frustration comes from the fact that all of your ideas are about him. All of your paintings are moments with him, things he’d said, how you’d felt, how you’d hoped he felt.

There’s a feeling inside of you, as if you’re right on the edge of catharsis, as if you paint just one more thing, you’ll be able to let it all go. That’s your motivation for everything you’ve been making, just desperately searching for the release that will save you from the pain. At this point, you’re not sure it will ever come.

You’re working on a bigger canvas, the biggest you’ve used in years. You’re glad your current job allowed you to move into a bigger apartment, because you surely wouldn’t have been able to fit something like this in your old shoebox, packed so full of your things that you’d barely had space for an 11x14. You have to stand to reach the upper portion, swiping a brighter red over the dark red base. You don’t want it to be about him. It is anyway.

The show at the gallery is rapidly approaching, only a month away. You’ve been working with the curator to decide which pieces to use, filing through years of work. So far, everything that she’s found compelling has been about him. Things you’ve made recently, things you made years ago when things were still good. One day, you’ll get over this. But not today. Today still just hurts.

June, 2021

With neither of the boys making the playoffs, they’d come home earlier than usual this year. Sadly, Brady is pretty used to it by now, usually coming home around this time anyway. You’re used to getting a few weeks with Brady and Emma before Matthew comes home, but you don’t have that this year.

While Brady sulks for about two days when he gets home, Matthew is far more upset. The Flames had made the playoffs for the last couple years, and he was getting used to being a contender. So not even getting a chance at it this year clearly stung. He moped around for a week or two, face tight and arms crossed over his chest most of the time. The only time he let his arms down, let his guard down, is when the two of you were alone.

You’d comforted him through the couple weeks of upset, even staying the night a few times. It wasn’t intentional, you’d just stayed so late that you fell asleep, and Matthew didn’t have the heart to wake you. You have to get up early to get home for work, so you’d snuck your way out of the house before anyone else had woken. You’re not sure how Keith and Chantal would have felt about you staying the night in Matthew’s bed, but you know what they would have thought was going on, and you didn’t want to put yourself or Matthew in that position.

Once he’d relaxed, taken a deep breath and accepted defeat, he went back to being his regular happy, seemingly aloof self. You’re grateful for it, not a fan of seeing him upset and always wanting to help him through and cheer him up.

June had come kindly, bringing along more sun and nicer weather. You and Matthew had resumed your walks in the park, and the whole group of you spend about as much time outside as you do in the den. Things with Matthew had picked up where they left off in January, him pulling you into a secluded area any time he could get you alone, kissing you senseless. You’d missed the feeling of his lips, of his body pressed to yours.

Tonight is one of the more rare nights where Matthew comes to your apartment, instead of you going to his parents’ house. You’ve offered to make dinner and follow it up with movies. You’re already on the couch, your dirty dishes abandoned on the coffee table. You’re laying on your side, Matthew spooned up against your back, your knees hanging off of the couch with the way they’re bent to accommodate Matthew’s too-long legs. You’re warm and comfortable, enjoying the feeling of safety that he brings, something you’ve very rarely felt in your life before.

The movie is good, but you’ve found that being in Matthew’s arms makes you sleepy, so you’re having a hard time focusing. You manage to mostly follow it, letting out a jaw-cracking yawn when the credits start to roll.

You feel Matthew place a kiss on the back of your neck without comment. Then he’s moving you, rearranging your bodies carefully until you’re on your back, Matthew staring down at you from his position straddling your thigh. The way he’s looking at you is intense, somehow simultaneously fond and hungry. It wakes you up almost instantly, and you reach out to rest your hands on his thighs.

“You’re so beautiful,” he says quietly, reverently. It’s not the first time he’s said it, but it feels different now. Maybe it’s the position you’re in, maybe the way he’s looking down at you as if he wants you, as if he–

He takes your hands in his own, bending down as he brings them up to cradle his cheeks. You run your thumbs across his high cheekbones, tilt his head up a little by the jaw as his eyes slide shut. You press your fingers into the soft spot behind his jaw, under his ears, pull him down, down, down.

Kissing him feels as easy as breathing. Guiding his head this way and that to get a better angle, pressing your lips together over and over, longer each time, deeper. Matthew has one hand on the arm of the couch to hold himself up, the other wrapped loosely around your wrist. He’s not trying to move you or take control, just holding on as if he needs something to ground him. You press your thumbs into the hollows of his cheeks, feeling the solid wall of his teeth under the skin. His mouth drops open and he lets out a soft sound. You press your thumbs in harder, between the new gap between his upper and lower teeth, testing how far you can push from the outside.

He squeezes your wrist once and you release the pressure. His mouth stays open, lips wet and shining. He opens his eyes halfway, as if his eyelids are too heavy to get all the way up, eyes hazy and unfocused.

Again, he squeezes your wrist. He’s suddenly standing, using his grip to guide you up as well. He immediately crowds up against you, as if being more than an inch away will kill him. His eyes have managed to refocus, but there’s still a dreamy look in them.

He takes a step backward, using the hand that had instinctively gone to the back of your neck to bring you with him. He kisses you, lingering. He takes another step back, gives you another kiss. He rounds the end of the couch and you realize where he’s leading you, kind of impressed that he can find his way to the bedroom without even looking.

Of course, your heart is a frantic mouse scurrying around your chest, thumping hard like you’re a prey animal facing down a predator. But as much as it freaks out in the cage of your chest, there’s no panic in your head. Being with Matthew calms your mind, keeps your hands from trembling, feels so right that you can’t find a reason for the anxiety that used to plague you around him.

He stops you halfway between the door and the bed, pulling back a couple inches to stare down at you. You’re hesitant to put a name to the look on his face, not sure if reverent is being dramatic.

You flatten your palms against the front of his shoulders, shoving him gently, bullying him toward the bed. He allows it for a moment, but stops after a few steps. He takes your hands in his own, brings them to his mouth to kiss your knuckles. You try to swallow down the desire that grows inside of you, threatening to spill out. He holds your hands close to his face, enough that you can feel his lips move when he speaks.

“You don’t have to be in control, sweet girl,” he says, lays another kiss on the bump of your right middle finger, looks deep into your eyes with such adoration you feel ready to split at the seams.

“Let me take care of you,” he says. The part of you that’s spent your entire life with a fist clenched desperately around any sense of control that it could find, for the first time, relinquishes its hold. And Matthew does, indeed, take care of you.

February, 2022

It’s your first time in Vegas, and the atmosphere is electric. There are hockey fans everywhere, plenty of people wearing jerseys as they explore the strip. Everything is so big, so bright, so fancy. As exciting as it is to be here, it makes you feel a little off, a little like you don’t belong. It reminds you of the first time you’d been to the Tkachuks’ house, amazed at how different everything is from the way you grew up.

Each player was supposed to be allotted two tickets, but they had allowed Brady to take additional tickets for his family, considering Matthew is his brother, in addition to how well-known and beloved Keith is. He’d managed to get Emma included as well, luckily.

You weren’t sure how he did it, but Brady had gotten another player to give one of his tickets so that you could come. Apparently the guy’s family couldn’t make the trip, and he only had one friend that he really wanted to bring. He won’t tell you who it was, but the way that Timo Meier winks at you as he passes the stands gives you an idea. You weren’t aware that the two talked, but there’s always the possibility that he had just gone around and asked everyone. The idea makes something bloom in your chest, as if you could love Brady more than you already do. You’ll have to find a way to thank Timo some time.

The skills competitions are fun, though Brady doesn’t win anything. It’s nice to see the players relaxing and having fun, a well-deserved break from the stress of the season.

You all go out to an early meal before the games the next day. You don’t realize until you arrive that Jack Hughes and his family were joining you, and you trip over your own feet when you see them waiting for you. You’re a huge fan of Jack’s, but more than that, Ellen Weinberg-Hughes is an icon. You stumble with your words when you greet her, shaking her hand and screaming silently in your head. With how the boys are looking at you as you do so, they obviously anticipated your reaction and are incredibly satisfied with themselves.

For the meal, you’re sat between Matthew and Jack. You’re grateful that Matthew is next to you, needing his calming presence as you meet some of your favorite players. The families are friendly with each other, the parents catching up on the news of each others’ lives, the children doing the same in separate conversations.

You spend most of the dinner talking to Jack, Quinn, and Matthew. They tell you all sorts of things, including embarrassing stories about Matthew that you weren’t privy to. You grin at Matthew every time they share one, absolutely intending to tease him about it later. This seems to be what the Hughes boys want, eager to give you more ammunition. Matthew buries his face in his hands at one particularly humiliating story, even as he shakes gently with quiet laughter. When he emerges and sits back up, you take a chance, placing your hand on his thigh. You squeeze once, trying to reassure him. He does his best to not react, but he also rests his hand on top of yours under the table.

“So you’re a painter, right?” Quinn asks at one point, curiosity evident in his perpetually sleepy eyes.

“Yeah,” you confirm, asking “How did you know?” You’d told them about your official job, but you hadn’t mentioned being a traditional artist in addition to a graphic designer. Jack turns a smug smile on you.

“Matthew talks about you a lot,” he says, pleased with himself. You look to Matthew just in time to see his face flush.

“Shut up,” he says to Jack, which only makes him smile wider. Jack’s attitude rubs off on you a little, and you give Matthew a delighted smile.

“How much is a lot?” you ask Jack, feeling Matthew dig his fingertips into your knuckles.

“Like, a lot,” Jack replies, Quinn nodding from his other side. You look back to Matthew, who looks like he wants to crawl under the table and hide.

“I talk about him a lot, too,” you say. That makes Matthew look at you again, bright eyes nearly sparkling in the restaurant’s dim lighting. His expression shifts, a small, grateful smile scrunching his eyes up the slightest bit.

After dinner, you all make your way to the arena. Brady and Jack left a while before the rest of you, needing to arrive in time to get dressed and likely do some more media. Before he’d left, Jack had requested your phone, creating a contact for himself and inputting his number. As he dud, you turned your face away, toward Matthew, opening your mouth wide as if you’re screaming. He looked amused at it, but there’s a sharp edge there. Quinn took the phone next, doing the same thing. You squeezed Matthew’s thigh again, and his expression softened. You’ve been following the Hughes brothers since they were in Juniors, and having them like you enough to want to keep in touch– you can only describe the feeling as elation.

The lines are out the door at the arena, and a few people catch the boys to request photos before you can get to the special entrance for players’ guests. They’re all very kind and courteous about it, taking a few pictures with people, finding a way to move through the crowd even as they do so. You probably should have come a different way, or maybe gotten there earlier, but as long as the boys don’t mind, you don’t either.

The seats are good, the second row of the first balcony. It seems to be the section that they put all of the family and friends, people milling around and chatting with each other. You spot Johnny’s parents a couple rows away, the only people around that you’ve met before. You wave to them and they return the gesture. They make their way down to your seats, greeting each of you in turn. They start chatting with Keith and Chantal, so you continue talking to Taryn and Emma.

The games are great, surprisingly fast. The Atlantic division plays a great game again Central, despite losing by 3. You still can’t help being proud of Brady. You’ve been next to him since his first season, and you’ve loved getting to watch him grow and improve. As long as he’s in the world, you’re going to be proud of him.

The final is awesome too, and you jump up to cheer when Jack scores in the first. When the Metropolitan wins, you high-five Taryn, glad that Jack could win when Brady couldn’t. Not a bad consolation prize.

The group hangs around for a while after, and you get to meet a bunch of new people. Everyone is so nice, making you feel welcome, feel like you belong. When you finally start up the stairs to leave, Johnny’s mom Jane stops you for a second. She pinches your jersey and gives you a sly smile.

“Just a family friend?” she asks, not a question but a suggestion. A few years back, Matthew had given you one of his jerseys to wear to a game, and you’ve worn it tonight, despite him not playing. You realize now how it could be interpreted, ducking your head for a second to smile at the floor, before looking back up to Jane.

“Just a family friend,” you say, firm and definitive. She holds your gaze for a moment, looks behind her at Matthew, who’s waiting patiently a few steps up. He’s looking at you, that soft look he gives you sometimes. After a second, he smiles brightly at Jane. She waves and turns back to you.

“We’ll see,” she says. She pats your shoulder twice before making her own way up the stairs with Guy. Once you process the statement, you shake your head and make your way up to Matthew.

“What was that?” he asks as you enter the corridor. There’s no way you can tell him the truth, and honestly, you’re not sure what the fuck that was either. You just shrug at him, continuing your way out of the arena.

The comment sticks with you, no matter how you try to brush it off. Johnny is Matthew’s best friend, and you’ve met Jane a few times before. If it had been a stranger, you would’ve dismissed it outright. But to hear it from someone who actually knows the two of you? That’s harder to let go.

July, 2023

Laurel, the curator for the gallery hosting your show, is a lovely woman. She’s also very, very good at her job. You’ve been to countless shows at this gallery, and they’re always perfectly compiled, excellently arranged. You’ve brought her your most recent paintings today, which makes you glad that you have a car, because hauling them through the city would be a nightmare.

The only problem you have with Laurel is that she seems to see straight through you. You’re not used to someone looking past the professional figure you present, let alone someone seeing every part of you that you put into your art.

She’s staring at your offerings, examining every last detail. She’s already chosen about half of the pieces that will be displayed, creating a theme with your relatively impressionist style. She moves one canvas to the side, away from the others. She takes an extra few minutes to consider one of them, the largest one. It just finished drying yesterday. Having to see it every day as you passed it in the living room has been torture.

“Everything except that one,” she says, gesturing to the one she’d set aside. If she wants all of these, that’s likely going to be everything for the show. With everything else she’s chosen, this is all they have the wall space for, considering the way that you’ve seen Laurel arrange the art in previous shows you’d attended.

“That one is the centerpiece,” she adds, hand against her cheek as she continues staring at the large canvas. You swallow hard. Of course. Of course every painting she likes is about him. Of course the centerpiece will be him. No matter what you do, you’ll never escape him.

She asks a bit about your inspiration and motivation for the piece, and you give her vague answers that sound more philosophical than the real thing. The two of you discuss some of the minutiae of the show, trying to get everything finalized ahead of time. There’s less than a month left, and your excitement is starting to pair itself with dread.

When you get home, you go straight to your bedroom and throw yourself face first onto your mattress. You bury your face in a pillow, finally letting out the scream that’s been stuck in your throat since you learned of Tessa’s existence. It helps.

You make and have dinner, barely aware of what you’re eating. At least you can eat without getting nauseous now. You don’t feel like watching TV, probably wouldn’t be able to pay attention to a real show right now. Instead, you sit on your bed, leaning back against the headboard. You scroll social media mindlessly for a while, the ghost of Matthew next to you, his invisible arm pressed against yours.

February, 2022

Despite your better judgment, the first time you and Matthew had slept together wasn’t the last, either. It had continued through last summer, then again when he’d come to play the Blues. Now you’re in Calgary, in Matthew’s apartment for the first time, in his bed again.

A lot of people idolize the first time they sleep with someone, comparing every subsequent time to the first and often coming out disappointed. You had no reason to do so, because the sex only got better over time. As you and Matthew learned each other’s bodies, figured out what got the best reactions, the sex kept improving. Even if you wanted to fall back on your morals and resist him out of respect for Brady, you know you couldn’t stay away for long. It’s irresistible.

And it’s not just the sex. It’s the way he holds you after, lays on his back so that you can rest your head on his chest. It’s the way his breath ruffles your hair as you fall asleep together. It’s the things he says to you.

It’s the nights like this.

You’re in Matthew’s bedroom, the dark dead of night offering only the moon to light the room. Your head is on Matthew’s chest, his arm around you to keep you close, as if you would ever willingly leave. Your breathing had returned to normal a while ago, your body cooling off and beginning to recover from the rush of feeling. Matthew kisses the top of your head every so often, and you return the sentiment by tilting your head to lay kisses against his sternum.

“I wish I could keep you here forever,” he says, so hushed that you almost miss it. He’s always so quiet when he talks like this, as if he’s afraid to say it. He says these kinds of things anyway, but never above a whisper, not willing to share the vulnerability with anyone but you. Again, you press your lips into his skin.

“I wish I could stay here forever,” you reply. It would be nice, wouldn’t it? To stay here, with him. No need to be quiet so as not to wake his family, no having to sneak out in the morning, no work to keep you away. Just laying here, together.

“I’ve never wanted anyone the way I want you,” he says. There’s desire in his voice, of course, but also earnesty, like he really means it. Part of you would like to believe that he does, but another part knows how important it is to not get caught up in the fantasy. It’s easier said than done.

“Not any of the other girls you’ve had?” you ask. You’d meant for it to come out teasing, but your honest curiosity wins out. Then there’s a hand on your chin, fingers gently guiding your head up until you’re looking Matthew in the eye. It’s not exactly comfortable to crane your neck like this, so you prop yourself up on one forearm, resting the other hand where your head had been as you stare down at him.

“Never,” he replies, insistent. He looks so serious, sounds so sincere. You don’t say anything, can’t think of anything. There’s something in the wide roundness of his eyes that speaks to you, pulls you in, encourages you to search deeper. It takes a second to figure out what it is that’s hiding in there, but… it’s fear.

“I never want this with anyone else,” he says, tangling his fingers with yours over his racing heart. There’s a question you want to ask, something you’ve been wanting to ask for a while, but the fear in him has mirrored itself within you. You should just shut up, keep it to yourself. The words come out before you can convince yourself to stay quiet.

“What is this?” you ask. You’re not sure what answer you’re expecting, but you know which one you’re hoping for. He takes a deep breath, exhales slowly. His tongue darts out to wet his lips, and for the first time, you don’t divert your gaze to admire the sheen of them, unable to look away from his eyes.

“I don’t know,” he says, pauses, presses your entwined hands harder to his chest, “But I never want to give it up.”

May, 2022

Again, Matthew is the second to come home. Brady returned almost a month before in April, the Senators not in the playoffs, as usual. You feel bad sometimes, because Brady is genuinely a great player, but his team has just struggled to gel together. Even through all of their trials, Brady insists on keeping hope. He loves his teammates, and that’s what really matters to him.

Matthew, on the other hand, isn’t so great at dealing with failure. The Flames make it to the second round, which is an achievement all on its own. But after winning Game 1, they’d lost four in a row and been knocked out. It feels to Matthew almost like they got swept, he explains over the phone after the final loss.

When he gets home, he once again spends a week sulking. You mimic what you’d done last year, though staying the night is intentional this time. So long as you sneak out before anyone wakes up, you’ll be fine.

On the eighth day, you tell Matthew for the hundredth time how proud of him you are. He shoots you a bittersweet smile and says that he’s proud of himself too, and you know he’s bouncing back. It doesn’t help that he’s been debating for months whether to re-sign with the Flames, an agonizing choice for him. He loves his boys, but he’s not sure he belongs there anymore. You’ve assured him that you’ll support him no matter what decision he makes. Johnny hits free agency next month, and if he moves, you’re not sure that Matthew will have the motivation to stay.

The next couple of weeks go by the same way that they always do, with you spending as much time with the Tkachuks as possible. At least, you think you’re doing a good job of acting like everything is the same as years past. No one knows about you and Matthew, and it seems like he wants to keep it that way. You like having this little secret life with him, getting to have him all to yourself. You’re okay with the way it is, you convince yourself.

June came quickly, having begun only four days after he’d returned. The weather improves, you and Matthew once again resume your walks in the park. You play yard games and watch trash TV with Brady and Emma. You help Chantal cook dinners, help Keith clean up afterward. Everything is back to the summer standard.

The day had been nice, sunny and warm. The light had turned the leaves of the trees golden during your walk this afternoon. The sun is long gone now. Nighttime has become your favorite part of the day, the only time you get to indulge in whatever it is that you and Matthew have. The only time you get to touch his skin, to hear the low sounds he can’t help but make, to feel his warmth against you, inside you.

It’s been some time since you’d finished, but you can’t quite fall asleep. Matthew is spooned up against your back, face buried in the nape of your neck. You’re not sure if he’s asleep or not, too distracted to bother trying to figure it out. You’ve been thinking about it since your visit to Calgary. Any time Matthew called, or texted, or even crossed your mind, you thought of it. It made your heart leap into your throat, your breath catching as you choked on it.

He doesn’t know what you’re doing together, what you are. He didn’t give the response you’d been hoping for, but he didn’t outright deny it either. Sometimes you think it would have been better if he had, if he’d said that it was just sex. Then you could start working on moving on. You wouldn’t have to lie awake at night, wondering.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, his groggy voice making you startle and snapping you out of your head. You take a deep breath, debating yourself for a couple seconds before you decide.

“Nothing,” you reply, patting his forearm where it’s snaked around your waist, “Go back to sleep.” He takes a quick, deep breath, the air rushing out over your skin. You’re helpless to resist when he starts moving you. If you did put up a fight, push back against his hands, you know he would stop. But you’re tired.

“What’s wrong?” he asks again once you’re flipped to face him. He looks tired too, the exhaustion of the season still lingering. The moonlight paints his face in silver. It makes his skin shine, almost glowing in the darkness.

“I’m afraid,” you say. You wish he hadn’t turned you around. It would be easier to speak it into the wall than it is to say to his face. You say it anyway, watching his brow furrow, admiring the way the silver light adds contrast to the wrinkles the expression creates.

“Of what?” he asks. You could make something up. Telling him that you’re afraid of monsters under the bed would be less embarrassing. You’ve never been very good at lying to him.

“The day you move on,” you whisper, invisible pressure on your throat making the words come out tight and unsteady. The surprise on his face surprises you in return. He’d refused to put words or labels to whatever this is, of course you would think that he’s going to leave eventually. You’d have to be an idiot to think that he means it when he says forever.

“I won’t,” he says, resolute. You can only manage a half-smile for him.

“You’re not the first man to say that,” you reply. He reaches up and cradles your cheek in his wide palm, warmth seeping into your skin.

“But I’m the first one to mean it,” he says. You close your eyes. They begin to prickle at the corners, but you refuse to cry about any of this. He’s so adamant, so steadfast in his insistence. You try to remind yourself of what this isn’t, what it will never be, but you’ve never trusted someone the way you trust him, and you can’t help believing him anyway.

August, 2023

You hadn’t anticipated this happening, let alone how hard it would be, but finally, finally it’s a little bit easier.

You’re not over Matthew, not by a long shot. It’s going to take months, years. It may never happen, who knows? As long as you can cope with it, can keep your friends around, that’s all that matters.

The first half of the day was spent with both boys and their girls. You didn’t have to curl up so tightly on your chair, didn’t have to force words out so they didn’t think anything was wrong. Conversation was relatively easy, topics changing and flowing naturally. You’d smiled, laughed, and a couple of times you actually meant it.

Matthew had apparently planned a date for Tessa and himself, so they excuse themselves in the late afternoon. Brady, Emma, and you stick around the den for a bit, continuing to talk. Eventually, Emma stands, stretching dramatically.

“Let’s go for a walk,” she suggests. You’ve spent too much time lately sitting at an easel or curled up in bed, and a walk sounds like a great idea.

You expect it this time when Brady takes the three of you to the same park. It’s easier when you’re not blindsided by it, and you have the lovely memory of the last time you were here with the two to focus on, instead of Matthew. You walk for a while, music playing softly from Emma’s phone, tucked in her back pocket. Once you’re deep into the wooded area of the park, she stops dead in her tracks. You follow suit, spinning around to shoot her an inquisitive look. She takes the two steps forward to close the space between you two, grabbing you by the shoulders and walking you backward. You stumble, trying to look behind yourself to keep from falling. She pushes until the backs of your knees hit a bench on the side of the pathway and you fall onto it. You gape up at her, befuddled by the behavior and the way her arms are crossed over her chest.

“What’s going on,” she demands, not a question. You furrow your brow, at a loss for words. You know what she’s talking about, and you know that she knows that you know. But why would she wait until the day that it starts to fade, the day that you can finally think of something else, to ask you about it?

“C’mon, Y/N,” Brady says, plopping down on the bench next to you, “We know something’s wrong.” You had accepted the possibility of this back in June, but you weren’t expecting it to take almost three months for it to happen.

Your first instinct is that you absolutely can’t tell them. You’ve been keeping this secret for years, and if Matthew has his way, you’ll keep it forever. If Matthew gets his way, you repeat in your head. That’s it, isn’t it? All this time, you’ve been so focused on what Matthew wants that you ignored your own wanting. What do you want?

You want to tell someone, to finally have this horrid pain out in the open instead of keeping it caged up around your heart. You want your best friend and his wife to hug you. You want them to understand.

“Matthew,” the name tumbles out, and you don’t want to stop it. Brady and Emma are still looking at you, waiting for anything you want to tell them. God, Brady is your goddamn best friend and you’d convinced yourself that you couldn’t tell him something? That there was anything on this earth that he would shun you for?

It all comes spilling out in a rush. Everything from the first time you’d met him. Hell, some information that isn’t strictly necessary, but they don’t interrupt you or complain, so you venture on. It takes long enough to recount that Emma sits on the metal armrest of the bench. Brady’s holding one of your hands in his lap, Emma taking the other to do the same.

You’d promised yourself more than once that you wouldn’t cry about this, but you don’t really care enough to stop yourself now. The tears come two-thirds of the way through, falling silently as you recount some of the things Matthew had told you, the things he’d promised you. You’re not outright sobbing, so you manage to power through the rest of the story. Your eyes are squeezed tightly shut by the end, like closing them will block out the memories.

It takes a couple of minutes for the tears to stop. The three of you let the silence hang as you wait for it, nothing but the leaves rustling in the trees, something scurrying in the bushes. When you can safely open your eyes to face the world again, you look over to Brady. He looks devastated.

You watch his evolving emotions morph the expression on his face, from heartbreak to anger and back again. The anger makes your heart skip a beat, suddenly afraid that maybe the whole “I slept with your brother” thing will be a problem after all.

“Do you want me to kick his ass?” he asks, startling a laugh out of you. You know he’s dead serious, too. Part of you thinks it might be cathartic to see Matthew get beat up by his little brother, but your soft heart doesn’t want anything bad to happen to him. After everything he’s done to you, you still don’t want him to have to feel even a fraction of the pain you do.

February, 2023

This year, the boys don’t have to bribe anyone else to get you to the All Star Game. Each of them is allotted two tickets as per usual, but Taryn is too busy with school to come. She’d aimed a satisfied smirk at Matthew through the camera of her phone, saying guess you’ll have to take that one along as her eyes darted slightly to the left, clearly looking at where you were on the screen.

Since your work is remote, you’ve brought along your laptop. You spend the morning of the skills competition working, still averse to using your PTO if it’s not completely necessary. The boys have to do media, so there’s no one around to bother or distract you. You kind of wish there were.

The special skills competitions are as fun this year as they were last. You especially love Sidney Crosby in the dunk tank, seemingly having the time of his life. You may not know him personally, only having met him once in passing, but after everything he’s been through, you think he deserves some carefree fun.

The sun has set by time you emerge from the arena after the regular skills competitions. The days are shorter at this time of year, even in Florida. It is warmer than St. Louis, though, which you’re grateful for.

Jack is in the competition again this year, so you meet up with the Weinberg-Hugheses again that night. You’ve gotten much closer with Jack and Quinn over the past year, building relationships on texts and calls and dinners when they play the Blues. Luke has tagged along this time, and you get on with him just as well as his brothers.

Matthew shoots Jack a look when he slings an arm around you on the way back to your hotels after dinner, but Jack just grins at him. You’re still not sure what that’s all about, but you’re just going to stay out of it.

The games the next day are fantastic. You’ve never gotten to watch both of your boys win at once, and you love it. When the Atlantic wins the whole thing, you cheer so loudly your voice cracks. Emma laughs at you, but you just laugh along with her.

You stick around for a bit after the game again, Keith and Chantal mingling while Emma shows you the decorations she’s planning for the wedding on her phone. After a while, someone taps you on the shoulder from behind. You turn your head, immediately recognizing Jane. Johnny had made it again this year with his new team, so it would make sense that she’s here too. You stand, reaching up to hug her in her elevated position.

“Matthew got you a new jersey?” she asks, referencing the All-Star jersey you’ve got on. You wish you could say that you bought it for yourself, but it had indeed been a gift from Matthew. It shouldn’t be embarrassing, so you act like it’s not, even though it is.

“Yeah, he’s a great friend,” you reply, shrugging, “He likes to take care of me.” The thing about Jane is that she’s not really a jerk. Sometimes the you-and-Matthew comments bother you, but she’s generally a very sweet woman.

“It’s good to have someone like that,” she says, smiling gently at you, “Matthew is a good boy.” Jane had been at enough Flames games for you to know her, and definitely enough for Matthew to become a pseudo-son to her. They don’t interact much anymore, save for when she pops up in the back of Johnny’s facetimes, but you know she still has a soft spot for him. You don’t blame her.

“He really is,” you agree, nodding. The two of you make some small talk, and you get some updates on Johnny’s new life on the Blue Jackets. You give her some updates on Matthew in return. After a bit, Guy shuffles up next to Jane, telling her that it’s time to go. She acknowledges him quickly, turning back to take one of your hands in her own.

“I know he takes care of you,” she says, patting the back of your hand with her second, “But you take care of that boy, too. Okay?” You just nod, smiling and bidding her goodbye. Her and Guy retreat up the steps and out of view. You’re not sure why she feels the need to say these things to you, and you’re not sure why you take them to heart.

You meet Matthew and Brady outside the player entrance, the boys immediately scooping up you and Emma, respectively. Matthew sweeps you off of your feet for a moment, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. Once you’re free, you start to dip forward, realizing what you’re doing at the last second and changing track to make sure the kiss lands on his cheek.

He beams at you, and you’re absolutely certain that you’ll spend the rest of your life trying to make him smile.

April, 2023

The day Brady comes home is the best day of the year, you remind yourself for the thousandth time. You’re excited to see him, you are. The way your chest has felt rent open for days isn’t his fault in any way. You’re not going to make him pay for being the messenger.

Once you all get the couple home, you go upstairs with Brady and Emma to help them unpack. They don’t really need help, obviously, but it’s an excuse to spend time together. Brady talks a little about the season, but mostly focuses on his plans for the summer. He talks about wanting to go see G, maybe even take a trip out to visit Tim.

For the most part, you just fold clothes and listen. Eventually, they switch to the topic of the wedding, Emma showing you even more pictures. She’d asked you to be a bridesmaid forever ago, so you’ve already seen most of it, had even helped her pick half of it out, but you’re never going to squash her excitement.

Exhausted from their travel, the two make their way down to the den after everything is put away, collapsing onto the couch. You curl up in your chair, allowing the couple to choose what you watch. They pick something or another, nothing that you can pay attention to right now. Instead, you find yourself examining Brady, picking apart his features, finding all the things he shares with Matthew.

It’s the best day of the year, you remind yourself again. The light of the TV highlights Brady’s jawbone and your skin crawls.

August, 2023

The show is going exceptionally well, exceeding your expectations. The space is filled with strangers, friends, and even your brother and his family. There are critics and collectors, some that you’ve seen at other people’s shows, some that you don’t recognize. Everyone wants to talk to you, and you don’t get a spare moment to breathe for the first few hours.

When you do get a chance to exhale, the rich couple that had been occupying you finally walking away, you catch the color out of the corner of your eye. You’ve been all around the building all night, mingling and networking in equal measure. You hadn’t realized where you ended up until right this second. You turn to the piece, staring as if you’d never seen it before.

You don’t need to look over to see who steps up next to you a minute later.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” Matthew says. It doesn’t feel like an accusation, though it is one. All you can do is sigh.

“What did you expect me to do?” you ask, not expecting an answer. You glance at his hands out of the corner of your eye, noticing the wine glass in one hand, water glass in the other. Without a word, Matthew holds the water out in your direction, still fixated on the painting. You take it, feeling odd that not only does Matthew know that you forget to drink enough water, but also that he’s still trying to take care of you.

“It’s me,” he says after a pause. You’re both facing the largest canvas, the centerpiece. Swirls of bright red spread across a crimson background, highlighted with orange, accented with a royal purple. There, in the center, are two comparatively small, even circles of icy blue.

“They’re all you. Or about you, at least,” you say, seeing no need to deny it any longer, “About us.” It’s obvious that Matthew hadn’t expected you to admit it outright, thrown off for a minute by the admission.

“Can we talk?” he asks as you take a sip of water.

“We’re talking right now,” you reply, feeling petty. It’s his turn to sigh. He sets his wine glass down on the nearest horizontal surface before returning to your side, facing you this time.

“Somewhere private,” he clarifies, pauses, “Please.” You may be mad at him, enraged, incensed, but you’ve never been able to deny him anything, and you still can’t, even now.

You shut the storage room door behind you, flicking on the light to chase away the darkness. Matthew has his hands shoved in his pockets, looking around as if there’s anything interesting in here. You cross your arms over your chest, waiting for him to nut up and look you in the face.

“Listen,” he begins, rubbing the back of his neck but still not looking at you, “I know I should have gone about this better.” You snort. No shit. The sound finally brings Matthew’s gaze to meet your own.

“I’m sorry, okay?” Matthew says, motioning with his raised hand, “I didn’t think you’d care that much.” You can feel how incredulous your expression is, and you don’t even try to hide it.

“In what world would I not be upset?” you respond, “After everything?” You can hear yourself, know you sound like a bitter, jealous old ex, but you can’t bring yourself to care. You see his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows and looks away again. When he looks back, there’s an almost pleading look in his eyes.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,” he says, more sincerely than the first time, “You shouldn’t have had to find out from Brady.” You avert your gaze, working your jaw for a second before you raise your chin and square your shoulders.

“No,” you agree, “I shouldn’t have.”

“I’m sorry I stopped talking to you,” he says, motioning helplessly with his hands, “You have to know how hard that was.” You shake your head, almost disgusted.

“Imagine how hard it was for me,” you reply. Your fingertips are digging into your own arm, fingernails biting into the skin. The fact that he would stand here and imply that this was a struggle for him– as if he expects you to offer sympathy– makes your stomach churn. The guilt in his expression makes you sickly satisfied.

“Listen,” he leads with that word again, as if he has any right to ask it of you, “I didn’t want to upset her. You know how some girls are.” You do know. And it’s still not an excuse.

“You didn’t tell her about me,” you say, anger and hurt straining your voice, “You said that I was just Brady’s best friend. You didn’t even tell her what we had.” You want to scream it at him, just want to scream in general. Maybe if you did, if you released your tight grip on control in a different way than you had with him, maybe it would make him understand.

“What did we have?” he asks. His voice is quiet, just as yours had been when you’d brought up the topic all those months ago.

“I don’t know,” you say, turning his own words back on him. It’s true, anyway. You’ve never known what any of this was. You’d only known what you wanted it to be, what you stupidly, fruitlessly hoped for.

“We never dated,” he replies, voice still low but seemingly not bothered by the uncertainty, “We never called it a relationship. You were never my girlfriend.” It’s a simple fact. It tears your heart out of your chest.

“Just because we didn’t name it doesn’t mean it was nothing,” you insist, squeezing your eyes shut for a second to push down the urge to cry before admitting, “I stopped dating.” He looks even guiltier at that, but it doesn’t soothe anything in you.

“I didn’t look at another man,” you continue, embarrassed and ashamed but unable to let him continue through life without knowing, “I didn’t even want to look at anyone else.” The shame makes the fiery anger burn brighter.

“I gave you three years of my fucking life,” you say, voice raising just enough to make Matthew flinch. You keep it reigned in enough that no one outside will hear, not interested in sharing this conversation with anyone else, especially not potential business contacts. The flames engulf your chest, lick up at your throat, threaten to consume you.

“I never asked you to do that,” Matthew replies, solemn. Your jaw drops, just half an inch, enough to part your lips as your breath hitches. He never asked. He never fucking–

“You–” you begin, breath catching in your throat as your eyes burn with tears you refuse to let escape, “Everything you said, everything you did, and you expected what? For me to just move on?” Your nails are digging so deeply into your biceps that you’re surprised they haven’t drawn blood. Matthew doesn’t respond right away, and you can’t tamp down the impulse to be petty.

“But I guess that’s what you did, huh?” you jab. Matthew shuts his eyes tightly, fists clenching like he wants to fight. It should be threatening, but you’ve always known that he would never dream of laying a finger on you in violence. But then again, you’d thought you knew a lot of things about him.

“Why do you care?” he asks, shoulders tense as he opens his eyes to stare you down, “You don’t even want me.” That shocks a laugh out of you, so completely ridiculous that you can’t help it.

“That’s the most fucked up part– I do want you,” you respond, simultaneously an answer and an admission. His brow furrows as he continues looking at you, as if he can’t believe what he’s hearing.

“Did you seriously think I didn’t?” you ask, more of a demand, slightly offended because, “Do you think I said all those things for fun? For shits and giggles?” You can’t read his expression, don’t even bother trying. He can feel whatever he wants. That’s not your concern anymore. All you care about is the cold spreading through you, crawling up from the tips of your fingers, freezing your arms, creeping into your chest and beginning to extinguish your rage.

“I loved you, dickhead,” you continue, the words spilling out of you starting to sound pathetic, no matter how hard you’re trying to hold on to the anger, putting the last grasp of it into the words, “Stupid fucking idiot asshole, I loved you.” Matthew gapes at you, hands going lax at his sides. His jaw moves as if to say something, but nothing comes out.

“I loved you and you threw me away like garbage, and didn’t even have the balls to tell me yourself,” you force the sentence out, feeling like you’re choking on every syllable. Matthew’s breathing stutters. You’re expecting annoyance, irritation, maybe even shame or guilt. You’re not expecting his wide eyes, his eyebrows turned up in the middle, his slack jaw.

“You loved me?” he finally asks after a few agonizingly long seconds of silence. There’s something in his voice that you tell yourself you don’t care to analyze.

“Of course I did. How could I not?” you say, huffing as you look upwards, needing a momentary break from this staring contest, “The pathetic part, the part that makes me hate myself, is that I still do.” It’s physically painful to say, no matter that the hurt is psychosomatic. You’ve spent the last few minutes breaking open your ribcage, one bone at a time, revealing to him the space you’d made for him inside of yourself.

“You love me?” he asks, so dumbfounded that he’s repeating himself.

“Yes, Matthew,” you say, facing up to the dread inside of you, the one fact you’ve been struggling with the most since you’d found out the news.

“And I’m terrified. Because I’ve always loved you,” you pour out, barely able to hold yourself together as you meet his eyes, “And I’m afraid that I always will.” There’s not even space for half of a breath before Matthew speaks.

“Please do,” he says. His hands are open, palms facing your direction, as if pleading.

“What?” you ask.

“I didn’t know,” he says, and apparently he’s decided it’s his turn to reveal himself, “I was surprised that you wanted anything to do with me at all. But then you kissed me, and I spent the next three years waiting for you to leave.” The confusion comes over you so quickly that it almost masks the hurt.

“Why would I leave?” you ask. There’s been nothing subtle about your feelings. You’ve told him that he’s the only one you want, that you want to spend the rest of your life by his side, that he’ll always be the only one. How could he hear all of that and think that you would ever leave?

“Because you’re smart and kind and funny and hardworking–” he starts listing off.

“Tessa is all of those things too,” you cut him off. It doesn’t come out as resentful as you would’ve expected a sentence like that to. As you’ve told Terri, you really have nothing against Tessa. Besides, she really is everything he’s saying.

“But she’s not you,” his response comes immediately, emphatically, “I don’t want just anyone like that; I want you, and you happen to be that way.” You’re stunned into silence.

“It’s not the traits, it’s you,” he says, insistent, like he’s trying to convince you of your own worth, “And I kept waiting for you to find someone else, someone who wasn’t hotheaded and self-centered and–” He stops himself, swallowing so hard you can see his throat stutter under the thin skin of his neck.

“Someone better,” he finishes. The thing is that Matthew doesn’t have low self-esteem. He knows he’s a catch, and yet… And yet, he’s standing here, admitting that he’d still thought of you as being so far above him that you could never want him. And it’s not that there isn’t probably someone out there better than him–

“I never wanted someone better,” you tell him, voice almost a whisper. Growing up, you’d created this picture of the perfect man, told yourself that you’d find him one day, would never settle for less. Then you’d met Matthew, and he was nothing like that imaginary ideal. He was flawed; he was real. And you couldn’t help but love him for it.

“And I never wanted anyone else,” he replies, his own voice hushed to match yours, but no less certain, “I still don’t.” Three months ago, you would’ve given anything to hear that. But things are different now.

“I thought that if I went and found someone like you, someone close enough, that I could fall for them too,” he confesses, shame making his face tense, “I thought that if I stopped talking to you, if I kept my distance, that I could get over you.” A fraction of the anger buds in your chest at the idea.

“So you’re using Tessa,” you accuse, instantly offended on her behalf.

“No!” Matthew denies emphatically, pauses, shakes his head, “Yes. Maybe. I don’t know.” If he is using her, at least he seems ashamed about it. Something in his posture makes you think he isn’t, that he really thought he could love her.

“Look, she’s great. She’s amazing. She’s too good for me, too,” his shoulders have been hunched up to his ears, but they fall now, defeated, “She talks about that spark she felt when we met, the way she feels about me now, and I want, I really want to feel that way too. It would be easier if I could.” Believing this entire time that he truly loves her has been hell for you, but it’s still somehow worse to know that he doesn’t. That he did all of this, hurt you so deeply, for someone he doesn’t even love.

“As much as I’ve tried, I don’t. And I can’t,” he says, turning his gaze to the floor, “And if I’d ever thought that I had the slightest chance with you, I never would have dated her to begin with.” All these years, all those words, all the touches you’ve shared, and he’d still never taken you seriously. It’s not your fault, you know. But you realize now that for every time you’d indirectly confessed your feelings to him, he’d said the same things back. He’d returned every sentiment readily, easily. And as much as he’d apparently had the same idea as you, that the other could never love you back, you hadn’t seen it either. You’ve been just as ignorant of his feelings as he was of yours, just as deep in denial. And now there’s this rift between you, a deep chasm that keeps you apart, all for no reason.

“So, what now?” you ask. There’s nothing else to ask.

“What?” he seems genuinely confused.

“What now?” you repeat, too tired to be upset anymore, “You break her heart? Or do you keep pretending? Fake your way into a wife and kids and a house in the suburbs?” His confusion persists, tongue darting out to wet his lip the way it always does when he’s anxious.

“I thought–” he shakes his head the tiniest bit, as if he can’t believe what’s happening, “I mean, I love you. I want to be with you.” There’s a sadness sitting heavy in your chest, only getting deeper at his words.

“I love you too,” you say, tipping your head an inch to the right, perfectly aware of how melancholy your smile must be, “But you hurt me, and now you have to hurt her too. I thought you were better than this.” You’d thought the world of him. You don’t hate him now, could never force yourself to. But you are disappointed in how everything has played out.

“I thought you didn’t want better?” he says, not really a question. Your lips turn up another centimeter at that.

“Listen,” you say, turning the word back on him. You inhale deeply, exhale slowly. He stays quiet.

“The opportunity of a lifetime is on the other side of that door,” you gesture vaguely over your shoulder, then let your arms relax, your hands fall to your sides, “I don’t know what to do with any of–” you give another vague gesture, “--This.” The devastation is writ clear on his face, telegraphed by his posture, bared in the forefront of his miserably beautiful eyes.

“Out there?” you say, smile still in place, “I know exactly what I want. So I’m going to go get it.” you pause, take another deep breath, “And maybe you’ll be there tomorrow, and maybe you won’t.”

“I will,” he jumps in. You huff an almost-laugh.

“We can figure this all out later,” you say, sure a definite, “For now, I have to focus on the things that I’m sure of.” He nods, looks at the floor, raises his head and looks back at you.

“Did you used to be sure of me?” he asks, an uneven, shaky whisper.

“Yeah,” you say, your entire being feeling so heavy that you can barely hold yourself upright, “I used to be.”

September, 2023

While Brady had departed yesterday, Matthew doesn’t leave until tomorrow. It took some internal debate, but you’ve decided not to go along to drop him off at the airport. His family will think it’s weird if he doesn’t hug you, and you’re not sure if you can handle him touching you yet.

You’re curled up on the couch with a book, letting yourself get lost in the story. A knock comes on the door and you startle. You mark your page and stand, rounding the couch to open the door. When you do, Matthew is standing there.

“Hey,” he greets, giving you the same bittersweet smile you’ve become accustomed to over the past few weeks. You’d given him a key to your apartment right after you’d moved, but you appreciate him not using it right now. You welcome him in with a gesture of your hand, turning to lead the way. You get four steps away before he speaks.

“I broke up with Tessa,” he blurts out. He doesn’t seem happy about it, but he doesn’t seem particularly sad either.

“Why?” you ask, crossing your arms over your chest, “You’re that sure that I’ll take you back?” The anger comes and goes as it pleases, and it’s starting to sneak through the space between your ribs.

“No,” Matthew says, looking so unbearably fond of you, “I think you’ll tell me to get fucked.” Some days you want to.

“Then why did you break up with her?” you ask. Part of you has been wondering if, despite everything he’d said, he would stay with her. You’re not sure you would have been able to keep the conversation to yourself if he had, but you would have at least tried.

“Because none of this is fair to her,” he answers, shrugging, “She deserves someone who feels the same way about her that she does them. Someone who’s obsessed with her. She doesn’t deserve to be settled for.” You examine his expression, his stance, and realize that he’s truly being honest. He genuinely wants the best for her.

“How’d she take it?” you can’t help but ask. It makes him grin down at the floor for a moment.

“Honestly?” he asks when he raises his head, “Not great. Could have been worse, though.” As much as you love Matthew, you would have been proud of Tessa if she had slapped him.

“Probably should’ve been worse,” you reply. He grins again, tilting his head as he admires your face.

“Probably,” he agrees. For long moments, you both stand still, eyes locked.

“What now?” you ask, the same question as a couple weeks ago. He shrugs again, but he doesn’t seem as miserable or desperate as he had at the gallery.

“I don’t know,” he replies, that same phrase that you’re still trying to make peace with, “I know what I want. Same thing I’ve wanted this entire time. So I guess it’s up to you.” After three years of him encouraging you to give up control, to let go and follow his lead, he’s handing you the reigns now. However this ends or continues is completely your decision.

“You leave tomorrow,” you say, though you’re both viscerally aware of the fact.

“Yeah,” he gives you the crooked smile that had captured you the first time you’d met, “Don’t suppose you want to come with me? The winter weather’s nicer in Florida.” You let out a breathy chuckle, shaking your head at him.

“If you’d asked me that last summer, I probably would’ve said yes,” you admit. You kind of expect him to react with sadness, but you prefer the hope that blooms on his face.

“Maybe I’ll ask you again next summer?” he suggests, offering you the option. At this point, you have no idea where your relationship will be at this time next year. You don’t know if you’ll even have a relationship, of any kind. But if he’s willing to try, so are you.

“Yeah,” you nod, smiling wider than you have in a long while, “Next summer.”

June, 2024

The Hughes brothers are a funny trio. Seeing Jack’s upbeat, outgoing energy bookended on each side by two reserved, perpetually exhausted brothers is always kind of funny. You’d run down the pavement from the Tkachuk’s door to the driveway when you’d seen Quinn climb out of the car’s driver seat, immediately sweeping him up in a hug. The boys had decided to road trip around this summer, so of course you’d strongly suggested that they visit you.

You help them haul their bags out of the trunk, taking Luke’s backpack in hand and insisting on carrying it in for him. The three of them had started teasing you the instant they saw that Matthew hadn’t come out with you.

“Come on, I heard him at the All Star game,” Jack pesters, voice taking a mocking edge as he croons, “Sweet girl.” You laugh brightly, stopping the careful steps you’re taking backwards up the pathway to the house.

“We weren’t dating, I swear,” you insist. Plenty of people over the years have accused you of dating Matthew, but at least he’s funny about it. He stops in front of you, lifting his chin and giving a shit-eating smile.

“Wait, weren’t?” he asks, “As in, past tense?” You feel heat begin to crawl up your face. You’d intended to tell them, of course, but not the second they got here.

“Yeah,” Matthew calls from behind you, and you twist around to watch him close the space between you, “Past tense.” Jack’s glee is overt, but you can see the little signs of happiness on the other two boys’ faces too. Matthew lines himself up against your back, wrapping his arms around you, the gaudy Cup ring on his finger glinting in the light.

“Hey, sweet girl,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss into your hair. You can’t see him, but Jack’s smug face makes you sure that Matthew is staring straight at him. “My sweet girl,” Matthew says. It might be the best thing you’ve ever heard.

#matthew tkachuk imagine #matthew tkachuk fic #nhl imagines #nhl fanfic #the winter fic exchange 2k24 #RI #andi's coping mechanism

[doc-pickles]

homecoming | matthew tkachuk

summary: five times matthew came home to you from a roadie

warnings: lots of fluff, pregnancy, babies

a/n: hey hi hello! i’ve wanted to write for ratty for awhile and finally came up with this. hope y’all enjoy!

xoxo

nina

one.

You danced around your kitchen as you made dinner, your hips swinging to the music pouring from your speakers as you stirred the pasta on the stove. You loved cooking and you often found yourself getting lost singing to your favorite songs as you worked in the kitchen.

“And all the girls think that they’d be your partner,” you sang into your wooden spoon, your hips moving as you belted the words. “They’d be your partner! You’re so vain, you probably think this song is about you!”

A deep chuckle sounded behind you, making you drop your spoon as you spun around. Leaning against your entryway was your best friend Matthew Tkachuk, his sly grin plastered on his face as he smirked at you, “Don’t let me interrupt, you know I love Carly Simon.”

“Jesus you can’t scare me like that,” you gasped as you put your hand to your chest, only causing Matthew to laugh harder. “How did you even get in here? When did you get back?”

“You gave me a spare key months ago,” you watched as Matthew grabbed a paper towel and crouched down to grab your dropped spoon, wiping up the mess of sauce it left behind. “Got in an hour ago, wanted to see my favorite girl.”

You could feel the blush creeping up your cheeks as Matthew smirked at you. You’d been friends for a few years now and he never failed to pull that reaction out of you.

“I was just making dinner if you want to stay,” you offered, gesturing over your shoulder to the pasta and sauce you had going. “It’s pesto, your favorite.”

“Good thing I brought your favorite wine,” Matthew walked back to the entryway before reappearing with your favorite red wine and a bouquet of multicolored tulips. “And your favorite flowers.”

“Matty…,” your eyes widened in shock as you looked at your best friend who simply grinned at you. “What in the world are you doing?”

“Just trying to show my favorite girl how much I appreciate her,” Matthew smiled as he stepped closer to you, setting the wine and flowers on the counter before skating his arms around your waist. “I’ve been thinking about you all week. Couldn’t get you off my mind.”

Your heart was racing as you met Matthew’s eyes, his grip on your waist pulling you closer to him, “And what were you thinking about?”

“How you’re my best friend and how much I need you in my life,” Matthew’s voice dropped down to just above a whisper as he leaned his forehead against yours. “How much I want to kiss you, to stop calling you my best friend and start calling you my girlfriend. How much I love you….”

As soon as the word leaves Matthew’s lips you’re closing the short distance between the two of you, your lips pressed together as your fingers tangled in the curls at the nape of his neck.

“Only took you five years,” you grinned up at Matthew who in turn rolled his eyes before he leaned down to kiss you again. “And for the record… I love you too.”

two.

You’d had quite possibly the longest day at work ever. Between your boss being an absolute dick and your clients being snarky and rude you were ready to curl up in bed with a bottle of wine and a trashy rom com. And that didn’t even get into the traffic that had you coming home at an ungodly hour.

It didn’t help anything that Matthew was on the road right now and wasn’t due back until tomorrow. Your hands shook as you unlocked your apartment, the urge to call your best friend turned boyfriend so strong that you were shakily grabbing for your phone as you made your way inside.

Once you closed the door you leaned your head against the cool wood, heart hammering in your chest as you tried to hold back tears.

The attempt failed.

Your shoulders shook under the weight of your cries, your bag dropping to the floor as you cried to yourself in the doorway of your apartment. The weight of the day settled over you as your knees grew weak and you nearly dropped to the floor.

But you didn’t drop, instead a pair of strong arms wrapped around you and you gasped slightly as Matthew pulled you to his chest.

“Hey hey, it’s okay baby,” Matthew soothed as he held you close. “It’s alright, I got you.”

Your sobs continued as Matthew led you to the couch where he promptly sat down and held you close as you continued to cry. You sat in his embrace for a few minutes, letting him soothe you as you clung tightly to his shoulders.

“I thought you were supposed to be back tomorrow,” you sniffled as Matthew rubbed his hands across your back. “I thought-“

“I’m here now, that’s all that matters,” Matthew mumbled as he pressed a kiss to your hair. “What’s wrong baby? What can I do to help you?”

You relaxed slightly as Matthew held you, his body pressed so close you couldn’t help but take the comfort he was giving you.

“I just… It was a long day,” you sighed as you pressed impossibly closer. “It sucked and all I wanted was you and now you’re here.”

“Of course I’m here baby,” Matthew cooed as he pressed his lips to your temple. “I’ll always be here for my favorite girl. No matter what.”

Matthew held you through the night, eventually pulling you toward your bed and dressing you in your pajamas. He held you the whole night and when you woke in the morning with him pressed against you, you couldn’t remember why you were upset in the first place.

three.

It was late, but not late enough for you to have to explain why you weren’t asleep yet. Matthew was due home any minute now, and you were more excited than you would ever been. Even though the Panthers had lost in the semi finals for the Stanley Cup, you couldn’t hold back the grin that was threatening to split your face.

Matthew walked into your bedroom just shy of midnight. When he spotted you wearing his jersey and what looked to be little else his grin widened.

“Sorry you guys got knocked out,” you whispered as Matthew toed off his shoes and made his way toward you.

“S’okay. I have some fun plans for the off season I’ve been eager to get to,” he grinned as he began to unbutton his shirt, your eyes going straight to his toned chest.

“Like what?”

Matthew smirked as he removed his shirt and moved toward the bed. He grabbed your left hand and pressed a kiss to the ring that adorned your finger, “Like making my favorite girl my wife in a few weeks.”

“Twenty one days, seventeen hours, and twelve minutes but who’s counting,” you grinned as Matthew straddled your legs and pressed kisses to your cheeks. “Matty!”

“I’m sorry I only respond to ‘hubby’ now,” you laughed loudly as Matthew buried his face in your neck, lightly nipping at the skin. “God I love you baby.”

“I love you more, hubby.”

four.

It was nearly 3 AM but you couldn’t sleep. The other side of the bed was cold and Matthew would be home soon from a roadie out to California. Normally you wouldn’t stay up to wait for him, he’d usually slip into bed at some ungodly hour and wrap his body around yours. But he had taken a hard hit in his game against San Jose last night and you couldn’t stop worrying about him.

You heard the front door creak open then close quietly, Matthew’s footsteps echoing softly in the living room before he started up the stairs. It wasn’t long before he appeared in the doorway of your shared bedroom, heaving a sigh as he saw you were still up.

“I’m fine, baby,” Matthew tried to reassure you, but as you turned on the bedside lamp you let out a loud gasp. “It looks worse than it is.”

“You have a black eye and stitches, Matthew,” you threw the covers off, walking toward your husband. Once you stood in front of Matthew, his eyes avoiding yours, you cupped his face in your hands. “Jesus Matty…”

Matthew shrugged out of your hold, beginning to pull off his suit as you sat on the edge of the bed, “It’s fine, that fucker had it coming.”

“You can’t keep getting into stupid fights on the ice,” you warned as you crossed your arms under your breasts with a wince. You’d never been concerned about his on ice antics before, but it was different now. “I need you to come home in one piece.”

“I always do, don’t I,” Matthew scoffed but when he turned around he could see the tears shining in your eyes. “Baby it was one fight. I’m a hockey player, it’s what I do.”

You nodded and sniffled, wiping at your cheeks, “I know but… I can’t keep watching you put yourself on the line, I can’t keep worrying every time you’re playing that something horrible is going to happen.”

Matthew stepped towards you, his boxers hanging low on his hips as his shirt and pants had been abandoned behind him, “Hey, I’m okay. I’m not going anywhere okay? What’s really wrong, huh? You’ve never had a problem before.”

“I’m sorry I just-“

“Don’t apologize,” Matthew shook his head and pressed a kiss to your forehead. “I love you, you’re the most important person in my life, my favorite girl. I’m sorry I scared you.”

You nodded but sat in Matthew’s embrace for a few more minutes, letting his warm body soothe your anxiety.

“I’m gonna brush my teeth and I’ll be right back,” Matthew pressed another kiss to your forehead before tucking you into bed and heading for the bathroom. Your eyes had just closed when you heard him all but shriek. “Babe?”

Matthew reappeared in the doorway as you sat up, his eyes wide as he held up two plastic sticks. You grinned sheepishly as he looked from the tests to you, “I forgot they were in there. I was going to buy a tiny jersey and surprise you and-“

Before you could get another word out Matthew was across the room, pulling you into his arms as he peppered your face with kisses. You couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled out of you as he held you close.

“Fuck baby, I’m never getting in another fight ever again,” Matthew murmured as he pressed his face to your hair. “I’m never leaving again, I’ll only play home games and when the baby comes I’ll retire and-“

“Matthew,” you giggled as you pressed your hand to your husbands cheek. “You’re not retiring, you’re barely 30. And you’re not changing your schedule. Just be a little more careful, okay?”

With a nod Matthew settled into bed next to you, his hands instantly gravitating to your flat stomach. He sighed into your neck as he pulled you close, pressing a kiss to the warm skin, “I can’t believe we’re having a baby.”

“Me neither,” you smiled as you cuddled into his hold.

“I’m screwed if it’s a girl, aren’t I?”

“Absolutely.”

five.

“Riley get down from there before you bust your head open,” you sighed as your three year old daughter grinned at you from her place on the kitchen counter. “I’m so serious right now! When your dad gets home he’s going to be so mad!”

“Daddy!”

“Yes, daddy,” you crossed your arms over your swollen belly and fixed the toddler with a glare. “He’s not going to like that you’re not listening to mommy.”

“Daddy! Daddy!”

You sighed as you rubbed a hand over your face in exasperation. Being nine months pregnant and dealing with your daughter while Matthew was on a roadie was not easy. Riley had a wild streak that made her hard to handle on good days, but she always seemed to act up more when Matthew wasn’t around to help you.

“Riley Chantal I really hope you’re listening to your mama,” you whipped around and sighed in relief as you saw Matthew standing behind you. “Get off the counter.”

Riley scrambled off the counter as Matthew pulled you into a hug, your shoulders dropping as you let him hold you, “Thank god you’re here.”

“Missed my favorite girl,” Matthew murmured into your hair as he held you close, one hand coming down to cradle your baby bump. “How’s little man doing?”

“She’s doing fine,” you grinned as you watched Riley run toward her father. She wrapped her arms around his legs and Matthew broke away from you to lift Riley up. “You happy daddy’s home?”

Riley nodded as she looked up at Matthew, “Mimi is coming over!”

“Mimi Chantal?” Matthew questioned as Riley nodded her head. “Why’s she coming?”

“Cause mommy’s having a baby, duh,” Riley said the statement with an air of certainty as she looked at you. “Right mama?”

Matthew looked at you in confusion but you simply smiled as you’d settled a hand onto your belly, “My water broke half an hour ago.”

“And you didn’t call?!”

“I checked your location and made sure you were headed home,” you stepped around Matthew and gestured to the hospital bags by the door. “I was ready, been ready for a few weeks now.”

“Holy fuck-“

“Bad word daddy!” Riley shrieked as she slapped a hand over Matthew’s mouth.

“Sorry baby girl,” Matthew sighed as he kissed Riley’s cheek, watched as you leaned against the wall and closed your eyes. “Babe?”

“I’m fine,” you breathed out, eyes snapping open. “I’ve been having contractions all day.”

“Babe!”

The front door burst open just then as Chantal walked in, Riley immediately wiggling out of Matthews arms to run to her grandma.

“Matthew Brendan I really hope you’re not yelling at the woman who’s about to have your baby,” you chuckled at Chantal’s remark before another contraction hit you. You took a deep breath but struggled to hold back your groan as pain surged up your back.

Before you could say anything Matthew was at your side, rubbing your back and holding you close, “Okay let’s get going before you have this baby in the car.”

You straightened up and gave Riley a kiss before following Matthew out the door, accepting his help as you stepped up into the passenger seat of your SUV.

“Looks like I came home right on time,” Matthew grinned as he leaned across the console to kiss you.

“Don’t you always?”

#matthew tkachuk #matthew tkachuk fic #matthew tkachuk imagine #hockey fic #hockey imagine #nhl fic #nhl imagine #nina writes

[goodnightoilcountry]

jo's nhl fic rec list !

hi - welcome to my attempt at being a fic writer again. i have a wip list in the works but first things first: my fic rec list of all the works i've found and adored.

if you don't know yet, you will know soon that i am such a sucker for angst. i hope you find something new to love from the list below !

i will aim to update this weekly with new additions have NEW tagged next to it. additionally, if any fics become archived / deleted i will also tag it as such.

* updated thursday 25 april 2024 *

weekly note: so, i've sadly had to remove summaries of each fic to make way for new fics. i'm going to think of a solution to work around this, but whatever i do, this will still remain the masterlist for my fic recs!

like my selection of fic recs? have a player who's not been featured? let me know and i'll go on a deep dive for you!

ANAHEIM DUCKS

better man (trevor zegras) by @starry-hughes

hard to forget (trevor zegras) by @hockey-fics

something about the sunshine (trevor zegras) by @huggybug word count: 3k

last night in anaheim (trevor zegras) by @itsjusthockey word count: 2.3k

CAROLINA CANES

do i really have to tell you (brady skjei) by @senditcolton

this is how it ends (sebastian aho) by @silverstonesainz-archive

i could love you with my eyes closed (sebastian aho) by @matthewtkachuk

finish line (sebastian aho) by @silverstonesainz-archive

lover boy (seth jarvis) by @sydnikov

being bold (seth jarvis) by @sydnikov

9PM in Vancouver (andrei svechnikov) by @thewintersoldierdisaster

in five (andrei svechnikov) by @sydnikov

NEW - sunkissed: pt 1, pt 2 & pt 3 (andrei svechnikov) by @sydnikov

NEW - all the pretty girls (pyotr kotchetkov) by @unluckyhoneybee

COLORADO AVS

summers back home (nathan mackinnon) by @happer08

crushes with beefcake (nathan mackinnon) by @ohmyeyesmyeyes

i didn't have it in myself to go with grace (nathan mackinnon) by @mattyanonwrites

monday morning (nathan mackinnon) by @matthewtkachuk

colorado (for the first time) (nathan mackinnon) by @withwritersblock

FLORIDA PANTHERS

subtle (matthew tkachuk) by @hockey-hoe-24-7 word count: 3.1k

you say you hate me (matthew tkachuk) by @pucksnsticksnhockeyboys

all for you (4 times you tried to tell Brady you loved him, and one time matty did it for you): pt 1, pt 2, pt 3, pt 4 & pt 5 (matthew tkachuk) by @comphersjost

4 times you fake a relationship + 1 time you didn't (matthew tkachuk) by @hockeywhy

4 times you didn;t find the one + 1 time you did (matthew tkachuk) by @hockeywhy

homecoming (matthew tkachuk) by @doc-pickles

NEW JERSEY DEVS

gin, tonic, and tequila shots (jack hughes) by @hockey-fics

stay the night (jack hughes) by @eyesthatroll

everybody wants you, but i don't like a gold rush (jack hughes) by @sunkissed-zegras

invisible string (luke hughes) by @hugshughes

tidal wave (luke hughes) by @babydollmarauders

drops of jupiter: pt 1 & pt 2 (jack hughes) by @youunravelme

breakable heaven series: pt 1, pt 2, pt 3, pt 4 & pt 5 (jack hughes) by @chewingcyanide

hey, i can be your boyfriend (nico hischier) by @theemporium

second best (jack hughes) by @chewingcyanideA

my heart's racing, and it isn't the exercise (luke hughes) by @sunnyskiesscareme

head start (jack hughes) by @youunravelme

first rule of fight club (jack hughes) by @thatintrovertedwriter

valentines (nico hischier) by @hischierdevils

reaching out (jack hughes) by @bedsyandco

clumsy (jack hughes) by @babydollmarauders

a walk down memory lane (jack hughes) by @letsgetrowdy43

lover of mine (nico hischier) by @ohmyeyesmyeyes

you're not the one (nico hischier) by @ladylooch

moth to a flame (jack hughes & trevor zegras) by @itsjusthockey

when the party's finally over: pt 1 & pt2 (jack hughes) by @itsjusthockey

NEW - off limits: pt 1 & pt 2 (nico hischier) by @hischierhoney

NEW YORK ISLANDERS

five times everyone knew mat loved you & the one time mat realized himself (mathew barzal) by @idontgiveaflyinggrayson69

bad luck charm (mathew barzal) by @matwith1t

show you (mathew barzal) by @islesnucks

to all the girls you've loved before: pt 1, pt 2, pt 3, pt 4, pt 5, pt 6 (mathew barzal) by @youunravelme

the word wing-woman (mathew barzal) by @youunravelme

this is how you fall in love (mathew barzal) by @youunravelme

it's nice to have a friend (mathew barzal) by @youunravelme

we've come so far baby (mathew barzal) by @mendeshoney

TORONTO MAPLE LEAFS

cause i'm not ready (auston matthews) by @misshoneyimhome

3 times people asked you if you an auston were together + 1 time you finally are? (auston matthews) by @bedsyandco

we're parents? like actually parents? (auston matthews) by @austonwithan-o

moth to a flame (auston matthews ft mitch marner) by @marnerparty

VANCOUVER CANUCKS

lucky (quinn hughes) by @43-hugs

4 times everyone else caught on before the 1 time you and quinn finally did (quinn hughes) by @mrsensitive

5 times Quinn wanted to kiss you + 1 time he finally did (quinn hughes) by @bedsyandco

friend's don't (quinn highes) by @hischierdevils

third time's the charm (quinn hughes) by @thatintrovertedwriter

fearless (quinn hughes) by @theemporium

plus one (quinn hughes) by @bagopucks

growing up is (quinn hughes) by @adoristsposts

NEW - home (brock boeser) by @bedsyandco

NEW - nothing but love (quinn hughes) by @starry-hughes

NEW - can i be close to you? (quinn hughes) by @43-hugs

#nhl imagine #nhl fic rec #nhl fic #hockey imagine #trevor zegras fic #trevor zegras imagine #brady skjei fic #brady skjei imagine #sebastian aho fic #sebastian aho imagine #andrei svechnikov fic #andrei svechnikov imagine #seth jarvis fic #seth jarvis imagine #nathan mackinnon fic #nathan mackinnon imagine #matthew tkachuk fic #matthew tkachuk imagine #luke hughes fic #luke hughes imagine #jack hughes fic #jack hughes imagine #nico hischier fic #nico hischier imagine #mat barzal fic #mat barzal imagine #auston matthews fic #auston matthews imagine #quinn hughes fic #quinn hughes imagine

[avawritesthings]

shameless | mt19

✦ word count - around 1.2k

✦ summary - in which matthew fucks reader in a club bathroom.

✦ warnings - smut, dirty talk, mentions of drinking

✦ ava’s notes - ended up writing this at 2am with minimal editing, hope you guys enjoy!

a/n pt2: thank you so much for over 500 notes on my jack hughes fic!!! didn't expect so much support <3

nhl masterlist

Say it louder, say it louder Who's gonna touch you like me, like me?

The loud, ground-shaking music was all you could hear. Shouts, singing, glasses clinking, sports matches on the TVs, you name it. You shouted over the noise your order to the bartender, and he simply nodded. You braced yourself against the bartop, and scanned the crowd for your boyfriend.

Almost immediately, you spotted Matthew, with a girl seemingly hanging off of his every word. You rolled your eyes before turning back around and the bartender had just set your drink down. With a grateful nod, you grasp the drink in your slightly sweaty hand and take a swig, thankful for the burn. 

Yet again, you locked eyes with Matthew’s frame and gulped down the rest of your drink, setting the empty glass on the bar and moving through the throng of sweaty people dancing.

“Hey!” You had to shout over the booming music, and Matthew thankfully heard you instantly. He sighed in relief, wanting to get rid (nicely, of course…) of the stranger close to him.

“Hey, baby,” He shouted back, walking up to you and slinging an arm over your shoulder.

“Who’s this?” You asked, as innocently as you could. Through your peripheral, you could see the dirty look she gave you.

“Olivia,” She answered, and you rolled your eyes yet again. “Who are you?”

“His girlfriend, now get lost.”

The stra- Olivia hurriedly scurried away, seemingly embarrassed from being caught flirting with another girl’s boyfriend.

“You coulda just left her and came to me at the bar, y’know. No need to entertain a desperate girl,” You comment, trying your best not to sound jealous.

‘Jus’ didn’t wanna be rude,” Matthew muttered. ��Wait- Are you jealous?” He remarked incredulously. “There’s nothing to be jealous of, sweetheart.”

You pursed your lips and straighten your back, not willing to admit that you are, in fact, jealous. “No! I mean- why would I? I have the hottest boyfriend ever, and I totally don’t see every girl that stops and stares at you. That would be crazy!” You exclaimed, and you immediately saw the smirk form on his face.

Matthew chuckles, and grasps your waist in his hands carefully. “Ooh, so you admit you want me all for yourself?” He says with a wicked smile, his dark blue eyes full of mischief.

You nod slowly, nervously running your fingers through your hair, wondering if it was even possible to deny what he had said. 

“Let me show you that you’re the only one I want, yeah?”

You wordlessly nod, and he quickly leads you out of the packed bar to the bathroom stalls, checking for an empty one. After finding one, he ushers you and follows you in, shutting the door behind you and locking it shut. 

In a flash, Matthew’s lips meet yours with fervor and his leg slotted between yours, keeping them parted. 

As he deepens the kiss, your arms reach around his neck and run down his back, gripping his shirt and pulling him closer to you. Your hips involuntarily rock against his thigh as your eyes rolled to the back of your head. 

You whimper when he finally releases you from his lips and breaks contact. A trail of small, feathery kisses travel down your neck until they stop right below your earlobe. His soft lips trail and nibble against your ear before brushing lightly across your jawline. “You taste so good…” He whispered huskily into your ear.

He finally breaks contact with you and opens his eyes, grinning devilishly at you as his tongue flicks across his bottom lip. “Want me to fuck you, pretty girl?”

You nod feverishly. Lifting up your dress, Matthew hitches it to your hips and immediately drops to his knees. He lifts your leg and sets it on his shoulder. Without hesitation, he slides your panties to the side and enters a finger. His tongue soon joined his finger, and you couldn’t help the moans and whines that left your mouth. Your skin prickles, and you feel a heat pool in your lower back,feeling goosebumps overcome your sensitive skin.

“Doin s’good for me, sweetheart.”

“Don’t stop,’ You begged, and when he added a second finger, you could feel yourself reach climax. You came with a muffled moan, and Matthew lapped up every drop of your sweet release. 

Matthew rose from his knees with a sinful smirk. His next words had you following commands quickly: “Bend over the sink f’me, ‘kay?”

Once bent over, you looked through the mirror held above the sink and saw him undoing his belt and shoving his jeans down his legs. He massaged your ass, and you preened under his touch. 

Matthew gathered your hair into a makeshift ponytail, and with his other hand, he lined his hard length up with your wet entrance. Upon seeing your disheveled state through the reflective glass, he buried himself to the hilt. You covered your mouth with your hand to muffle the loud moan threatening to escape your mouth. 

He pounded into you roughly as he watched your ass bounce against his hips with every thrust. “So fuckin’ tight,” Matthew groans out. “Like this sweet pussy was made for me.”

“Yes, yes, all yours, Matty,” You whimpered out. Your eyes met his through the mirror and he swore he almost came at the sight of your teary eyes and gaping, pouty mouth.

Matthew’s fingers hastily find your clit, and he heatedly rubs the sensitive nub. Your walls flutter around his cock and he groans out. “Shit, baby,” He groans out. “You’re so perfect. If you keep squeezing my cock like this, I won’t last much longer.”

“Cum in me, Matty. Please.”

With those words, his hips stuttered before emptying himself inside of you with a moan. His hand that was holding your hair was suddenly gone. Moments after, your muscles tighten and your orgasm hits you like a tidal wave. Your cunt milks every last drop of his cum, and you swear you see stars when you shut your eyes.

Matthew slaps your ass and he slowly pulls out of your wet pussy, watching as your body goes through the aftershocks. He can’t help but gather your mixed climaxes and thrust two fingers into your dripping cunt. You gasp out a moan, your hands curled over the ridges of the sink.

“Fuck,” You groan out, and he chuckles out in agreement. 

Matthew grabs your underwear off of the floor and helps you into them. You giggle slightly and he sends a questioning glance to you. “I can’t believe we just had sex in a bar bathroom.” 

He shrugs in response, not stopping the smirk that finds itself on his lips. He grasps his jeans off of the floor, zipping them up before buttoning them. Once your dress is lowered to a more appropriate length and you fix your hair and makeup, he holds out his hand before leading you out of the bathroom. Some wandering and curious eyes land on you and Matthew, but he pays them no mind, opting to send you a wink. You feel your cheeks flush and before you know it, he’s ushering you into an Uber and resting a hand on your thigh.

“Round 2 at home?”

#matthew tkachuk #florida panthers #hockey #matthew tkachuk x reader #x reader #fic #nhl x reader #nhl imagine #nhl smut #matthew tkachuk imagine #hockey smut #nhl hockey #nhl #smut

[midnightsnyx]

Matthew Tkachuk - All I Need

pairing: matthew tkachuk x reader requested: yes / no a/n: i haven't written a long one-shot in awhile but i really like this one! requests are open. word count: 1k

tw: bullying

masterlist ask box

You didn’t usually let it bother you; the whispers, staring, and anything else the other girls did. It wasn’t as bad when Taryn was at a game but those were far and few between lately so you had to endure it by yourself. It was different today though. Maybe it was because you had a fight with Matt before the game and let yourself dive into his comment sections on Instagram on any photos of the two of you. There were always nice ones, but the nasty ones were nasty. You know Matt spends hours reporting accounts and blocking them despite you telling him not to bother. People would find a way to criticize your relationship regardless of how many accounts he blocked. 

It was how your argument that morning started. He was eating breakfast while you fed the cat, scrolling through Instagram and frowning. You knew right away what he was upset about and walked to where he was sitting and put a hand on his arm so he would look at you.

“They don’t bother me,” you lied but he shook his head and mumbled something along the lines of "well it should”, so you dropped your hand and walked away. You went to sit down in the living room to watch something and heard him cleaning his plate a few minutes later before he joined you on the couch. He was quiet but didn’t have his phone anymore so you thought that he was done with it. 

“I could delete my Instagram,” he said suddenly, as if that was the solution to stopping the criticism. 

“That’s ridiculous,” you said. “Wiping yourself from social media doesn’t stop the mean girls. They’re at games too.” 

The minute you said it, you winced. You had been pretty good at not letting him know that the bullying was not strictly online. Taryn was nagging you to tell Matt exactly what was happening at games, but you didn’t want him worrying about it. You could ignore the things the girls said and just focus on the game.

Most times.

“What are you talking about? People are saying things to you at games too?”

You shrugged, ignoring his attempts at getting you to look at him.

“Girls like you, okay? They don’t think I’m good enough for you so they make comments.” You hesitated, but told him the same lie you always did. “It doesn’t bother me.”

“I’ll talk to them,” he said and you groaned in frustration.

“Yeah, like a parent confronting their child’s bully. I’ll pass, thanks.”

He argued with you for twenty minutes, saying that it would make things better if he confronted the other girls in the family seating area. It would just make it worse though, you knew it would. So in a moment of frustration, you told him if he talked to them, you wouldn’t go to anymore games. 

It was a lie, and you both knew it but the two of you were so annoyed with each other by that point, that he left for the rink early. He still had at least an hour before he should’ve left and it put you in a sour mood. Enough that you considered not going to the game that night, but in the end you pulled on your Tkachuk jersey and made your way to the arena. 

That brought you to this moment, listening to one of the girls purposely talking loudly about a bet they had placed on how much longer Matt would put up with you, despite the fact that the two of you had been dating for two years. You’d heard whispers about why he hadn't proposed yet multiple times, but you were able to ignore that because you and Matt had a serious talk about marriage and the fact that you wanted to wait a bit longer. 

“He can do so much better,” one of them said and you bite your tongue, knowing that saying something will just feed into their fantasy. You’re not sure exactly what it is, besides their wishes for you and Matt to break up. 

“Yeah, I mean just look at her.” 

It takes everything in you not to turn around and say something to them but the game ends so you get up and leave. You’re not sure if Matt knows that you came to the game because you hadn’t texted him so you go down to meet him near the locker doors. The security guy nods when you flash your ID but you come down here so often that he knows you. 

The Panthers lost, so you know Matt will be in a crooked mood but you still want to see him. While you’re waiting, the guys slowly trickle out of the locker room, nodding at you. 

Finally, Matt walks out and stops short when he sees you. He wasn’t expecting you to come to the game tonight at least because of your fight so you give him your best attempt at a smile. 

There’s a ten second pause before he walks over and wraps his arms around you and holds you gently. You’re pretty sure you stand there for at least five minutes before you pull away.

“I love you,” you tell him. “I love that you’d delete all your social medias, that you’d give the mean girls a lecture, and that you spend hours blocking and reporting accounts that say mean things about me.” You kiss him, smiling when he chases after you when you pull away. “But I promise, if it ever gets too much, I’ll tell you. I’m working on ignoring what everyone says, but in the meantime, all I need is you.” 

He runs his thumb across your bottom lip and nods. “Okay.”

He pulls you into another hug and you let your head rest on his chest, listening to his steady heartbeat. 

“Also, I was totally considering slapping one of them silly tonight,” you say and you can’t see his face, but you know he’s grinning.

#hockey imagines #allies writing #nhl fanfiction #hockey fanfiction #nhl imagines #hockey imagine #matthew tkachuk imagine #matthew tkachuk fic #matthew tkachuk x reader #matthew tkachuk x y/n

[harlowhockeystick]

falling asleep on the couch waiting for matthew to come home after his game on valentine’s day (not sad) <3

february prompts | matthew tkachuk x reader

the door slamming shut is what woke you out of your light sleep. the lull of the monotoned hockey commentators voices is what put you to sleep after watching matthew's game. like always you tried your best to stay awake when he walked through the door, but also like always you fell asleep. you were confident that one of these days you would actually stay up long enough to greet him when he walks through the door, but you're not sure when that day will be.

"sorry baby, didn't mean to slam the door like that." he leans over the back of the couch to give you a kiss, but with his weight going forward he ends up falling over the couch on top of you. with a cough you try and help him not roll over onto the floor, pulling his arms so that he is completely laying on top of you now. "didn't mean to fall on you either."

he kisses your cheek, but since he's here he might as well lay his head on your chest, and tuck his arms underneath you too. "you did good tonight, looked like you felt better too."

out of pure habit your hand found it's way to his curly hair as if it had a mind of it's own. twirling your fingers in it and making it even more curly, more tangly. "horrible reffing though," you added to your sentence.

"thank you, oh my god if i could i woulda shoved em in the boards," matthew sighed, grabbing the remote off the coffee table in front of him and finding a movie on hulu to watch.

"well you can, but you won't be playing hockey for a while if you do." he laughs and gets up to grab a blanket, wrapping it around him like a child before getting back with you on the couch.

"yeah but," he gets in a more comfortable position for the both of you with a couple grunts, "i'd get to spend more time with you." he kisses your neck while closing his eyes.

"matthew are you about to fall asleep on me?" you asked, combing your fingers through his hair while he sighs in content, a faint smile on his lips. he hums and shakes his head, wrapping one of his arms around you tighter.

"yes, i am. happy valentines day, by the way." you kiss the top of his head and shift your body once more before closing your eyes.

"happy valentines day matty."

#j's writing #matthew tkachuk #matthew tkachuk imagine #matthew tkachuk x reader #matthew tkachuk blurb #nhl imagine #nhl x reader #nhl blurb #hockey imagine

[holy-puckslibrary]

━ 𝐚𝐥𝐥-𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐫𝐨𝐝𝐞𝐨 𝐫𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐬.

main masterlist

pairing(s) — bull-rider!MATTHEW TKACHUK x barrel racer!hughes!reader (can be read as an unnamed oc) wc — 1.8k synopsis — wear the hat, ride the cowboy—even if it might get you disowned.

note — there's one line referring to the reader as jack's twin, but no physical description is given. also, this one-shot is a "party favor" from our feb slumber party

specific content warnings under the cut.

cw — quinn being a dramatic, misogynistic douche-canoe 3000 for the entirety (ratty matty has his moments, too), no actual smut but it's heavily implied they do the dirty on the reg, a disgustingly intimate situationship — ick, off-color comment(s) relating to first times and the concept of virginity, lots and lots of familial angst (jack is a snake), oh! and more than a few loose ends... but you know the drill by now, i'm incapable of keeping a story contained

“Go on, Palomino Princess. Ride me like one of your ponies.” 

Condescension drips from the lazy taunt. Matthew earns a palm to the chest for it; her ire lands with a faint thud, but he doesn’t mind. He gets off on riling her up, and after two years of backseat meetings and hushed phone calls, he’s damn good at it too. That, and she might be the most reactive person he’s ever met—and that’s saying something. 

Matthew’s been going head-to-head with all three of her brothers for over a decade, and he’s known their family for even longer. Having a short fuse must be genetic.    

“Y’won’t break me if that’s the hold-up. S’gonna take a hell of a lot more than a dry humpin’ buckle bunny to put me outta commission, sweetheart.” 

He knows damn well she ain’t anywhere close to the derogatory term, but he likes what the complete disregard for her accomplishments does to her deceptively cherubic face. 

It may look less harrowing than every other event on the card, but barrel racing ain’t for the faint-hearted. The event is a death wish personified, and it feels about as good as someone taking a metal pipe to both shins. It takes balls—metaphorically, in her case—to charge into an arena on an American Quarter horse with the intention of guiding it through a cloverleaf pattern around three barrels while sprinting at top speed, but it takes dedication and skill to succeed the way she has. The winner is determined by just thousandths of a second. 

The woman perched on his tailgate is unmatched—undefeated.  

Flames of pride lap at his loins, the fire of desire stoked by the wicked roll of her hips. 

“Ohh—shit!” Matthew hisses, his head lolling back as his hips buck into her heat. 

She smirks, apparently vindictive as ever. “How’s that, cowboy? Everything you dreamed?” 

“And more,” he growls as he grabs a fistful of her backside. 

His grip is tighter than it needs to be as he switches positions. Not nearly as rough as she would prefer it; beggars can’t be choosers.  

Matthew steps between her knees, and, despite herself, she shivers with anticipation. Chuckling, amusement twinkles in his baby blues. “Now give me a kiss, sweetheart. My lips are feelin’ a little lonely tonight, and you happen to be wearin’ my hat, Little Miss.” 

He flicks the brim of his hat. She catches it before it hits the ground before plopping it back on the rightful owner, the damage already done.  

“You just love that antiquated rule,” she shakes her head while most definitely laughing at his expense. “Y’wouldn’t see any action without it, now would you?” 

Matthew grins. Trading insults is his favorite form of foreplay. “Neither would you. Isn’t that your signature move, outlaw?”

“I should kick you to the back of the line with that attitude. Hell, I’d probably be better off keeping you at a distance anyway.” 

“Keep mouthin’ off and see how far it gets ya. Definitely nowhere near that McMansion castle you call home, that’s for sure.” 

“Oh, don’t you worry ‘bout me, sugar. I’ve got plenty of options if I need a ride home.” 

“I’ll bet, show pony. Sexiest can chaser east of the Mississippi; who wouldn’t be chomping at the bit to carry Cinderella home to her Daddy?” 

Men have a habit of gawking at her; Matthew has a habit of relieving them of their teeth. 

He leans in to taunt her ear with greedy lips and barbed arrogance. “Best of luck finding one that’ll fuck you better than me.”     

“Do you think about other guys fucking me often?” she fires without missing a beat.

More than he would like, actually.

With a heavy, drawn-out sigh, he runs a hand over his face. His patience is running thin, and his jeans are starting to chafe. Exasperated, he tries coaxing her to reason, “Sweetheart, c’mon. We both know you want this—want me. Stop makin’ this so damn hard.” 

“Why? Because you already are?” 

Matthew makes an exaggerated show of play-biting her scrunched-up nose. 

“Woman, you drive me insane.”

“It’s why you’re so obses—“ 

Her teasing is thwarted by the sound of her own name. Spat out of her older brother’s mouth like a heirloom gone sour, it's no great surprise Quinn looks at her like he can’t recognize her. Like a stranger—like a traitor. 

Guilt, thin and fleeting, pieces the tenderness between her ribs. 

She squirms, attempting to put some distance between them as if that could erase the discovery—and her culpability—from his mind. Matthew and his shit-eating grin keep her from getting too far but don’t be fooled. This is no chivalrous encouragement to stand her ground. It’s got nothing to do with her and everything to do with her brother. 

Quinn rages outside the hauler housing Matthew’s precious 3500 Laramie. Walking by, seeing the main trailer hitched Brady’s F-350 made his stomach churn. It didn’t sit right, and now he knew why. 

“You can’t be serious! Nuh-uh, no—no fucking way. Get out here before I drag you out myself.”  

At his tone, what little remorse she felt dissipates. They were both far too old for his tired, overbearing song-and-dance. 

“Who died and made you king?” 

Quinn, blinded by overripe anger, sweeps over the irritation, twisting her tongue and the disbelief arching her brow. “I thought I made myself clear last time. Don’t make me repeat myself.” 

“Oh, crystal, Quinny.” Matthew snorts at the juvenile nickname but is swiftly cajoled into silence with a pinch to the side. “Message received.” 

“Then quit screwin’ around and get your ass back to the truck before Dad blows a gasket. He’s been lookin’ all over for you. So, you best be thanking your lucky stars I got here first. That its me catchin’ you red-handed colluding with the enemy.” 

He’s so serious, nearly shaking with rage, it’s difficult not to laugh. She can count on one hand the instances wherein her brother became visibly angry—all of them involving the man standing between her dangling feet. She fares better than him, but that’s to be expected. Unlike her accomplice, for her, there’s real risk involved. 

“Just ‘cause I heard you don’t mean I have to listen.” 

Lips pressed to her temple, Matthew clicks his tongue in approval. ‘Bout damn time she started giving back what Quinn so readily dishes out. 

“Look, y’can spread your legs for anyone with big dreams and a buckle some other night. Parade around the circuit acting like a slut, see if I give a shit. But not tonight. And not with him.” 

The knowing glint in Quinn’s blackened eyes is telling, but it isn’t as menacing as he thinks it is. The Hughes heir apparent couldn’t be judge, jury, and executioner. He doesn’t have a lick of proof. Just suspicion and a personal vendetta the size of Texas. 

A safety net swaying below, Matthew decides to have a little fun. “Whoa, settle down, Trust Fund. Y’can’t talk to a lady like that, ‘specially not your sister.” 

He’s no white knight, but he can pretend. 

And isn’t that what you’re all doing? Pretending to be people you aren’t. Acting out your roles, putting on a show. After all, a performance will always be more entertaining than the truth. 

“—and here I thought etiquette classes were a Rodeo Royalty rite of passage. Glad t’know she ain’t the only roughneck hellion in your family tree, Huggy.” 

Quinn’s jaw tightens. His tongue threatens to put a hole through his cheek. Hands on his hips, the eldest sibling only nods. He ignores Matthew entirely. 

“Real winner y’got there. A class act. You really know how to pick ‘em—cream of the goddamn crop. Say, what’re you gonna do when he inevitably gets bored of you? When he gets his hands on a fresh doe-eyed virgin to tarnish?” 

After she finishes with Matthew, she’s kicking Jack’s sorry ass. 

Those anxieties—and that majorly personal tidbit of information—were shared in confidence. Because unlike her older brother, she trusted her twin. Well, she used to, at least. Luke’ll be over the moon at the chance to be her favorite. 

She bares her teeth like a scorned lapdog. “We’re not kids anymore, Q. You can’t push me around whenever you want or tell me what to do like you’re my father. And you sure as shit can’t bully me into submission, either. Give it up, or get lost.” 

“Whatever,” Quinn barks as he backs away from the trailer. “Your fuckin’ funeral.” 

Listening to the fading sound of her brother’s Ariats pounding through the dirt, she buries her face in the warm, familiar crook of Matthew’s neck; she needs a moment alone. He seems to understand this, his mouth zipped shut as he runs calloused hands up and down her sides. She’s breathing heavily, but he does her the simple mercy of leaving it be. 

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d think I was growing on you,” Matthew hums, a low-maintenance attempt to lighten the mood. 

They don’t do the touchy-feely BS. It’s one of the things that reeled him in—and kept him coming back. 

“But you do.” She pulls away to look up at him, chin resting on his sternum. He hates that her melancholic eyes are red-rimmed. “—and stop thinking, it doesn’t suit you.” 

“And what does, princess? I’m dyin’ for your insight.” 

“Shut the door and I’ll show you.” 

He blinks, taken aback. Who is this brazen tart, and when did she take your place? Matthew wonders to himself. Maybe he is the bad influence everyone paints him as… He hasn’t really thought about it until now, and it's troubling the way it makes his chest tighten. 

Matthew clears his throat—and, from his mind, the distressing notion that he’s ruined someone good with his carelessness—as he leans over. 

“Yes, ma’am.” 

He pulls the hauler’s heavy metal door shut with clamorous finality.  

Matthew Tkachuk might be the most self-serving swindler on dirt, but Quinn Hughes is just another name on his list. A box to tick and then forget. He wouldn’t lose sleep, it wasn’t like their friendship meant a damn thing. Not anymore. A friend turned foe, reduced to another obstacle in his way, a hurdle to jump. 

Tonight, his sister’s fealty; tomorrow, his title.

Retribution is at his fingertips, so close he can taste it. Yet, it would seem that Matthew merely traded one hornet’s nest for another. 

At least this one’s easy on the eyes. 

⤑ to my inbox💌

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#feb 24 #slumber party favors #powerful prose #exhibition games #matthew tkachuk x reader #matthew tkachuk x you #matthew tkachuk x y/n #matthew tkachuk fic #matthew tkachuk imagine #matthew tkachuk smut #matthew tkachuk fanfic #matthew tkachuk x f!reader #m. tkachuk #rodeo au #western au #cowboy au #hockey rpf #nhl rpf #nhl fanfiction #nhl fic #hockey romance #nhl imagines #hockey fic #nhl smut #hockey smut #*ೃ༄ by holy-pucks

[sweettomyhoney]

personally i would love to read a fic where y/n catches an assault charge for fighting a reporter who said something outta line about her man lmao

𝕂𝕟𝕠𝕔𝕜𝕠𝕦𝕥- 𝕄𝕒𝕥𝕥𝕙𝕖𝕨.𝕋𝕜

𝙿𝚘𝚟: 𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚏𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚊 𝚛𝚞𝚍𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚙𝚘𝚛𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚍𝚞𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚟𝚒𝚎𝚠 𝚊𝚏𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚢 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚗𝚎𝚐𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚟𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚜 𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝙼𝚊𝚝𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚠.

𝙰𝙽: 𝙸 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚔 𝙼𝚛. 𝚃𝚔𝚊𝚌𝚑𝚞𝚔 𝚒𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚖𝚊𝚗 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜.

Prof read is a no/ this is a long one

———————————————————

Matthew knew what type of woman he had on his hands from the day one. You were sweet, kindhearted and loving. You were the girl of his dreams and his family absolutely adored you. After all, you did have a temper that only a Tkachuk could love. You were a perfect match for Matthew.

On the other hand, you were a force to be reckoned with. If someone even dared to test your gangster you would give them exactly what they dished out. You were a very protective person, especially when it came to Matthew, or the people that you loved. You were not afraid to get your hands dirty if need be. And today was not the day for someone to want to get on your bad side.

Moving from Calgary to Florida was a huge transition for you and Matthew. But, the both of you knew as long as you had each other everything would be fine. Sadly, ever since you’ve gotten settled in the state it seems like the chaos had not stopped. From unpack, adjusting schedules, getting settled at work, time difference, dealing with new people, and Matthew traveling, it was overwhelming. Now, your main concern was making it through family media day.

Today was the first family day for Matthew with his new team. Since you are now Matthew‘s wife, that ment your day would be filled with nonstop interviews from different local media outlets.For the most part things went smooth, until your last interview with a reporter from a hockey podcast you were not familiar with.

You made your way to your designated interview room hoping to be joined by your husband. As you took your seat ,you were informed it was a solo interview due to Matthew needing to meet with the NHL Network. Then a older blonde women entered the room.

•“Mrs. Tkachuk! it is so nice to meet you.” She said with a smile.

• “Hello it’s nice to meet you too” You reply happily.

• “You are even more beautiful in person.” She said now shaking your hand.

•“I’m Carla. Media Manager for the Panthers and I wanted to introduce you to your interviewer today.” She continued.

Before you could even get a word in, a much younger brunette entered the room.

•“You’re the new WAG I need to interview right?” The brunette said coldly.

•“Yeah that is me, and my name is (y\n) btw.” You replied confused.

•“Not important we are here about Matthew anyway.” She replied with an eye roll

•“Matthew will not be joining us for this interview.” Carla introjected.

• “Great! Another interview with an air head.” The brunette muttered under her breath.

• “Excuse me?” You replied taken back.

• “ Well! I will leave y’all to it!” Carla said quickly before leaving the room.

• “This is going to be fun!” You said to yourself sarcastically.

You then made your way over to your designated seat. The camera crew made sure that your mic was on,and that the lighting was working for you. Once everything was good the interview started.

•“ 3.2.1… Action! ” The camera man counted down.

• “ Welcome back to the Hockey Babes Podcast! I am Brianna! Today I am joined with the new Mrs. Matthew Tkachuk!” The brown haired reporter said enthusiastically.

• “Oh so you have a name? Brianna is it?” You said with a smile.

• “Yes! That is me.” She replied with a hair flip.

• “But anyway! Let’s get into the questions shall we?” Briana said sharply.

• “ We shall.” You replied trying to play nice.

• “So (y/n) what is it like marrying into the most hated NHL family?” Brianna said with a smile.

•“ Excuse me? Hate is a strong word don’t you think?” You replied taken back.

• “ Well it’s not like you married into a truly classy family like the Nylander’s. The Tkachuk’s do have a reputation for being white trash.” She said with a laugh.

“Is this bitch for real?” You thought to yourself. What type of interviewer asks a question like that. You were trying so hard to keep your patience. Luckily, It was the last interview of the day. All you needed to do was get through this last thing, then you were back with your loving husband. You continued to answer the question as calmly as possible.

• “ I do understand that my husbands family has a reputation for playing rough. But, white trash is the last thing that they are. Also, if you were good at your job you would know what WE Tkachuk’s are pretty close to the Nylander’s . My husband was drafted the same year as Alex. Also, his former team mate Auston Matthews now plays on the same line and team as William. So, I am pretty sure if we weren’t classy we wouldn’t be as close as we are.” You said confidently.

•“ You keep telling yourself that.” She replied laughing it off

• “So how did you and Matthew meet exactly?” Brianna continued with a snarky grin.

• “It was after he was drafted. I work with nonprofit organizations with the goal to make sports accessible to everyone. I have worked with Nike, Adidas, Reebok, and Dicks Sporting Goods. I met Matthew when the Calgary Flames volunteered to work with at risk kids. I have been in love with him ever since.” You replied reminiscing on the very moment you knew Matt was the one. 

•“ How cute! Got to make up for the lack of talent he has somehow. Glad to see you have a working brain as well!” she said light heartedly.

•“ What do you mean by that?” You replied getting angrier by the second.

•“ I mean you are with the less successful brother. Brady is the youngest captain in the NHL. And tell me what exactly Matthew has accomplished?” She remarked doubling down on her rude comments.

“ You know what? I think this interview is over!” You said angrily as you stood to take off your mic.

“Aww…Did I make the Air Head mad?” Brianna said antagonizing you.

Before you could think, you lunged at her your fist connecting with her face. You grabbed her hair and pulled her out of her seat. You were full on twirling on this hoe.

• “YOU WANNA TALK SHIT LIKE A BITCH THEN IMMA DOG WALK YOU LIKE ONE!” you said dragging her across the floor.

• “ RIGHT BITCH! WRONG IDEA! DON’T EVER TRY TO BAD MOUTH MY FAMILY HOE!” You screamed as security and Matthew proceed to try a pull you two apart.

•“ Y/N IT’S OKAY! IT IS OKAY! YOU GOT HER! IT’S OKAY” you heard Matthew yell as he held you back from going at her again.

As Security dealt with Brianna, Matthew walked you to the medical room. You took a seat on the patient table. Matthew tried to calm you down as best as he could. You had a few scratches, so Matthew decided to find some things to clean you up. When you were calm enough, Matthew asked you what exactly happened.

•“ Baby what happened? Are you okay?” Matthew asked you wrapping his arms around you.

•“ NO! I am not okay! I just spent the last 45 minutes listening to my family be bad mouthed by a random podcast bitch.” You said brokenhearted.

• “ WHAT!” Matthew replied now upset at what he was hearing.

• “ YES! That bitch was talking about how the Tkachuk’s are white trash. How you are not successful cause you’re not a captain yet! And a bunch of other shit about my intelligence!” You told Matthew getting upset again.

• “ That is fucked up! I’ll take care of whatever bullshit comes next okay?You don’t have to worry about that. But,I want to make sure you are okay?” Matthew said concerned.

• “Well I just whooped her ass, so I guess I’m good” you said brushing your tears away.

• “ You did get her pretty good babe. Maybe you are a Tkachuk after all. I should take a few fights lessons from you. ” Matthew said cracking a grin.

• “ Matthew shut up!” You replied rolling your eyes.

• “ What? All I’m saying is that my father would definitely be proud of you.” Matthew replied causing you to crack a little smile.

• “ You think?” You asked looking at him with a raised eyebrow.

• “ I know for sure my little hot head.” Matthew continued leaning into kiss your forehead.

• “ Now you lay back and rest I’m going to sort this all out. Then we will be on our way home.” Matthew added giving you another forehead kiss.

• “ You don’t think I’ll have to deal with the police right?” You questioned him before he left the room.

• “ No way! The most that will happen is needing to pay a fine. Also you know I have a Fight Fine Fund. Triple F for short .” Matthew reassured you with a slight laugh.

• “It is the NHL after all.” You said laying your head down on the padded table.

Matthew managed to sort some things out for you. The most you had to pay was a fine of 8,000 bucks. This was a standard financial investment for Matthew. The man had 100k stocked for fines he might rack up during the season. Brianna on the other hand, was prohibited to conduct any future interviews with the Panthers. In the end, never mess with a woman who is in love with a man like Matthew Tkachuk. You will end up with your ass beat.

PS: I HOPE THIS DOSE YOUR REQUEST JUSTICE 😘💪

#matthew tkachuk #matthew tkachuk smut #hockey #nhl #hockey tea #nhl imagines #black nhl imagines #nhl plus size imagines #florida panthers #Florida Panthers imagines #matthew tkachuk imagine #matthew tkachuk x reader #nhl wag #nhl imagine #nhl x reader #nhl players

[babydollmarauders]

SILENT NIGHT — MATTHEW TKACHUK

matthew tkachuk x fem!reader

12 DAYS OF KINKMAS

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“i thought i wasn’t-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“you? look at me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“turn around, angel.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“cum for me, princess.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“i was gone a week.” he chuckles.

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

#faithlynn’s 12 days of kinkmas #matthew tkachuk #matthew tkachuk x reader #matthew tkachuk imagine #matthew tkachuk fic #matthew tkachuk blurb #matthew tkachuk smut #fla panthers #nhl fic #nhl imagine #nhl smut #faithlynn’s writings <3

[haddonfieldwhore]

jealousy, jealousy - matthew tkachuk

matthew tkachuk x fem!reader

summary: it takes a bit of help from your friends for matthew to admit his feelings for you

warnings: language, drinking (don’t drive impaired!), implied smut, jealous matty (duh)

word count: 1.3k

“dude, we’re supposed to be celebrating, why do you look so grumpy?” carter asked matthew, who swirled the ice around in his drink as he stared across the bar. carter followed his gaze, his eyes landing on you and a tall guy with dark hair, the man obviously flirting with you as you stared up at him with a smile. “oh, i get it.”

“get what?” matthew snapped.

“you’re jealous that she’s talking to him and not you.”

“i am not jealous. but she’s supposed to be celebrating with us, not ditching us for some guy who’s staring at her like she’s a piece of meat.” matthew scowled, finishing his drink in one gulp and placing the empty glass down on the table with a thud. carter laughed, shaking his head slightly at his friend and leaned over to sam bennett.

“see, jealous,” he whispered, and matthew shot him a glare, but didn’t say anything as he got up and walked over the bar to get another drink.

“i don’t know what to tell you, he’s been in love with her for years. he just doesn’t realize it,” sam told him, taking a sip of his drink.

“she doesn’t realize it either,” nick laughed.

“maybe they just need a little push,” carter suggested.

“is that a good idea?” nick asked, unsure of what carter was planning.

“whatever he has in mind, probably not,” sam grumbled. “just don’t piss chucky off too much, okay? if we want this win streak to keep going we need you in one piece,” he joked, patting verhaeghe on the shoulder. he gave a nod in response, finishing his drink before looking over at you.

“perfect timing. wish me luck,” he said, watching as the guy who had been hitting on you walked away, leaving you all alone.

carter strolled over to you, and you greeted your friend with a smile, feeling slightly buzzed from the alcohol, but not quite drunk yet.

“hey.”

“hey,” he replied. “you wanna dance?”

“sure,” you laughed, dragging him into the sea of bodies on the dance floor. his hands rested on your hips as you danced around, having the time of your life. you were oblivious to the pair of blue eyes locked on you, while carter could feel them burning a whole in him.

“what’s he doing?” he asked sam as he sat back down at their table.

“i think they call it dancing,” he teased. “why do you care so much?”

“i don’t.”

“bullshit,” nick disagreed, and matthew rolled his eyes.

“if you want to dance with her, just ask her,” sam suggested. matthew sipped his drink in silence, his eyes watching the way carter was touching you, spinning you around until you were face to face.

he thought about the way that carter could probably smell your perfume, a mix of amber and sandalwood, and he bet he could even feel your breath on his lips. he bet he was thinking about kissing you, and the idea of it made him furious, his hand clutching his glass so tight he thought it might break.

“chucky -“

“what?” he snapped, looking at sam.

“you like her.”

“we’re friends-“

“bullshit.”

“so what if i did? she doesn’t feel the same.”

“how do you know?” nick asked.

“she’s never said anything,” matthew shrugged.

“neither have you,” sam pointed out, and matthew sighed. maybe he was right.

“it doesn’t matter. it looks like i’ve missed my shot,” matthew sipped his drink, watching you and carter dance; mostly watching you.

“i wouldn’t give up so easily if i were you,” sam replied, and matthew hoped he was right.

the guys watched with a smile as matthew got up and walked over to you and carter. he looked like he wanted to punch verhaeghe in the face, instead they watched as you greeted him with the biggest smile they had seen from you all night.

“mind if i take over for a bit?” matthew asked, and carter stepped back, patting him on the back as he walked by, heading back to the table.

“that was a risky move, swaggy,” sam laughed as he sat back down.

“yeah, i think he’ll forgive me though,” he smiled as they all looked over at you and matthew.

“so you seem to have found your groove again, goals in the last three games? nice work matty.”

“are you saying i sucked?” he asked with a smile, his hands on your waist as he held you close to him, your bodies almost flush against eachother as you looked up at him.

“i didn’t say that,” you laughed. “you were still better than most of the players in the league. now you’re just playing like your old self again.”

“yeah, it feels good,” he smiled, happy to be meeting people’s expectations again; not that he really cared what most of them thought. but he had to admit, hearing it from you made him feel pretty damn good.

“carter must be in a good mood, he never wants to dance,” you laughed, and matthew bit his tongue so he wouldn’t say something rude.

“yeah, the win streak has us all in pretty good spirits,” he said instead, inhaling the scent of your perfume and watching the way your necklace sparkled in the lights.

“you looked upset earlier,” you commented, thinking back to the look on his face when he was sat at the table. “is something bothering you?”

“no, it’s-“ he took a deep breath. “i was just….”

“what is it matty?” you asked, staring up at him with your beautiful eyes, a concerned look on your face as your hand reached up to play with the curls at the base of his neck.

“fuck it,” he mumbled, before leaning down at pressing his lips to yours. you were stunned at first, but quickly kissed back, tugging on his hair gently as he pulled you closer, your other hand resting on his chest.

“he actually did it,” nick laughed back at their table, and he clinked his glass against sam and carters as they laughed at their friend.

“took him long enough,” sam shook his head with a smile. “even back in calgary he had a thing for her.”

when you separated for air, you stared up at matthew, waiting for an explanation.

“i’ve wanted to do that for a really long time.”

“so what you were trying to say is that you were jealous?” you teased playfully, and he blushed lightly.

“i-“ he sighed. “yeah alright; i was.”

“why didn’t you say something sooner?”

“i didn’t know if you felt the same way,” he shrugged, his fingers playing with the hem of your top, and you leaned up to kiss him again.

“well, now that you know… are we gonna stand here all night or are you gonna take me home?” you asked, and he raised an eyebrow.

“you sure?” he asked, a gleam in his eyes as the corner of his mouth twitched upward.

“i mean, if you’d rather stay here with the guys we can-“

“fuck that, let’s go,” he smiled as he dragged you by your wrist gently but quickly towards the door. your table laughed as you guys walked by without a word, and carter was pleased that his plan had worked.

matthews hand didn’t leave your thigh the whole drive to his place as you sat in the passenger seat, pleading with him to not run every red light to get you home faster.

“relax,” you laughed, as he leaned over to kiss you while he tapped his fingers against your thigh impatiently, waiting for the light to go green. “we have two whole days before your next game.”

“good,” he smiled, kissing you one more time as the light changed, and the car rolled forward.

“cause you’re not going anywhere.”

disclaimer: all screenshots, events, and/or interactions depicted in this are a work of fiction. i have no association with any parties mentioned

#nhl #nhl fic #nhl imagine #nhl players #real person fiction #hockey #hockey fic #matthew tkachuk x reader #matthew tkachuk fic #matthew tkachuk imagine #matty tkachuk #tkachuk #florida #panthers #florida panthers fic

[starsandhughes]

Penalty Box— Cruel Weather (Part Three)

requests based off this ask: how the boys react to sissy being physically hurt

warnings: panic attacks, crying, swearing, mentions of injuries, mentions of dying, mentions to throwing up, coma, mentions of medication, lmk if i missed anything!

word count: ~4.5k

General Series Masterlist

part one — part two — part three — part four

a/n this chapter is mostly trevor centered

— — — — — — —

Trevor woke up in a leather recliner in the back corner of Y/N’s hospital room with an IV in his arm, presumably filled with sedatives to calm him down. The weight of the world fell off his shoulders when he heard the now comforting steady machine beep of his girlfriend’s heartbeat. He looked over and softly smiled when he saw that the breathing tube was out and replaced with a nasal canal.

He slowly got out of the recliner and dragged the IV pole with him to the chair next to Y/N’s bed. He bent down and softly kissed her forehead before sitting down and grabbing her hand.

“I never thought I’d be so happy to see you laying in a hospital bed,” Trevor whispered. “I’d like it better if I saw those pretty eyes of yours, sweet girl.”

Trevor sighed and felt his eyes watering. He missed Y/N. An unbearable amount. There was only a small period of time where they went without seeing each other. Or, talking, since he does go on extended roadies.

It was killing him.

Trevor didn’t get too long alone time before the rest of the worried mob rushed in. Quinn was ahead of everybody, but Jamie was a close second. Quinn joined Trevor on the side of Y/N’s bed, and Jamie positioned himself at the foot of her hospital bed with both hands on the rail. His head drooped down and tears began to fall.

“I thought I lost her,” Jamie spoke through tears.

Trevor got up immediately to comfort his friend. Quinn took his place in the seat next to Sissy, but not before noticing the IV bag following Trevor.

“Z?” he spoke up. Trevor turned to him and Quinn motioned towards his IV.

“Oh… I uh… apparently had such a severe panic attack and was fighting with the nurses that they had to sedate me instead of giving me an anxiety pill,” Trevor explained. “I’m glad they called you when I asked. Actually, that was all I was asking.”

Everyone had filed into the room by now, so Ellen went to find a nurse for Trevor to check him over one last time before removing the IV. Trevor was glad to be rid of it, but he wasn’t glad about the nasty bruise it left behind. It was tender, but it wasn’t anything he wasn’t used to.

“How are you guys?” Trevor asked the group.

“We made it through the night,” Alex said. That answered Trevor’s question perfectly: not well.

“Barely,” Quinn admitted. He spoke so low that Trevor barely caught it.

“I couldn’t hear anything after Quinn said that Y/N died. I guess it was an anxiety or panic attack… I don’t know. I’ve never really had one. All I know is that Jack had to stop me from running out of the house,” Jamie opened up.

“I threw up,” Quinn added to the sharing.

“I cried on the roof,” Cole said.

“I just… felt numb,” Luke said.

No one really wanted to open up, but it needed to be done. They were all in the same boat.

“At least she’s breathing better on her own,” Jack said in an attempt to shed some light on the situation. The monstrously fucked up situation. A nightmare.

The second official day of Y/N in a coma was proving to be worse than the first day. Especially since her heart stopped the night before. Every moment there was a fear that it would happen again, and that she wouldn’t pull through that time. Every beep on the machine was like a sigh of relief. It meant she was alive. It meant there was a chance that she would wake up.

After a while, Cole asked if he could have some time alone with Y/N. He and Alex were the only two that had not gotten a chance to speak to her in hopes that she could hear them. They were the only two that hadn’t gotten a chance to get everything out without everyone being around.

“I don’t know how everyone else did this,” Cole huffed out a fake laugh. “I guess it’s not too different from when we’re talking to you and you’re too distracted to listen to us.”

Cole sat on the edge of her bed and brushed her hair back, despite the fact that it was already tamed and perfectly in place.

“It was weird not watching a movie with you on facetime last night,” Cole continued. “Turc and I didn’t know what to do. Z offered to show us the list of movies you have planned for us to watch, but I said I wanted to keep the surprise. So you have to wake up before next week, okay? I know you wouldn’t want to get too far behind.”

Cole closed his eyes to keep himself from crying. He knew he should get serious. He knew that he needed to get everything out just in case something like last night happened again. He wished he didn’t have that fear. He wished he didn’t feel like he was holding his breath every second waiting for something to happen.

“My life changed when I met you. All of ours did, but I’m not here to talk about them, am I? I’ve known Jack for a while, but I didn’t meet you until we all went to NTDP, and I wish I met you sooner. You’re like… Wonder Woman. You’re compassionate, yet stubborn. And you will go to battle for the people you care about, which is honestly everyone you meet.

“I can’t think of another person less deserving of this than you. Especially because of the time of year it happened. Only Z and Jamie will be with you until we play against the Ducks, and I think that’s what gets me the most. Besides the whole… well, you know. I love being your best friend number two, and no matter what happens, no one can ever take that away from me. From us. I hope you know half the league asks us about you every day. Suzy demands that he gets hourly updates.”

Cole was saying anything and everything to keep from breaking down, but it was no use. He couldn’t get any words out now from how hard he was crying. He climbed off the bed so that he could lay his head down on the mattress and sob. Jack tried to run in, but Cole turned him away. He needed to cry it all out. Y/N’s constant saying that “the break will be harder the longer you keep everything in” was proving to be correct. He hadn’t let his feelings out all the way, yet. And the break was brutal.

The person that Cole did eventually let in was Trevor. Trevor got it. Trevor got him. Trevor sat down quietly next to him and waited to be needed. It didn’t take long for Cole to need a hug, and Trevor was happy to give it to him.

“We’ll make it through this,” Trevor told him. “I promise. No matter what. We’ll all still have each other.”

“But we might not have Sissy,” Cole sniffled.

“Careful, or I’ll tell her you used your once a month Sissy passes,” Trevor tried to joke. It fell flat, unsurprisingly. “I’m choosing not to think about losing her. I know our girl. I know my girl. She’s randomly flown to Van Couver to see Quinn and forgot to tell me. It scared the living shit out of me, but she came back. She always comes back.”

“She always comes back,” Cole repeated, more to trick himself into believing it.

“That’s right, buddy. She always comes back.”

– – –

Right outside Sissy’s hospital room, Alex was freaking out. He was struggling so hard at the idea of talking to Y/N like it might be the last time he’d ever talk to her alone again.

“I can’t! I can-” Alex was cut off by him choking down his own cries. He felt like he needed to scream. Jack and Quinn sat on either side of him and did their best to comfort their friend. “I can’t talk to her like I’m going to lose her. But if we do, and I don’t, then…”

“It’s alright, bud,” Quinn said, putting his arm around him. “She knows. She always knows.”

Quinn was interrupted by his phone ringing, so he stepped away and let Jack continue to help Alex. He was better at playing Sissy anyways.

“Matthew?” Quinn answered, confused. “Did I forget to update you?

“I’m outside the hospital,” Matthew said, not really answering his question. “I couldn’t stand it anymore. I kept hoping that she’d facetime two days ago, even though I knew she wouldn’t. I already talked to my coach. I wasn’t playing well with her on my mind. I need to be here.”

Quinn understood. He more than understood. He understood more than Matthew did.

“It just… it wasn’t a call I was expecting to ever get. And I really didn’t want something worse being told to me over the phone,” Matthew elaborated. “Can you come get me?”

“Yeah, I’ll be there in a couple minutes,” Quinn said before he hung up.

Quinn told Jack that he was going to get Matthew so that he could subtly let Trevor and Cole know. He really hoped that him being here won’t take away anyone’s ability to be vulnerable, but Matthew was just as important to her as almost anyone else, despite him not being in the “group,” for lack of a better term.

When Quinn returned with Matthew, Cole and Trevor were out in the hallway.

“We thought you might want a moment alone with her,” Jack told him.

“Just don’t confess your love to her. She might leave me for you,” Trevor joked. He was proud of himself for getting a small smile out of the clearly distressed man.

“I’ll hold back, just for you,” Matthew countered before entering the room.

Matthew’s breath hitched when he saw Y/N. Not so much as a picture was sent to him. Quinn told him that she looked worse with a tube down her throat, so he was glad that she was just left with a nasal canal now. He sat down next to her, but he didn’t hold her hand. It didn’t feel right to him. It felt like it would solidify the idea of her dying.

“Hey, little mouse,” he sighed, tearing up. “It’s uh… your rat. Or I guess sometimes you call me Ratty, or Matty, or Matty Rat, Matty Ratty, anyways– whatever you’re in the mood for calling me, it’s me. Fuck, this is hard.”

He was crying silent tears now. Y/N really was in a coma. He knew it before, but seeing her makes it a hundred times worse. He’d known her for five years. He played along to her silly little school girl crush. He bought her flowers for her sixteenth birthday because she asked him to come to her party! He watched her go through her teenage years, hell– she still is one, and now he’s praying that she’ll make it through the night. He’s praying that she’ll wake up.

“I’m sorry it took me so long to get here. I was trying to still be a leader for my team, but even the coaches knew I wasn’t playing like my usual self and let me come here. I can’t even imagine the pain everyone else out in the hall for you is in. Especially Quinn and Trevor.

“You don’t deserve this. I’m sure if you can hear, you’ve heard just about everyone say it, but it’s true. I don’t think anyone else would drop everything and fly to Calgary just because I’m playing against one of your friends, and I know you do that for everyone else, too. You’re a light, little mouse. For everyone. It’s getting too dark without you, so you need to wake up, okay? You’d do anything for the people you care about and that’s what we all need. You.”

Matthew finally caved and took a hold of Y/N’s hand. His tears were dropping more fiercely now, and her touch helped a little. He smiled when she squeezed his hand. Quinn told him that she might do that and it’s all subconscious, but Matthew couldn’t help but hope it was because she heard him.

– – –

The parents went to acquire lunch for everyone, and while they were out, the boys all went into the hospital room. Cole, Alex, and Jamie didn’t really know Matthew, so they were happy for the distraction of younger teenage Sissy stories from before they met her. Jamie especially, because he didn’t meet her until a few months ago. And yet, they already loved each other. That’s how special Y/N is.

“Wait, so she actually fell over the couch trying to talk to you?” Cole laughed. “How have I not heard this?”

“Because Mr. Boyfriend here doesn’t like discussing the little mouse crush era,” Matthew laughed.

“That sucks, Z, because I need to know everything,” Alex said.

“You know some of it,” Trevor mumbled. “Even when she moved to Michigan and met all of us, she still fawned over him at first.”

“Wait, you’re the Matty she couldn’t stop talking about?!” Cole shouted. “This makes so much sense!”

“She practically begged him to come to her sixteenth birthday party,” Quinn told the group.

“She tripped when he came through the door,” Jack snicked.

“You went?” Jamie asked. “Weren’t you in the league by then?”

“I was playing in Calgary,” Matthew explained. “It wasn’t too long of a plane ride and the date worked out, so I couldn’t bear to say no to her.”

“He bought her flowers and I got nothing,” Jack added, jokingly sounding bitter.

“I could go buy you something from the vending machine down the hall; would that help? Clearly, you’re still upset over your lack of a sixteenth birthday present,” Matthew teased him.

“It would,” Jack said. Matthew laughed and pulled out his wallet to give Jack his card. “Thanks, Matty!”

Silence lingered for a bit when Jack left. It started with Trevor. He stopped smiling and brought his girlfriend’s hand to his lips and lightly kissed each knuckle. Everyone saw it and just couldn’t find a reason to laugh anymore.

“She squeezed my hand,” Matthew said. “I know it doesn’t mean much, but there’s hope, right? It was after I finished speaking. So who knows? Maybe she’s getting closer.”

Trevor sent him a small smile and nodded his head, which was the best he could offer.

“I hope she can hear us,” Trevor said. “I hope she knows how loved she is.”

“She knows,” Alex said, mirroring Jack’s words to him. “She always knows.”

What Trevor didn’t tell the group is that Y/N squeezed his hand after Alex finished talking. Maybe Matthew was right, maybe she is closer to waking up.

– – –

After everyone left, Trevor was too drained to stay up. Luckily, the nurses were kind enough to keep the recliner in the corner of the room for him, so he laid it back and tried to get settled to get some sleep. He stayed on his phone scrolling aimlessly for a while before eventually passing out.

Sleep wasn’t kind to Trevor. He was plagued by endless nightmares, none of them allowing the sweet release of waking up. Over and over again he saw and heard Y/N dying. One mirrored the actual event of her flatlining, in another she woke up and died in his arms, and another she didn’t even make it out of the car. After a second showing of the actual event he witnessed the night before, he finally shot himself awake. He was panting, and he was sure that a scream escaped his lips. He wildly shook his head to try and find Y/N, and the sound of her heart beating steady brought him some ease.

He walked over to her and sat down to grab her hand, “Just keep that heart beating for me, okay, sweet girl? That’s all you gotta do.”

Trevor smiled to himself when she squeezed his hand again, but he tried to not get his hopes up. It didn’t mean anything. It was mere coincidence.

What did mean something was the soft groans that escaped her lips.

“Y/N?” he asked urgently, standing up. Nothing. “Sissy?”

His hand was squeezed again and he heard muffled sounds coming from her. He swore he heard her say “don’t call me that.”

“If you’re awake, I need you to open those pretty little eyes for me, sweet girl,” Trevor said softly as he stroked her hair. “I know it hurts, but I need to see them.”

She groaned heavily, but began to flutter her eyes open, “you’re bossy.”

Trevor collapsed into his chair and heaved the biggest sigh of relief. He took her hand in both of his and held it up to his lips, pressing a firm and lingering kiss on them and allowed the tears to fall.

“You’re awake! Oh my god, you’re awake!” Trevor said through tears.

— — —

Your mind was muddied, but you knew the sound of your boyfriend crying well enough to know that that is what you were hearing.

“Why wouldn’t I be awake?” you slurred. Your vision was less cloudy now and you could see the situation you were in.

Hospital bed. Leg suspended in a sling. Shoulder wrapped and on a pillow-like thing. Feeling extremely groggy. In pain. Trevor’s crying.

Trevor’s crying.

Trevor’s crying.

You brought your hand up to Trevor’s face and cupped his cheek, wiping a tear away with your thumb, “Why are you crying, my love?“

“You- you… you,” he was starting to get worked up.

“Shhhh,” you cooed. “It’s okay. I’m okay. What happened?”

“I saw you die! Your heart stopped beating and the world ended and I couldn’t do anything and I keep hearing the flat line and–”

“Okay, okay, it’s okay,” you said. “Come here.”

“You’re hurt, Y/N/N. Bad. I don’t need to be in this bed with you,” Trevor said.

“Is anything on my upper body besides my shoulder injured ?”

“No, but–”

“So come here.”

Trevor slowly crawled into the small space between you and the bed rail.

“Lay down on my chest,” you whispered to him.

He carefully laid down on your chest, being mindful of your IV, and wrapped his arms around you.

You took deep breaths as you rubbed his back. Yeah, you were the one in the hospital, but your boyfriend just told you he saw you die and you weren’t about to let him suffer.

“See? It’s beating now,” you said low and you stroked his hair with your good arm.

“It’s beating now,” Trevor sighed in relief.

“It’s beating now,” you reaffirmed.

“I need to tell a doctor that you’re awake,” Trevor said.

“We can tell them tomorrow,” you said back. “I just want to lay with you before the real pain sets in. We can talk about whatever happened tomorrow.”

You didn’t know how long you’ve been in the hospital, but you did know that Trevor was incredibly tense and terrified. You were worried out of your mind about him. It didn’t matter how much pain medication was surely in you, even your clouded mind could tell your boyfriend wasn’t okay. You rubbed his back up and down until his tears ceased and you felt him relax against you.

“I thought our forever was going to get cut short,” he said sleepily.

“You can’t get rid of me that easily,” you said.

“I love you, forever.”

“I love you, always.”

— — —

You woke up early the next morning to a nurse going near Trevor to probably tell him off.

“Don’t touch him,” you scolded her.

“You’re awake!” the nurse jumped. She wasn’t expecting her coma patient to be awake. “Unfortunately, this does mean we’ll need to run some tests, so he will need to get up.”

“Can you give us an hour?” you pleaded with her. She gave you a playfully scolding look, but agreed. She gave you another dose of pain medication when you said you were in some pain, making sure to emphasize that Trevor was not that source, and left. Trevor slept through it all.

You found yourself humming and slipping your hand up Trevor’s shirt to softly scratch his back. You had an hour before chaos began and you were going to cherish every second of it.

“I love it when you sing,” you heard him mumble into your chest.

“Good morning to you, too, handsome,” you laughed lightly. “Thank you.”

You felt Trevor nod his head and cuddle up closer to you, placing his head back over your heart. You had a feeling he might need to do that a lot.

“My love, can you check what time it is? The nurse gave us an hour,” you said sleepily.

Trevor groaned but he carefully got off of you to check his phone. His sleepy eyes were soon filled with panic, “Oh shit! Shit!”

Alarmed, you tried to sit up, but you felt a jolt of pain and cried out. Trevor rushed over and eased you back down.

“Are you okay?! Do you want me to get a nurse? I should–”

“Z! Why did you say oh shit?” you cut him off.

“I didn’t immediately tell Quinn that you woke up, and when he finds out that I didn’t–”

“Quinn’s here?” you asked.

Trevor sat down on the edge of your bed and grabbed your hand, “Everyone’s here, sweet girl. They all flew in. Half the league’s been asking for updates. You’re famous, kid.”

You didn’t know how to take that. You were in pain, sure. Apparently you died which was already too much to think about. And now virtually everyone you know is asking about you? It wasn’t fun to think about. It wasn’t fun to think about how many people have worried over you. Trevor was a mess, and you couldn’t even begin to think about everyone else.

You’re the go to person. You vow to make every single person you hold dear, every single person you love, feel safe and loved. You’re the person people go to for support. You have people to go to, but who do you go to when everyone else is struggling with you?

Eventually your hour alone with Trevor was over, at apparently five am, and he had to be kicked out for testing. He freaked out a tad— okay a lot— but he settled for waiting outside in the hall with the door open and you periodically telling him that you were still there. That didn’t last long. A nurse accidentally caused your heart monitor to fall off your finger, causing the flat line to sound again, which caused Trevor to scream. You tried to call out to him, but your voice was too weak and his voice was too strong.

“Help him!” you shouted at a nurse.

You hated what happened next. Trevor’s cries and screams died down, and you were told that they put him in a room after being lightly sedated to calm him down. They explained to you that it happened two nights ago, as well.

“If he stayed in that recliner last time, he needs to be brought in here again. Or he’ll wake up and freak out again,” you told the nurse. “Trust me on that.”

She ended up listening to you, since he did spiral himself into a panic attack just because you were out of his sight. You didn’t know he actually had one, you thought it was just screams. You wished you were right.

You had just enough energy left in you to wait for Trevor to be placed in the recliner. He was out of it, he barely classified as a human at this point. You watched as he got settled and the nurses left, and when his eyes closed, so did yours.

You didn’t know how long you were asleep, but Trevor had drug his IV to your bedside and parked himself in the chair next to you.

“Are you okay?” you asked groggily.

“What? I should be asking you that” Trevor said, dodging your question.

“Z,” you said seriously.

Trevor just looked at you. He looked so guilty. He looked so broken.

“Jack told me that the second you open your eyes, I need to be strong for you if none of them are here. None of them are here yet today and instead of being strong, have an IV with sedatives to not have a panic attack,” Trevor said quietly. “Not even pills, Y/N! An IV bag!”

“Okay, okay,” you got out quickly. “Trev, what you saw is scarring. You never should have seen that, and I’m so sorry that you did. We’re gonna be a bit of a mess for a while it seems, but we’ll be a mess together. We can take turns being the strong one.”

“I need to take care of you,” Trevor said. “You’re hurt, Y/N/N. Bad. You’re going to need help doing everyday things. I can’t be a mess when you need me.”

“Yes you can, Z,” you told him, rubbing his hand with your thumb. “I don’t want anyone holding in anything for me, because that’ll make the break so much harder. Just because I’m going to need help physically doesn’t mean we can’t help each other mentally.”

“I hate to break it to you, but I think all of us are going to need help mentally,” Trevor admitted.

You gave him a sad smile and squeezed his hand, “Good thing I’m awake then, huh?”

Trevor smiled back, but you could tell he really didn’t mean it.

“Jack was playing your part, don’t worry. He held us together for a while.”

“It’s a twin thing,” you joked.

“That’s what Jack said,” Trevor laughed lightly, making you actually smile.

You could tell Trevor was still uneasy, so you had him lay down with you again, but this time he got next to you. You couldn’t lean against him, because moving was agonizing, but the touching of shoulders and your unbroken leg between his was enough for you. He caught you up on everything. He didn’t like it, but you needed it. You needed to know what happened to your friends and family while you were out. All of it absolutely broke your heart, but you were ready to heal with everyone. Physically and mentally. Together.

He told you that almost everyone had a moment alone with you. You wished it was like the movies because you wish you could’ve heard them.

“Do you remember what you said?” you asked Trevor.

“You want to know what I said?”

“I want to know what everyone said. It might help us all get through this.”

Trevor checked his phone, “Visiting hours start in an hour. Why don’t we just lay here together until they come and at some point you can hold one on one therapy sessions?”

It was a reasonable request. You were exhausted, and Trevor had already been through so much in the last three hours. Trevor put a movie on his phone, The Hunger Games, and you laid your head on his shoulder and drifted off to sleep again.

———

reblogs appreciated! it helps spread fics <;3

#penalty box series: imagines #penalty box series #trevor zegras #trevor zegras x reader #trevor zegras imagine #trevor zegras angst #quinn hughes #quinn hughes imagine #jack hughes #jack hughes imagine #cole caufield #cole caufield imagine #luke hughes #matthew tkachuk #matthew tkachuk imagine #quinn hughes angst #hockey imagine

[doc-pickles]

waking up in vegas | matthew tkachuk x hughes!sister (p. 2)

series masterlist

summary: the hughes-tkachuk family thanksgiving dinner from hell

warnings: mentions vomiting

a/n: here’s part two of my matty fic! hope y’all enjoy :)

xoxo

nina

Your parents' living room is loud and boisterous as everyone mills around for an early Thanksgiving dinner. The dinner had been a Hughes-Tkachuk tradition for as long as you could remember, but this year your stomach rolled uneasily at the thought of having to sit at a table and lie to everyone at it.

“Did the annulment go through?”

Matthew’s voice makes you jump as you turn to face him. His stubble has grown out into the beginnings of a beard and you can’t deny it’s a good look on him.

“About that,” your eyes shift down to your boots as you speak quietly. “They can’t annul it, we’re going to have to get a legal divorce.”

Matthew doesn’t say anything, simply drags you down the hall into one of the spare bedrooms before closing the door and looking at you with wide eyes.

“What do you mean we need a divorce? I thought we could get it annulled and pretend like it never happened,” Matthew's tone was incredulous as he stared at you.

“Me too but apparently when you marry someone with a multimillion-dollar hockey contract that complicates things,” you swallow down the bile trying to climb your throat as you look up at Matthew. His gaze softens and you realize you must look scared shitless right now. “Listen I’ll figure it out okay? It’s not a big deal.”

Without warning, Matthew pulls you into a hug and you breathe in his warm woodsy scent, grounding yourself in the contact. You take a shaky breath as he runs a hand down your back, “Let me know how I can help, okay? I don’t want you stressing over this and it takes two to tango anyways.”

You barely hold back the urge to laugh at his statement, Matthew not knowing how true his words are. Instead, you nod and stay there for a few more comforting seconds before he pulls away, “You okay?”

Nodding you meet Matthew's eyes, “Can we talk after dinner?”

“Sure,” Matthew nods and presses a kiss to your forehead before he gives you one last smirk and leaves the room.

When you leave a few minutes later, everyone is starting to sit down around the table. You take your spot next to Luke and across from Matthew who winks at you as you sit. He groans and you see Quinn glaring at him, assuming your brother had kicked him under the table.

“Table is getting full,” Keith chuckles as he looks between all of the kids, Emma now seated next to Brady. “Might need a bigger one next year.”

Your mother lets out a huff and as soon as you look at her you know whatever comes out of her mouth next isn’t going to be good.

“I’d say so. In fact, I think someone here has a little announcement they want to make,” as you scan the table and meet Matthew’s gaze your stomach drops, both of your faces blanching. “Who wants to share?”

You and Matthew break away from each other's stares to look around at all of your siblings. None of them look like they’re quite sure what’s happening, but they all keep flicking back to you and Matthew.

“Mom-”

“Anyone want to tell me why there was a pregnancy test in the guest bath? A positive one at that?”

Your mouth snaps shut at your moms admission and side glances immediately start flying across the table. Most eyes turn to Brady and Emma, the newlyweds shaking their heads. Emma grabs her wine and takes a hearty sip before answering your mom, “Not me, I’m very much still enjoying my wine.”

Eyes dart around the table again and you can tell the moment Luke spots your can of Coke next to his bottle of beer, a long and loud groan leaving him, “You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.”

“Luke Warren Hughes! Language,” your father scolds, but you can barely register his chastising as you lock eyes with your twin.

“Okay but who’s pregnant?” Jack asks cluelessly as he continues to look around the table. “If it’s not Emma it’s Taryn or- Oh my god!”

You can feel every set of eyes at the table fall onto you but you can only meet Matthew’s gaze across the table, his blue eyes wide and searching as he stares you down. You hold his gaze until Quinn and Jack both start yelling simultaneously.

“Are you kidding me? You knocked up my sister you fucking douche canoe!”

“Holy shit! Holy shit this is from Vegas? First, you marry my sister then you knock her up?!”

At Jack and Quinn’s outbursts, you push your head into your hands as all four of your parents begin to hurl questions across the table. The noise leaves your head swimming as bile begins to rise up your throat, everyone around you shouting.

“Wait, Matthew got you pregnant?”

“What the hell happened in Vegas?”

“Did he just say you're married? How long have you two been together?”

“Does this mean we’re all going to be grandparents?”

As everyone continues to yell over the table you do the only thing you can think to do. Leaning to your right you promptly throw up your meager lunch into the potted plant next to you. Everyone stops as you continue to throw up and you vaguely register your mom ushering everyone out of the room while a hand settles on your back. You’re not entirely sure who’s holding you but the hand on your back is comforting.

“S’okay, I got you,” you’re slightly shocked when Matthew’s voice sounds out as his hand rubs your back. “Fun dinner huh?”

You huff out a laugh as you finally stop retching, looking over your shoulder at Matthew, “No one got a chance to take a single bite.”

There’s a silent minute where you’re simply breathing and trying to ground yourself before Matthew asks with a small voice, “You okay?”

Nodding slightly you sit up and face him, “I’m fine. Besides single-handedly ruining Thanksgiving and not being able to keep any food besides cranberry sauce down all day.”

Matthew chuckles as he runs a hand over his face, “Hey at least we had the common sense to get married before having a baby, huh?”

You both sit in silence for a second before a bubble of laughter bursts out from you, Matthew joining in. You look at him with a small smile, leaning your head against his shoulder, “I found out last night, I was going to tell you after dinner. I didn’t want to freak you out before we had to sit down and lie to everyone about being married, but here we are.”

“It’s okay. At least we don’t have to stress about telling everyone,” you’re both quiet for a second before Matthew whispers his next words. “You… Do you want to keep it?”

“Yes,” you answer quickly as you focus on your fingers. “Yes I… I hope that’s okay.”

Matthew nods, pulling you closer before speaking, “I… Yeah. We’ll figure it out, okay? Don’t worry about it.”

“Did you stop puking yet?” Luke asks as he sticks his head around the corner. Seeing you and Matthew sitting together he rolls his eyes. “Good. Can you please go into the living room before someone in there combusts? I think dad and Keith are about to start throwing punches.”

Matthew helps you up and you walk hand in hand to the living room. Keith and your dad are yelling and Quinn is trying (and failing) to explain what happened in Vegas to your mom.

“You think if we slip out they’d notice?” Matthew whispers right next to your ear and you have to stop yourself from letting out a full body shudder at the feeling.

“Unfortunately, yes. Plus I’m getting kind of hungry so I want to wrap this up and get back to dinner as soon as possible.”

Matthew chuckles behind you and everyone seems to realize you two are standing there. Your dad takes a step forward, but you put your hand up to stop him from coming any closer as you step in front of Matthew.

“Okay so we’re not going to threaten to beat up the man you’ve known since he was five,” you fix your dad with a knowing look before eyeing your brothers over his shoulder. “You three are included in that.”

“Why don’t we just let the kids explain what happened,” Chantal broaches from her spot on the couch next to your mom. “Maybe we have the story wrong.”

“Ummm so we went to Las Vegas… And then we got married,” you can’t meet anyone’s eyes as you speak but Matthew grabs your hand again and squeezes it comfortingly. “So there-“

“You got married because you were drunk and couldn’t find something better to do,” your father asked as he stared at you and Matthew.

“Jim!”

“No, Dad-“

“Well it’s fine they can just get it annulled,” Keith says from his spot across the room.

“Not if she’s pregnant,” Chantal shrieks and you can feel your heartbeat pick up. “You are pregnant, right?”

You nod, feeling tears prickling your eyes as your parents begin to speak again.

“What if it’s not even Matthew’s?”

“Well you can’t have a baby out of wedlock! Even if it’s not his-“

“You saying my daughter is a-“

“I didn’t say that! I’m just suggesting-“

“Listen I know that all of this wasn’t planned but both of us are responsible adults who can make decisions on our own,” Matthew interrupts your parents bickering and you don’t realize you're harshly squeezing his hand until he pulls you back into chest. “Can we table this conversation and eat dinner? Please?”

Everyone files back into the dining room and you cast a grateful look to Luke who’s taken the seat across from you so Matthew can sit next to you. Plates get passed around and when everyone is eating you finally breathe a sigh of relief.

“So besides the impromptu elopement, how was Vegas?” your mom asks with a small grin and a chorus of laughter sounds from the table.

Left it kind of open ended but I love writing the Hughes/Tkachuk gang so maybe another part?

#matthew tkachuk #matthew tkachuk fic #matthew tkachuk imagine #jack hughes #luke hughes #quinn hughes #nhl fic #nhl imagine #hockey fic #hockey imagine #nina writes

[tkwrites]

Back to You - Matthew Tkachuk x Jessie (ofc)

gif from @drysaladandketchup

Title: Back To You

Author: Tory / @tkwrites 

Relationship: Matthew Tkachuck  x Jessie (ofc)

Warnings: Swearing, lots of flirting. Slow burn. Smut at the end: fingering (f receiving), oral (f and m receiving).

Summary: Jessie and Matthew meet at a New Years Eve party and form an instant connection. When a fire rips them apart, can fate bring them back together? 

Word Count: 12,700

Comments: This is my entry for @wyattjohnston‘s winter fic exchange written for @luvsherleafs

This is by far the longest piece I’ve written for Tumblr. I had a really clear vision of where I wanted it to go, and I eventually got it there. In the end, I’m so proud of how it turned out. I hope you enjoy, and would love to know what you think.

Many, many thanks to Mari @eyesthatroll and Bre @fallinallincurls for looking this over and assuring me it wasn’t garbage when I was in the trenches of writing. 

Me and you  We were a strange situation  And kissing you  Felt like Christmas Vacation  An exciting place to escape  Sometimes I wish that I could've stayed Cause you were my favorite Holiday  -Christmas Vacation by LØLØ

Back to You

Matthew couldn't tear his eyes away from her and knew he wasn't the only one. 

With dark hair cascading down her back in a long, shiny waterfall, big eyes and a plump little mouth that looked just made for kissing, she was the kind of classic girl next door people wrote into movies and books for the hero to find his way back to.

He especially liked what she was wearing. Bare legs weren’t really something he would advise at two hours to January in Ottawa, but at least it wasn’t a mini skirt like most women were tugging at constantly. Her shorts had a gold stripe on the sides that caught the flashing lights, as if they might have once been extravagant tuxedo pants tailored explicitly to show off her curvy legs. Her dark shirt had flecks of something metallic in the fabric - a wrapped and tied number like he’d never seen before. 

Laughter was all over her face as she danced with the people around her. Slamming her foot (clad in gold oxfords) down with the beat before circling her hips in time with the music. 

“Do you need a towel, man?” 

“What?” Matthew asked, pulling his eyes away to look at his brother.

“I asked if you needed a towel,” Brady repeated, failing to keep the teasing smile off his face, “for the drool.”    

Matthew flipped him off, and Brady laughed. 

“Go talk to her,” he encouraged, pushing Matthew off the bar stool. “I’m sick of watching you sit here and stare at her. Go do something about it.”  

He hesitated. It hadn't been that long since he’d broken up with Heidi.

“Go,” Brady repeated, shoving him across the walkway onto the dance floor. “Move on.”

Although he wasn't sure if he was ready to meet someone new, Matthew knew Brady was right. He’d be kicking himself come morning if he let a woman this good looking go without at least shooting his shot. 

As he weaved through the crowd of dancers, his competitive drive growled in his chest, pleased. He’d be damned if he let someone else get to her first.

“Your admirer is coming this way,” Roger said, nodding to someone over Jessie’s shoulder. 

She glanced over. A tallish guy with curly hair was walking right at her, a determined intensity all over his handsome face. Her gaze swung back to Roge, eyes wide. 

“Just letting you know so you can prepare,” he said with a wink. “I told you those shorts would bring all the boys.” 

Although she'd made them for the occasion, she didn't think they would pull the amount of attention they were getting. Her clothes often garnered a lot of lingering glances, though they usually came from other women. 

Someone tapped on her shoulder and she turned.

The same guy was standing in front of her. He was much taller up close, had light eyes, and his hair looked like it might be blonde. It was hard to tell under the dim dancefloor lights. 

He flashed her a charismatic smile. The gap between his front teeth only added to his charm. 

“Can I buy you a drink?” he asked, leaning in and yelling to be heard over the music. 

Jessie wasn’t generally the type to accept drinks from random strangers, but this guy was hot, had nice style, and of all the dudes that had stared at her that evening, was the first one to do something about it. 

“Sure,” she yelled back. 

“Wanna go to the bar?”

After she nodded and they started walking through the mass of dancers, she glanced over her shoulder. Roge lifted his phone out of his pocket and shook it at her. His flashlight turned on. 

She sent him a text about going to the bar and his flashlight, made sure the ringer was turned on, and slipped her phone back into her shorts pocket. Another good thing about making her own clothes: she could make the pockets as big as she needed.

Matthew couldn’t keep the smug smile off his face at the glares and disappointed looks that followed them to the bar.

“What'll you have?” the bartender asked as they came to a stop in the corner of the club. It was a bit quieter. 

“A mojito, please” she said, before gathering her hair into a fist behind her and running her hand down the length of it. 

Momentarily distracted by her actions and the flash of dark red, the bartender had to ask him again what he wanted. 

“Beer would be great,” he said, flashing a bright smile, “whatever light you recommend.” Glancing back at the girl, he ran a hand through his hair to make sure it wasn’t doing something stupid, and said, “I'm Matthew, by the way. “

“Jessie. Are you from around here?”

“No, but my brother lives here. You?”

“My family is from here, but I'm usually in the states.” she said, watching the bartender muddle the mint in her drink. He didn’t seem to be doing anything funny with it. 

“Yeah? Which one?”

“New York. Well, technically New Jersey, but I study in New York.”

“What do you study?” Matthew asked, lifting his beer bottle to his lips. 

“Fashion.”

“I should have guessed,” he said. 

“You should have?”

“Yeah. You have great style.”

The smile that spread over her face made him want to kiss her. 

“What do you do, Matthew?” she asked, as she brought the black straw in her drink to her mouth. She caught it between her tongue and teeth before her lips wrapped around it. 

His train of thought ran off the rails with visions of her mouth wrapping around other things.

Thankfully, autopilot kicked in and saved him from looking like a total creep, “I play hockey.” 

“Seriously?”

He nodded. “I'm based in Florida.”

“Why the hell are you in Ottawa for New Years,” she asked, aghast, “when you could be somewhere warm?”

“We played here yesterday, so my family are all staying with my brother. Why are you here?”

“My dad grew up here, and wanted us to experience the joys of the frozen tundra at Christmastime,” she said with a long sweep of her hand, as if gesturing to the whole country. 

He laughed again, and held her eye contact. It was so intense, she was the one to break it. 

“Anyway,” she flipped her free hand, “what do you do for fun?” 

“I honestly don’t have that much free time, but I always enjoy a good libation,” he said, holding up his bottle. 

A wide smile spread over his face when she clinked her glass against it as she said, “amen.” 

“And I like to hang out with people and I play a lot of other sports.” 

“I will never understand why athletes always want to play other sports. It’s not like I sew upholstery when I’m not making clothes.” 

He laughed, loud and genuine, and Jessie felt her heart flutter a little. 

“It can be hard to turn off the competitive drive, so it helps to have somewhere to channel it. So did you make these clothes?” he asked, nodding at her outfit. 

“Yeah. I found this gold fabric,” her fingers ran down the stripe on her left hip, “and fell in love with the idea of tuxedo shorts for New Years. I play around with a lot of menswear styles.” 

“I like them,” he said. If he, by some miracle, got nominated for another award, maybe he would get a gold striped tux made. 

“We have to wear suits to all of our games, so I’m always looking for something new and interesting,” he said. 

The conversation lulled for a moment, and he continued, “what do you do for fun?” 

“I also enjoy a good libation,” she clinked her glass against his again, “and I like to play tennis and I love movies.” 

The rest of the night was spent in that little corner of the bar, talking and laughing - Matthew was funny. Quick with a movie quote and a sarcastic comment in her ear. She told him about coming to the club with her cousins, only one of whom she really knew, and he told her about coming with his family. A younger, married brother, and a sister still in college. 

He refreshed their drinks and marveled at finding a woman who could keep up with his banter, genuinely laughed at his jokes and seemed interested in him as a person rather than as Matthew Tkachuk. 

They talked about hockey, she knew some as her dad was Canadian, but not a lot, then about fashion. 

She admitted one of the reasons she’d said yes to his drink had been his pants. 

“Listen, more American men need to understand how many more girls they’d get if they just wore the right pants!” 

He cocked an eyebrow. 

“Your pants are fitted properly so I can see your ass and your thighs, and it makes you about a thousand times more attractive.” 

A cocky smile spread over his face, “Oh, yeah?” he asked, leaning into her space. 

She gulped, “yeah. If more men wore pants like yours, they wouldn’t be single.” 

He stayed in her space, and her eyes darted to his lips. He licked them, just to see what she would do at the flash of his tongue. 

Her eyes darted back to his and her cheeks pinked. He smiled. 

The music changed to a slower, more house-style song he recognised. Jessie bumped her shoulders to the beat. 

“Do you want to dance?” Matthew asked.  

“Sure.” 

They moved to the floor, and he watched, entranced as she swung her hips in rhythm.

When she turned around, pressing flush against him, his right hand immediately grasped her hip, as if that might provide some kind of grounding from the fluttering feeling in his chest. 

It wasn’t like this had never happened - girls grinding up on him. It happened quite a lot, actually. Sometimes without any kind of consent. But this? Jessie? He couldn't get enough. She was pretty and they had the kind of instant chemistry you couldn't fake. 

He found himself thinking about her beyond that night. A first since Heidi. 

For her part, Jessie couldn't stand not touching him any longer. The chemistry between them was so palpable, she was surprised other club goers weren’t getting caught in it. Feeling him move against her made desire rumble to life in her belly, growling to be released. 

They danced that way for - Matthew lost track of how many songs. She felt amazing pressed up against him. He was so in tune with how they moved together, the dancing felt like foreplay. 

When the countdown to midnight began, she turned to face him. They were still so close - she could feel his body heat seeping through his clothing and into hers, see the way his button down was just starting to cling to his skin. 

Matthew looked down at her, not hiding any of his interest. She looked back with so much hope and lust in her eyes, his stomach twisted. 

“Three, two, one!” the crowd cheered. 

He leaned down, then paused, “okay?” 

Rising onto her toes, she closed the gap between them in answer. 

All of their flirting was leading up to this moment, and Jessie wasn’t disappointed at all. It was as if everything around them faded into soft focus and the din of the crowd melted away. It was better than she could have imagined. His tongue brushed along hers, and heat flooded her stomach. 

Matthew angled closer when her fingers slid into his hair. His hand splayed over her lower back. He wished he didn’t have this beer bottle so he could have both hands on her.

It went on and on for what felt like ages - a promise of things to come. 

Someone cat called from nearby, and Jessie broke away, pursing her lips to hide how flustered she felt. At least he was as breathless as she was, his chest expanding to the confines of his shirt with every inhale. 

They stared at each other for a moment longer, not quite engaged with the crowd, which was growing increasingly restless with the New Year in full swing.

She was debating between kissing him again, or asking if he wanted to leave all together when the lights went out, plunging them into total darkness. 

The suddenness of it made her laugh. She thought it must be some kind of prank until all at once, a mono tone alarm started to scream. Lights began to strobe - harsh, bright flashes that instantly made spots appear in her vision. 

The word “fire” was popping up in the crowd.

Just as he was starting to register what was happening, murky water cascaded from the ceiling. 

The club was dissolving into chaos. Matthew snapped out of his reverie, and looked around for Taryn. 

“I have to find my sister,” he told her.

As Jessie's face was illuminated by the flashing lights, she looked stricken and worried. 

“I’ll call you, though!” he promised.

“But -” she watched him run off, knowing she hadn't given him her number. She didn't even know his last name. 

“Jessie!” Roger yelled from somewhere to her left. Her eyes roved for him, and landed when he shouted again, waving his cell phone flashlight in his own face.

She ran to him, and they followed the swarming crowd outside. 

To her complete surprise, smoke was pouring out of the building and the fire department was pulling up. She had been certain someone had pulled the alarm as a prank. 

“Fuck it’s cold out here,” she said, wrapping her arms around herself, as if that would do any good. Her coat was inside, a pair of wool tights tucked in one of the pockets. She'd planned to put them on in the bathroom before they left. 

“We should call it,” Lacey said. “Catch the next train. If we hurry we won't have to wait for another one.”

“But my coat’s in there,” Jessie complained. She hadn't made it, but she may as well have, she’d altered it so much. It was the best thing in her wardrobe. 

“We’ll come back tomorrow,” Roger assured, “but Lacey’s right, we should get out of here. We’re soaked and it’s below freezing.”

It wasn't just the coat. She didn’t want to lose Matthew. She hoped she might run into him in the parking lot, but had yet to see him.   

Roger and Lacey were right. Her wet clothing was already starting to freeze - stiffening and biting into her skin. Glancing around the crowd once more, she hoped she might see him, but there were too many people moving in too many different directions. 

As Roger pulled her away, she hoped against hope the universe would bring them back together. It had been so long since she'd felt a spark like she had with him.

“Who was that girl you were kissing at midnight?” Taryn asked, her tone suggestive as she waggled her eyebrows at her oldest brother. 

“Her name is Jessie,” he said, looking around for Brady. He finally spotted him with Emma and some of the Sens guys across the parking lot. 

“Seemed pretty serious.”

Matthew rolled his eyes. “We got on, that’s all.” 

“I’ve seen you look like that before, and that was not just getting on with someone,” Taryn argued. “I hope you got her number.” 

“I did,” he assured, then stopped dead in their pursuit through the crowd. 

Taryn ran into his back. “Matthew!” she complained. 

He was too busy digging his phone out of his pocket to apologize or move out of the way. Thankfully, it wasn’t ruined. As he opened his recent contacts, though, he found his fear confirmed. 

Taryn pushed on his back, “Matthew, move! I wanna get inside.” 

The older brother in him took control, wrapping his arm around Taryn's shoulder to lead them to Brady and finally into the car to go home. 

As they settled into the SUV, heat blasting to melt the ice that had formed in their hair and on their cheeks, Emma punched Matthew in the arm. “That was some New Year's kiss, Matty.” 

The disappointment of reality bit into him, and he snapped, “I don’t want to talk about it.” 

“Whoa,” Brady said in warning. 

Matthew leaned forward, putting his head in his hands. The possibility of her was still buzzing on his skin. 

The future was being ripped out of his grasp. How could so much hope be dashed so quickly? So completely? He'd been making plans in his head. Immediately, where they were going to spend the night if she was willing. Beyond that, how he would see her whenever he was in New York, and beyond that? Hopefully something that ended up with them together. 

“Oh no,” Taryn whispered, her hands coming up to cover her mouth. “You didn’t get her number did you?” 

He shook his head. 

“Oh, Matthew,” Taryn said, laying a hand on his back, “I’m sorry.” 

The rest of the night, he lay in Brady’s guest bedroom, Taryn in the bed next to his, and tried to relax. It wasn’t working. He could still feel the phantom of her grinding up against him, and if he thought about it too much, he got hard. 

Opening Instagram, he typed “Jessie” into the search. There were pages and pages of results. He scrolled through, hoping he might see her face. When the photos started to blur together, he clicked off the app. 

Feeling hopeless, he pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes. Jessie’s face was etched on the inside of his eyelids. He saw her smiling, heard her laugh ringing in his ears, felt her lips so perfectly fitted between his own. They should have been tangled up in bed together. The actuality of his loneliness was a slap in the face every time he turned over. 

It was after four when he finally fell asleep.

He woke sometime around 10am when Taryn sat by his feet. 

“Mom wants to know why you’re still in bed,” she said when he sat up, rubbing his hands over his face. “I told her you were hungover.” 

“Thanks,” he said dryly.  

“Listen, I heard you last night.” 

His hands dropped and he gave her a suspicious look. “And what did you hear last night?” 

She took a deep breath. “I heard you crying.” 

A groan fell out of his mouth as his head tipped back. He didn’t even try to deny it. It hadn’t lasted long, the crying, but he hadn’t been able to stop it for a few minutes. He was sure Taryn heard his sniffling. 

“Is this about that girl?” 

“Listen, Taryn, I don’t want to -” 

She cut in, “Matthew, I saw the way you looked after you kissed her. It’s the same way Brady looks at Emma.”

Shit. He was in deeper than he thought. And they hadn’t even slept together yet. He didn’t even know her last name. If he knew her last name, he’d be able to find her. 

Letting his hands fall in his lap, he slouched over, and let the reality of what happened wash over him again. He would get over it eventually, but now? It felt too close to push aside. 

Taryn’s hand came to rest on his knee, “I was thinking, what if she left something at the club? I mean, people must have left coats and things with the fire alarm. We could at least try. See if you can leave your number for her, or something.” 

A spark of hope flickered to life in his chest. “Yeah, that’s a really good idea.” 

Jessie wasn’t too surprised to see the tent in front of the club when they pulled up. The post on their Instagram page said they would be available for people to pick up their belongings all day. Two women were sitting there, bundled up to the hilt. As she got closer, she saw the propane heaters. At least that was something. 

“How can we help you, darlin?” 

“Yeah, I was here last night, and I hoped I could get my coat that I left with the coat check?” 

One of the women stood, “what does it look like?” 

“It’s a black wool trench, and it has sort of wavy lapels,” she demonstrated on herself. “There’s a pair of gray wool tights in the left pocket.” 

She walked over to a rack behind their table.

The Club had seen better days, that was for sure. Some of the glass had been blown out from the heat, and there were charred bricks on the front from where the flames had licked out the windows. 

“Is it condemned?” 

“No, but it’ll take us a while to remodel, especially with the winter,” the other woman said, giving her a smile. 

“Did they find out what caused it?” 

“Not yet, but we’re pretty sure it was some faulty wiring.” 

“Here we go. Is this it?” The other woman, the one with pink hair, turned the coat around. 

Jessie smiled, relieved, “Yes.”

As she reached for the coat, she debated about the next part. What was the harm really? She knew she would be kicking herself all the way home if she didn’t. 

“I know this is a little strange, but I met someone last night, but we were separated before we could exchange numbers, and I wondered if he’d come by?” 

“I’m not sure. We’ve seen quite a few people today.”

“His name was Matthew, and he had curly hair, light eyes, and he was tall.” 

They looked at each other, each shaking their head. “I don’t think we’ve seen anyone like that today.”

She wasn’t sure what she would have done if they had. 

“Do you want to leave a note for him, or something?” 

She chewed on her lip, petting the smoke soaked coat draped over her arm. If he happened to come by, it might work. But what if he didn’t? Or what if some other guy with curly hair came by, and they gave him her note? 

She shouldn’t have even asked. It was fruitless. What did she expect? That he would just walk out of the building: here I am! 

“No,” she said, defeated. “I was just hoping.”

“Well, love has a way of coming back when you least expect it.” 

It felt like such a throw-away thing to say. “Yeah, I hope so,” Jessie said, turning back to her parents' car, parked in the lot.  

Matthew walked up to the women sitting in front of the club. He knew he was used to the Florida warmth by now, and just despised the cold on principle, but sitting out here? In this? They were nuts. 

“Hi, honey,” the older, motherly looking one greeted, “did you leave something here last night?” 

Yeah, my future, he thought. 

“No, I was hoping,” he reached up to scratch the back of his neck nervously. “I mean, I met someone here last night and I was -” 

“Are you Matthew?” the other woman interrupted. 

His eyes shot to hers. “Yeah,” he said, breathless with anticipation. 

“Oh no,” the women looked at each other. One had her hand over her mouth. 

“Someone was just here looking for you.” 

Hope started hammering in his chest. 

“Pretty little thing, lovely red hair.” 

“Yeah,” his heart was running so fast he felt like he might be sick. 

“I’m so sorry honey, we asked her if she wanted to leave a note or something, but she decided not to.” 

Now he really was going to throw up. 

They had been so close. So close to meeting again. Why hadn’t she left a note? Why didn’t he just get her number last night? 

Because he’d planned on asking her for it in the morning. 

“Well, thanks anyway,” he said, hand falling limply at his side. 

“Good luck. I hope she finds her way back to you.” 

“Thanks,” he said, turning back to the car. Taryn was watching with rapt anticipation. He shook his head and her expression fell. 

**Nine Months Later**

For the first time since moving, the bright Florida sunshine didn't make Jessie smile as she got out of bed. That September morning, she woke up to an anxious fluttering in her chest, trying to tell herself it was going to be a day like any other. She would go to the shop and sew that new sculptural blazer for the window. She'd help Raul with his clients and do the same things she’d been doing every other work day for the past three months. 

It didn’t matter that some of the Florida professional hockey team were coming in for suits for the new season. She’d already checked, and there wasn’t a Matthew on the books. 

Even if he did show up, he had probably moved on. It was just her romantic streak that kept him alive in her memory. 

After a few miserable, sulky hours on New Year's Day, Roger had finally suggested she look him up. 

“I don’t know his last name, Roge.” 

“Didn’t you say he plays hockey in Florida?” he’d asked, pulling out his phone. He found a roster for her to look through - all men in blue, none of them Matthew. There wasn’t even a Matthew on the team. 

“I think it’s hopeless,” she said. 

“Hold on, there’s another one.”

“Another what?” 

“Another team.” 

“Here, I think this is him?” he turned the phone around and Matthew was staring at her, a smug little smile on his face. 

Her breath caught in her throat. His eyes were blue. And his hair was a dark blonde, with almost a gingery tone to it. 

“Matthew Tkachuk?” she asked, trying to pronounce all the letters. It came out a bit of a garbled mess. 

“Look him up on Insta.” 

So she had. She found him easily. He was verified with over 150 thousand followers. 

She messaged him, hoping. 

Hey this is Jessie from last night before the fire stole our thunder. 

He’d never even seen her message. She had checked every day for a while, then every couple of weeks until she'd all but forgotten about it, moving on with her life. 

Pulling out her phone now, she scrolled down to the thread. The date was still staring at her, no read notifications in sight. 

Matthew wasn't even all that great. That’s what she told herself every time she went on another failed date with some guy so boring she wanted to just drop off the chair and fall asleep on the bar floor. If she let herself believe he really was as charming and interested and built just for her as he’d seemed, she would never go on another set up or app date again. It had been the alcohol and the rush of the new year that had painted him in such rosy light. It was likely he was just another boring dude like all the rest. 

The pink lace she put on under her clothes before going to work was for her, and she wasn’t hoping anyone would get to see it. 

She absorbed herself with structuring the new women’s blazer all morning until the appointment at 2. 

Matthew wasn’t entirely certain why he’d agreed to go with Benny that afternoon. He already had a suit guy in St. Louis. He didn’t need another one. But Sam was persuasive, a few other guys were going, and Matthew was always looking for something new. When you have to wear the same item of clothing over and over again, might as well make it something interesting. 

Walking into the little shop, he could see why Sam liked it. There were racks and racks of interesting fabrics. Subtle and bold patterns and solid colors he never would have considered for a suit before. 

As the other guys got to browsing, Matthew wandered over to the wall of photos. In every one, a short, dark haired man was posing with various people in beautiful suits. Sam was up there as were Barky and Bob. He didn’t know they came here too. Apparently, this was the place to be. 

Something rustled in the back, and he turned. Nothing was there, but a glass cabinet that housed a display of cufflinks. 

“Matthew?” 

His head shot up. 

A pretty young woman who wasn't in any of the photos was standing in the doorway behind the display case, holding up the heavy velvet curtain. He could see a row of sewing machines under her arm. She had on a blue skirt and a green blouse. A fabric flower was attached to her wrist, a porcupine of pins sticking out of it. 

His breath locked in his chest. She was here. In Florida. She was in front of him. The girl from the New Years Eve party he couldn’t quite convince himself to let go of for half a season and the whole summer. 

Her hair was shorter than it had been - ending at her collar bone - and a dark auburn red. He supposed it had probably always been that color. She had creamy pale skin with a dusting of freckles across her nose, and shit, had her eyes always been that green? 

He’d never seen her out of that harsh club lighting, he realized. Of course she would be prettier in the daylight. 

The murmuring behind him hushed into silence, and his mind went completely blank, as if he’d never had a thought in his life. 

“Hey,” he heard himself say. The shock of seeing her was so intense, he couldn’t remember her name. He’d just been thinking about her last week after another failed third date.

Sam shot him a questioning look.  

He was in shock. He was overwhelmed. He was… he was… he was acting like an idiot. 

His heart thundered in his ears. She was looking at him like she was trying to figure out if he remembered who she was. 

“Jessie,” she said hesitantly, pointing to her chest. “From New Years?”

Didn’t he remember? His face was branded into her memory. The dream of him - of them - roared to life in her chest unbidden. Her body reacted instantly, as if no time had passed. 

Right. Jessie, Jessie, Jessie, he thought.

Cool. He needed to play this cool. “Oh, hey,” he said. “How’ve you been?” 

As soon as it was out of his mouth, he knew it was the wrong thing to say. Hope fell right off her face. He saw the moment it happened, and it sliced through him like a knife to the gut. 

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. 

She wasn’t some old acquaintance he hadn’t seen in a while. She was the girl he kept coming back to. The one he thought about after failed dates or that relationship that started at the beginning of the summer only to fizzle out six weeks later. She was his, it might have been, girl.

The man walked in then, forcing her into the shop. “Ah, I see you have met Jessica. She just graduated from FIT in New York,” he bragged, “and is helping us expand into womens suiting. She’s also a marvelous tailor, so she’ll be helping with the suits as well. Jessica, these are the clients I was telling you about. From the ice hockey team. Good clients. They like interesting things.” 

She painted a smile on her face that almost looked convincing. “I can’t wait to help.” 

“You,” Raul said, “I don't know you.”

“Matthew,” he said, holding a hand out to the older Italian man. “Sam said you make the best suits on the eastern seaboard.”

Raul pulled out the leather bound book that served as his ledger, and flipped to the section Jessie had been looking at that morning, simply marked, Hockey.

“Last name?” he asked. 

He spelled it out, then pronounced it, “Tkachuk. The T is silent.” 

Raul nodded, noting the silent letter next to his name. 

“Jessica and I will take your measurements,” he said, gesturing him over to the plinth near the mirrors surrounded by dark wood. 

Jessie picked up a notebook and followed Raul. Matthew had definitely recognised her, he’d been shocked by her appearance, even. Then he treated her like…like a one night stand or an acquaintance he wasn’t quite sure he wanted to reunite with. It hurt more than it should have to have the things she was telling herself come true. 

She had hoped Raul would let her help the other clients, but luck seemed to be against her. At least he hadn’t handed her the tape. She didn’t know what she would have done if  her hands brushed against Matthew’s body. She already felt on edge just being in the same room as him. 

“Very important to get the thigh measurement with these hockey players,” Raul was saying as he threaded a measuring tape around Matthews upper thigh. “Big legs.” 

“It’s from all the skating,” Matthew said, almost out of habit. 

Jessie was doing a very good job of not looking at him. She had a little notebook in her hands and she kept her eyes trained on it as she wrote down every body part and corresponding number Raul called out. Upper thigh, lower thigh, calf, hip to knee, knee to ankle. Matthew had been measured like this before, so he just stood still and let the man do his work. 

“So, Jessie, right?” Josh asked, leaning onto one of the mirrors, nearby where she was standing, not quite in Matthew’s peripheral vision. 

She hummed in agreement. Raul was still calling out numbers to her, and she couldn’t divide her focus that well. 

“What brought you all the way down to Florida from New York?” 

Matthew clenched his jaw to keep from telling Josh off. As much as he wanted it, he didn’t have any claim over Jessie.

“Um,” she said, still jotting numbers. She spared a glance at him. He had long, unruly, dark hair, dark eyes, and a goofy smile. She smiled back, “can you give me just a minute to finish up here?” she asked, pointing at Matthew’s stomach with the cap of her pen. 

Josh blushed, “yeah, of course.” 

She went back to her notebook, face impassive once more. 

Josh stayed where he was. 

“So Chucky, what do you think about the schedule this year?” 

Matthew shrugged, then snapped himself back into place at Rauls reprimand. “Sorry,” he mumbled. 

Jessie gagged internally. hoping that wasn’t really his nickname. Chucky was either a possessed doll, or a possessed rat mascot, neither of which she liked to think about for very long. 

They continued to talk about something with their team. When she and Raul finished, she handed the notebook off to him, which he would transcribe into the ledger. He still didn’t trust her to do it the way he liked. 

Matthew didn’t move off the plinth, but she turned to the other man, “sorry, what was your question?” 

She sounded so polite, so formal. Sure, they’d only met that one night, but she hadn’t been guarded like this at that club in Ottawa. He supposed that was probably his fault. God, why was he such an idiot?

“I wondered what brought you to Florida. It’s a long way from New York.” 

“Oh, the heat,” she said. “I was so tired of the north-east cold.”

“And you know Raul…”

“He and one of my mentors are great friends, and he got us in touch. I have some family down here, and wanted to live somewhere warm for a change. Raul wanted to expand into some womenswear, and tailoring happens to be one of my specialties.” She said it without much emotion. Just stating the facts. “We met, I made him and myself a suit to audition, and here we are.” 

Matthew opened his mouth to say something about how he was glad she was here, but she walked away before he could force the words out. 

Josh gave him a look that said something like, women, right? 

Matthew walked away before he said something stupid.

“While I update the rest of your measurements, Jessica can help you with fabrics. She’s excellent with color. Jessica, why don’t you get the samples and help them pick out what they need.” 

She nodded, went into the back and came out with five big binders. She set them on the table, and flipped some of them open. 

She helped Reino pick out a dark teal, a blue and a few subtle plaids before moving on to someone else. 

Matthew was the last at the table. 

“What are you looking for?” she asked, trying to keep her voice and demeanor level. No need to let him know how her heart still pounded just looking at him when it was so obvious he didn’t care about her. 

“I'm always looking for something interesting,” he said. “What would you suggest?” 

Her eyes darted up to his face. His eyes were so blue - much more intense in person. He had the kind of eyes poets say hold summer skies and glacial lakes. It was the first time she really saw them, and they took her breath away. 

“Well,” she forced herself back to work, “you could pull off almost anything with your coloring. How adventurous are you?” 

“I’m willing to try anything once,” he said, trying to sound flirtatious. It just came off desperate. 

She chewed on the inside of her lip. “How many suits are you looking for?” 

“Eight,” he said. 

He didn’t need eight suits. But if it kept him at this table for longer, he would buy as many as she would sell him. 

“All for here?” 

“For here?”

“To be worn here, in Florida? The others have mentioned needing some for travel.”

“Oh, I’ll need three or four for travel, three at least for the cold.” 

They talked through colors. She opened a binder she hadn’t given anyone else. None of the other guys were as handsome, or seemed as adventurous with their style as Matthew. 

“If you’re brave enough, I think this lilac would look really good on you,” she said, pulling the pastel fabric sample off the board and holding it up. He was more bronze than he had been when they’d met, but it would still look good when his summer tan faded. 

“Okay,” he said. He trusted her style. He’d never worn lilac, but if she thought it would look good, he’d give it a shot.

Jessie got the feeling he was just agreeing with her to get this whole thing over with. Still, she couldn’t help pulling the best fabrics for him, even an expensive light blue linen blend that would make him look like Brad Pitt in Santorini. He didn't balk when she mentioned the price. He didn't even seem to notice. 

“Chucky, how did you know Jessie?” Bennet said as they walked down the block to the public parking they’d all met at. 

“A party,” he said, trying to sound non-committal. 

People got into their cars, but before Matthew could leave, Benny came up to his driver's window. “You wanna tell us what’s going on?” 

“You’re never this quiet,” Reino said from his place on Benny’s left. 

Matthew sighed and got out of the car. This was going to take a while. Sam had always been a bit of a brother to him and he knew he wouldn’t let him go without an explanation. 

“Jessie and I met last New Years Eve,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning against the hood of his car. 

“Okay, and what did you do? Hookup and never call her again?” 

“No!” He sounded too defensive, even to his own ears. 

Reino raised an eyebrow, “so what happened?” 

His hands raked into his hair so he didn't have to look at them as he told the story. “We met at this club in Ottawa, and we had this amazing connection. I've never felt anything like it before. Like, boom: Instant chemistry.” It felt even worse to say it out loud. 

Both guys just waited. 

“But the club caught fire.” 

“Wait, what?” Benny asked. “Really?”

“I know, man,” Matthew said, throwing his hands up, “and I thought I had her number, so I left her to find Taryn, but I didn’t, and I couldn't find her after. I didn’t think I was ever going to see her again, and then, all of a sudden she was here,” he gestured in the direction of the shop, “and I just…” 

“Fucked it?” Benny asked. 

“Yeah.” 

“So go back and talk to her,” Reino said, like it was the easiest thing in the world. 

He scoffed. “What would I say? ‘Hey, sorry I completely forgot your name and treated you like our connection didn't matter, but I actually haven’t been able to stop thinking about you for the past nine months?’” 

“Better than not saying anything,” Benny said. 

Matthew shook his head, “I can’t go back in there.” 

“Why not?” 

“You didn’t see her face. There’s no way she wants to talk to me.” 

A few weeks later, Jessie was piecing Matthew’s jacket from the blue linen in the back of the shop. The fabric was so light and delicate, she couldn’t even have music going while working with it. One wrong move and there would be pulled threads all over the place. She knew Raul would disapprove, but she gave herself twice the seam allowance to make sure she could finish the inside raw edges. Otherwise the fabric would start to pull apart - eventually, quite literally, fraying at the seams. 

“Uh, hello?” someone asked. 

She jumped and dropped the scissors. She let them clatter to the floor with a curse. She’d been so focused on the task at hand, she hadn’t heard the bell ring. 

“One second,” she called, before securing her pattern with an extra pin, picking up the scissors and coming out to the sales floor. 

“Hi, sorry about that. I got kind of in the zone. What can I do for you?” 

It was one of the hockey guys. The one with strawberry hair. She couldn’t help but glance around him to see if he’d brought anyone with him. 

She shouldn’t even be looking for Matthew, especially considering he'd ignored all of her phone calls about his suiting. All the same, seeing him again had awoken her longing in a way she couldn’t quite tamp down. 

“Raul said I had some suits he wanted me to try on,” he said. 

She asked his name, then went to the back to retrieve the garment bag. She remembered this one. She’d convinced him an oxblood red wouldn’t look too harsh with his coloring, and she was hoping he would like the results. 

Giving him a pair of pants, she left him in the changing room while she cut extra threads on the inside of the jacket.

Immediately, she could see the pants were a smidge too loose. They talked about his preferred fit, and he avoided looking at her as she pinned the inner thigh. All men reacted this way, but to Jessie, this was all about the garment. As far as she was concerned, he was a mannequin under these clothes. 

Finally, the questions that had been ruminating in her mind got the best of her. “So, did Matthew get traded or something?” 

“Chucky?” he asked, surprised.  

“I guess so.” 

“No,” he was laughing as he said it, “he has seven more years on his contract.”

“Oh.” 

“Why?” 

“I’ve just called him a few times about measurements, or fittings, and he’s never called back or come in.”

“Really? He told me he was here yesterday.” 

Of course he was coming in on her day off. Why had she even told him that in the message?

She stood up, and moved onto the jacket after asking him if he ever planned to wear it with a sweater. He wasn’t sure. Or if she should shorten the sleeves. He liked them a little longer. 

“Chucky told us what happened in Ottawa,” he said. 

Jessie felt her shoulders tense, but kept working. “Yeah?” she asked, not daring to look up. All this still felt too close to the surface, and she didn’t want this man she barely knew to know how much it had hurt when Matthew brushed her aside. 

“Yeah, he said he looked for you after the fire.” 

“I tried to stay, but my cousins and I were soaking wet and it was below freezing so we had to catch the train.” 

“He said he went back the next day and you’d been there, but didn’t leave a note.” 

That made Jessie gasp. Audibly. She blushed and tried to brush it off, “I was worried it might go to the wrong person,” she said, “plus I messaged him on Instagram and he never responded.” 

He hummed, debating the best way to approach this. He wanted to do some digging without letting on that’s what he was doing. “He said you guys had quite the connection.” 

Was she really going to go into this with one of his teammates? She hadn’t talked to anyone about it but Roger. Words bubbled up into her mouth so fast, she guessed she was. 

“Yeah, we did.” God, why did she have to sound so moony?

“Do you think there’s still something there?” 

“He made it pretty obvious there’s not.” 

“I don’t think he meant to do that. He was pretty shocked to see you.”

“I was shocked to see him too, but I didn’t just brush him aside.” 

“Listen, Jessie - it’s Jessie, right?”

She nodded.

“Matthew can be pretty thick. He gets so in his head, sometimes he doesn’t really think things through, but he told us what happened, and how much he liked you, and he said he fucked it and you wouldn’t want to see him again.”

She hummed, and got him a new suit to try on. She’d been right. The oxblood did look killer on him, like he could be in a GQ shoot. He looked impressed. 

“Would you want to see him again?” Sam asked. 

“If he came in here himself?”

He nodded. 

“I’d at least give him a chance.” 

Even though she would usually just move on, she’d never felt anything like the instant connection she and Matthew shared on New Years. It was the kind of thing she thought only existed in books and rom coms. Experiencing it in real life made it into something she couldn’t just walk away from.  

They talked about where they were from and made comfortable small talk for the duration of the fitting. She told him how relieved she was when Raul trusted her enough to run the shop by herself one day a week. 

“Listen, I’ll tell Chucky to come by next Wednesday. We’re leaving for the opening roadie that day, but I’ll try to get his head out of his ass before then.” 

She giggled. 

He could see why Matthew liked her, and could see how their personalities would match up well. She was kind and easy to talk to - quiet at first, but got louder as she got comfortable, and Chucky was just loud all the time. He could tell they both valued relationships more than things. 

The next week, after their final practice before the season opening road trip, Benny cornered Matthew in his stall. “You need to go see Jessie.”

“She doesn't want to talk to me, man.”

“The way she asked me about you last week would say otherwise.”

He scoffed. 

“I told her you still like her -”

“You what?!”

“She brought you up first, and you weren't doing shit, so don’t tell me I'm ruining your plans or some bull. She said she's called you a bunch of times, but you only show up when she's not there.”

“It's just easier,” Matthew mumbled. It wasn't his fault she told him when she'd be gone.

Benny rolled his eyes. “Dude, wake up. She still likes you.” 

Matthew looked at him, skeptical, “she told you that?” 

“Yes, but she didn’t need to. The first thing she asked me was if you’d been traded. We weren’t even talking about you.”

 A ridiculous amount of hope lit up his face.

“I knew it! You still like her too!”

What’s not to like? Matthew thought.

“She runs the shop on Wednesdays. Just go talk to her.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I went there last Wednesday, dumbass. She told me.” 

Matthew hesitated, still unconvinced. 

“Go. Now. I’ll drive you myself if I have to. I’m sick and tired of you moping around when there’s such an easy solution to your problem.”

“Okay, okay. I’m going,” Matthew said, holding his hands up in defeat. 

“And check your instagram. She said she sent you a message.” 

Usually when she walked onto the sales floor after the doorbell dinged, Jessie would have to search for someone among the racks of fabric samples and ready to be tailored suits. This time, a man was standing at the counter, watching her with the same determined intensity he’d shown the first time they met.

He was here. Finally. Four of his suits had been sitting in the storage room for more than a week, further proof that he was avoiding her. 

“Hi Matthew,” she greeted hesitantly. 

“Hey Jessie.”

They looked at each other in awkward silence for a moment. 

“Can I help you with something?” 

“Yeah, Raul told me some of the suits were ready?”

“They are.”

“I just came to pick those up.” 

“Oh,” the tiny spark of hope fizzled out again. Sam must not have made it through to him. 

She looked instantly downcast. 

To hell with it. He couldn't make any more of an ass of himself. “And I wanted to see you,” he blurted.

“You wanted to see…me?” she repeated, pulling a pen from her ponytail to start fiddling with it. He didn’t know why, but it struck him as such an endearing gesture. 

“Yeah,” he said, heart falling. Was Sam setting him up? He was a prankster, but not to this level, usually. Not when it was this important. 

“Why would you want to see me?” she asked, feeling that guard go up. Every time she got her hopes up about Matthew, he tore them down.

Thoughts raced through his mind. He could lie so easily, but where would that get him? It was time to just own up and blurt it out. Her reaction be damned. “Because I really like you.”

She looked surprised. Way more surprised than he’d expected. “I thought you didn’t remember.”

“How could I forget?” he asked. “I thought you must hate me since I forgot your name and acted like such an ass that first day.”

Shaking her head, Jessie wondered how on earth they got into this situation. “I mean, I was disappointed, but then, you backed it up by never coming to the shop when I was working, I thought you must be trying to avoid me.”

“I was.”

One of her eyebrows shot up.

“Not like that,” he floundered. “Like, I couldn’t stand to see you and remember how well we got on, and how much I like you, and how pretty you are when I knew I'd blown my chance and you hated me.”

She let out a laugh. “That makes no sense. What did I ever do to make you think I hated you? I called you every time something was finished, or we needed a new measurement. I gave you the best fabric selections.”

Had that been because she liked him? “I don’t know, it did in my brain. I guess I was so embarrassed I forgot your name when I like you so much, I was telling myself you must be angry with me.”

Jessie rolled her eyes. “You know, Matthew, for someone so smart, you can be pretty dumb.” 

“You think I’m smart?” He’d been called many things in his life, but smart was rarely one of them. 

“Yes. I think you’re very smart, except when it comes to romance, I guess.” 

He chuffed a laugh, grabbing the back of his neck. “I really fucked this one up, didn’t I?” 

“I don’t know,” she said, trying to be cool and hoping against hope that this last shot would land on target. If it didn’t, she was kicking him out and scrubbing him from all her memories. “I think you might still have a chance.” 

His eyes snapped to hers. “Yeah?” 

She nodded. 

Heart pounding, but trying to keep that flirty, cool skin on, he walked around the counter to remove the barrier between them. 

Knowing he still liked her brought all those feelings from the club rushing back. She’d never felt like that with anyone else. If only he knew how many times she’d replayed that night. How many times she remembered how he felt and how no one had ever kissed her like that, or swept her off her feet so quickly.

“Play your cards right,” she said, feeling breathless with the nearness of him. “And I think you might get another chance at bat.”

As he leaned in closer, her pupils dilated, and her eyes darted to his mouth. He licked his lips just to see her force her eyes back to his like last time. Her blush was even more adorable in the daylight.

“If I swing, what are my odds of getting a home run?” 

She laughed. It didn’t break the spell. It turned out that palpable chemistry was still between them, just waiting to be ignited. Their eye contact was hot and glued together.

“Maybe not today,” she said, “but I think it’s a safe bet that you’ll get on base.” 

Time moved in slow motion as he leaned in further, looking at her mouth, then her neck, then her cleavage, barely visible through the two undone buttons of her starched, white shirt, before snapping back to hers as she stopped him with a hand pressed tightly to his chest.  

“We can’t do this here. There are cameras on the floor,” she said. 

His head dropped forward in defeat. “I have to leave for Vegas in two hours,” he said, feeling more than a bit desperate. “I really don’t want to wait until I’m back.” 

“I don’t want to either, but I’m telling you, if Raul catches me making out with a client, I’m going to be out on my ass.” 

“So what do we do?”

She thought for a moment before an idea struck her. “Follow me.” 

She made a big show of walking into the back, digging his new lilac suit out of the garment bag and hanging it in the private dressing room. “You go in there. When I come back and ask you how it’s fitting, you need to tell me something needs to be adjusted and invite me in, okay?” 

“Right. Yeah, okay.” 

She put out the sign that said she would return soon and locked the front door. It wasn’t that unusual to lock up when they were helping a high profile client, anyway. Plus, Wednesdays were always the slowest day of the week, hence why she was allowed to man the shop alone. She just hoped Raul wouldn’t have any reason to review the tapes. 

Her whole chest felt like it was full of helium as she walked back to him. Were they really about to do this? 

“Everything going okay in there?” she asked. 

“Something’s wrong with this suit jacket,” he said. “Can you come take a look?” 

Upon entering, she found Matthew with his shirt already off.

Sweet Jesus, she was not prepared for that. For his sculpted body, and his chest hair, that tapered into a thin trail running down the center of his abs before it dipped enticingly into the waistband of his pants. 

“That’s not fair,” she said. 

“What’s not fair?” he reached for her and drew her to him, hands splaying over her waist.

“You’re already half naked,” she said, eyes wandering down his chest again. 

“You could be too,” he teased, playfully pulling at the shirt tucked into her waistband. He didn’t actually pull any of the fabric loose, which she appreciated. He was letting her set the pace.

“Damn, Jessie. You’re the only woman I know who can make a pant suit look sexy.” 

She laughed, and pulled the whole shirt over her head, leaving her in a white camisole, a black lace bra peeking out from underneath it. 

“Do you always wear black lingerie to work?” he asked, voice gone husky as he ran a finger under one of the straps. 

“Only when I think you might come in.” 

His eyes snapped to hers, thrilled but questioning. 

“Sam told me he was going to try to get you to come by today.”

“So this really is for me?” he felt dizzy with the prospect.

“No. It’s for me. I put it on this morning, thinking that at the very least if you came in and you were an ass again, you wouldn’t get the satisfaction of seeing how hot I look in my bra,” she said, before stripping off the camisole so he could see exactly how hot she looked in her bra. 

Seeing her, in black suit pants, a gold belt buckle flashing at her waist, and her sheer, floral lace bra that plunged between her breasts, the breath was sucked out of his lungs. 

His ongoing ache for her intensified, pressing insistently against the confines of his jeans. 

He stepped toward her when she once again stopped his progress with a hand to the chest. “I really like you, Matthew,” she said, swooning a little at the happiness that lit up his face, “but I was serious. I don't want to have sex.” 

“Can you define that a little more?” 

“What do you mean?” 

“Like you don't want oral sex, or…” 

She wouldn't have guessed oral sex would even be on the table. She practically had to beg past boyfriends for it. 

“I mean I don't want to have penetrative sex. The first time with someone new is hard enough. I don't want to make it more complicated by taking a bed out of the equation.” 

“I get that. Plus, it'll give me something to look forward to when I get back,” he said with a grin and a cheeky wink. 

God, maybe they really were made for each other. 

As his left hand slipped to the back of her neck, the other spread over her rib cage, thumb brushing against the soft lace that cupped her breast. 

She sucked in a breath, letting her hand ghost up his torso over the ridges and valleys, until her fingers hooked over his shoulder. The other slid around to his back.

It felt like it had been a million years since they’d last done this. Not the touching, not the skin to skin, which felt like…it felt like heaven, but the longing. 

Jessie was looking at him with that same hope and lust in her eyes. It made his stomach twist with that same wanting to fulfill them both. 

It was so long coming, he wanted to savor every movement, every breath, every glance. Her eyes were so green. Somehow even more green up close. 

Finally, when their lips met, she sighed, melting against him. 

This was all together more intense and less hurried than their first kiss had been. It was a slow burn, a thorough seduction, a fulfillment of everything Matthew had been dreaming of that night they lost each other. 

When he pulled away, their heavy breaths crashed together. 

Fingertips sliding up her back, he tried to memorize the feel of her. Her skin was so soft. 

Jessie was growing impatient. Any other moment, she would love this slow seduction. Most of the time she felt like men moved too fast. Today though, she had so much sexual frustration built up for him that the weight of desire was already heavy between her legs. 

Taking matters into her own hands, she leaned in and trailed her mouth along his jaw before nipping the soft spot behind it, just under his ear. He shuddered when she soothed it with her tongue. 

“I’ve been dreaming of this for so long,” she confessed, barely above a whisper.

That snapped him into action. Taking her waist, he pulled her flush to him, and crushed his mouth to hers. 

There was the passion she’d been looking for. 

As they surged together, she felt so restless and turned on, she tried to hook a knee over his hip in an attempt to slot him between her legs. 

Groaning against her, his hand slid over her rear and down her leg to keep it elevated and wrapped around him. 

Kissing her was so much better than he remembered. How was that possible? She was so good in his dreams. In reality, she was living - flesh and bone and wanting - and he couldn’t get enough. 

Moving to her neck, he sucked her pulse point. He felt her tremble against him, but her hand still came up to pull him back to her mouth. “Nothing visible, okay? I have to go back to work.” 

He nodded and caught her lips. It might be too late for that one, but he wouldn’t do it again. 

Her desire was a wildfire, consuming every part of her. It wanted to consume him, too. 

When she tucked two of her fingers behind the button of his jeans, a moan fell into her mouth. 

“Okay?”

“Yeah.” 

She tore the zipper down, and palmed him through his boxers. His hips jumped into her hand as a moan ripped from his throat.

His fingers fumbled to her belt buckle and paused. 

“Please,” she whimpered. 

He was clumsy with desperation and the distraction of her kissing and biting his neck, but he finally got it open and her pants undone. 

The weight of the buckle sunk the waistband to the floor with a heavy clink, and Jessie stepped out of it, kicking off her shoes at the same time. Sinking her hand into his pants, she shoved them down his muscular legs. 

He nearly fell over in his attempt to get out of his shoes so he could free himself from the shackle of the fabric around his ankles. 

Jessie giggled, and moved with him as he stepped away. He finally got his first look at her in her underwear. Made of some fabric he couldn’t name, they were also black and cut high on her hip. He could see it was a thong in the mirrored wall behind her. 

His jaw grew heavy with longing, but managed to make his mouth work enough to tell her, “you’re so beautiful, Jessie.”

“Thank you. I think you’re really handsome.” she said, running a hand down his chest. And he was - he could be a living sculpture in the Greek wing of the Louvre with his curly hair and sculpted body. 

Sliding his hands over her hips, he pulled her to him once more. He hesitated for a moment, and Jessie took charge, too impatient to wait. “Matthew?” 

“Hmm?” 

“I really appreciate you getting my consent, I really, really do, but you can just move forward. I’ll tell you if I don’t like something.” 

“Okay.” 

She captured his mouth again and the fire roared to life between them, stoked hotter by so much skin touching skin. 

Sneaking his fingers into the waistband of her panties, he pushed them down, trusting that she would stop him if she wanted to.

She didn’t want him to. 

His fingers traced back up her leg and when he stroked her, she broke from the kiss to let her head lull forward onto his shoulder. Her panting breaths were the stuff of his dreams. She was already so wet, and he wanted nothing more than to bring her pleasure. 

“Oh,” she moaned when he explored more, running a couple of rough fingers from her entrance to her throbbing bundle of nerves. She rocked into his hand, and he took the hint, caressing her over and over again until she was trembling and moaning. 

“Matthew,” her voice was wrecked: desperate and thick with longing. 

“What do you need?” 

“Your fingers,” she begged, “inside me.” 

He obeyed, following the rhythm she set. Pressing the pad of his thumb to her clit, a wicked, self satisfied smile took over his face as her head tipped back, and her breath hitched. 

He rutted against her thigh in an attempt to pacify some of his own lust. 

“Oh,” she moaned, “just like that.” Her hands slid to his arms, clinging to his biceps. 

He wanted to eat her pleasure for breakfast - sustain himself with it on long, lonely nights. He knew he would dream of her voice and all her little sounds through the whole ten days away, anxious to come back to the very actual reality of her. He kept having to remind himself this wasn’t a dream.

Body shaking, she cried out. 

Feeling her core pulse around him again and again, the release was so long coming, it seemed to go on forever.

Matthew continued to stroke and leaned in, kissing her right through her orgasm.

As her breathing finally slowed, he eased his fingers from her. 

“Oh my god,” she said, still clutching him to stay upright. “I’m so pissed we had to wait nine months for this.” 

Laughter barked out of his mouth.

When she could make her hands work, Jessie pulled his hard, hot length from his boxers, and stroked a few times. 

His mouth fell open, and he panted, “it’s bullshit, right?”

“Such bullshit,” she agreed, devouring the pleasure that washed over his face.

“Wait,” he said, grasping her wrist. “I want this to last.” 

“You already got me off,” she said. “What do you need to wait for?” 

“I'm not going until you've come at least twice. What's the point of women being able to have multiple orgasms if I can't give them to you?”

That was some flawed logic, but she allowed him to pull her hand away. She wasn’t going to say no.

“Can I taste you?” 

“If you want,” she said hesitantly, as if he might be pulling some kind of prank. She'd never had a man offer to go down on her first.

“I do want,” he said, guiding her to lean against the mirrored wall and sinking to his knees. “I've been wondering how you taste since we met.”

Maybe that oral fixation all the girls talked about online was actually true.

“Can you put your leg up here?” he asked, sliding a gentle hand to the back of her knee, and lifting so the joint bent around his palm. He guided her foot to the stool. 

When he looked up at her, his blue eyes shining with excitement, she retraced their steps to get there. Not even ten minutes before would she have expected to end up with Matthew Tkachuk eating her out in the back dressing room. 

“That feels okay?” he confirmed, palm stroking back up her thigh.

God, he was even making sure she was comfortable. Her whole body fluttered in anticipation. “Yeah,” she breathed. 

Every other time a man had given her oral, they were fast and sloppy, obviously trying to get it over with as soon as possible. With Matthew, he seemed to be dragging it out for his own pleasure, tasting and teasing like he just couldn’t get enough. He was driving her crazy - winding her tighter and tighter. 

“Matthew,” she moaned. It was better than any of his dreams. Better than any fantasy. “More. Please. More.” 

She felt his lips briefly curve into a smile against her before he really got to work. Licking with the whole flat of his tongue, then flicking with the tip, he was suddenly everywhere. 

Her hand scrambled for purchase on the wall behind her. Met only with the slick mirror, her fingers fumbled into his hair, searching for anything to hold on to. 

He groaned into her, almost as if in pain.

“O-okay?” she asked, voice shaking as she attempted to loosen her grip.

When she felt his response but couldn't hear it, it took all her willpower to push him away. She was not going to hurt him, especially when he had been so insistent on her consent. She could feel his hard breathing rushing over her and it set her skin to trembling. 

“Okay?” she asked again. 

“Good,” he assured, eyes flicking up to meet hers. “I'll let you know if you pull too hard,” he said with a wink before diving back in. 

Her head thunked back against the mirror. He really was made for her, that was the only explanation. 

 God, she was perfect. She tasted like paradise, like water in the desert, like his favorite meal after a long period of fasting. She satiated his every craving. 

Pleasure began to tingle low in her pelvis. It loosened her hips and turned her legs to putty. She'd never had a man take this much interest, let alone put so much effort into her pleasure. She moaned something unintelligible, even to her own ears.

His competitive drive growled into a higher gear, demanding to please her until she whimpered and begged. He licked and sucked and spelled his own name with his tongue, gauging where she liked to be touched most. 

“Matthew,” she moaned. “Oh my god, Matthew.”

He slipped a finger into her, and she cried out. Her hand tightened in his hair when he added another. 

A whimper on every exhale, she panted, trying to keep some semblance of control. It shattered when he gently kneaded her g spot. 

Pleasure thundered low in her belly, and she was forced over the cliff, glad to know Matthew would be there to catch her fall. Her vision turned hazy as she crashed. Time and space exploded into nothing more than shadowy constructs. She heard herself shout as if listening from another room.

When she came back to herself, Matthew was still languidly tasting her folds, one of his forearms braced over her hips to keep her upright. 

Pushing him away from her core, she tried to catch her breath. 

As he sat back, he wiped his face with his free hand. The satisfaction of pleasing her rumbled contentedly in his chest. 

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but I think I fucking love you.” 

He laughed, a look of delighted surprise on his face.

The reality of what she'd just said hit her and Jessie covered her face with her hands, “oh my god. I can't believe I just said that out loud.”

“That might be the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me during sex.” 

Relief sunk into her bones. Soul mates. They had to be soul mates. 

A few moments later, she finally found her feet and pushed away from the mirror.

“Alright,” she said, reaching for him and wrapping her fingers around his erection. He stumbled toward her, anxious to feel more. 

She smoothed the precome leaking from the tip onto the shaft with her thumb. “I think it's my turn to taste now.” 

Matthew wasn't entirely sure what he'd expected her to do, but lowering to her knees in front of him right away hadn't been at the top of the list. He expected her to jerk him off for a minute, maybe kiss and tease him a little. Not that he was complaining. If she was willing, he'd gladly accept. 

“Do you like more suction or more mouth?” she asked before licking the underside of his shaft. 

Oh God.

“I dont - I don't care.” He wasn't sure he was even going to last long enough for it to make a difference. He felt so close to the surface already. 

“You don't care?” she repeated, sitting back on her haunches to look up at him. 

With her mouth off of him, he could explain his reasoning a little better. 

“Frankly, I've been dreaming about this for so long, I could almost bust just from seeing you on your knees.” 

She was flattered and also a little relieved she wasn't the only one. 

“Okay,” she said as she reached up to pump him a few times. “Something we'll figure out later.”

The fact that she was thinking about the future, too, made him weak. 

Her lips wrapped around his tip, tongue caressing, and he was right there. 

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. 

“Jessie,” he moaned, “god that feels good.”

Was it the best blow job ever? Objectively no, but it was Jessie, so it felt more important than any that came before it. He felt like he was fifteen again, getting his first head, amazed by everything and having no restraint. 

“I'm - I'm gonna come,” he moaned, trying to pull back so as not to come in her mouth. 

Jessie would rather have it in her mouth than all over her, so she gripped the backs of his thighs to keep him in place. 

“Oh, fuck.” How could she possibly be this perfect? 

She sucked and caressed and he exploded with a long low groan. 

She kept licking, albeit more gently, until he pulled back, sensitivity making it too much to bear.

“Holy shit,” he said. The room felt muggy and he felt content in a way he'd been longing for since they'd lost each other. 

“Yeah,” she agreed. 

He helped her to her feet, and pulled her against him, wanting to feel her close. 

A while later, her phone, which had fallen out of one of her pants pockets, buzzed and the time flashed. 

“Shit! I have to go,” he said, scrambling for his clothes. “I still have stuff to pack!” 

“When’s your flight?”

“In an hour, but I have to drive home and then to the airport.”

They rushed to get their clothes back on. He hated seeing her bra disappear under the camisole again. 

As soon as he was dressed, he grabbed her jaw and kissed her. Her hands floated from tucking her shirt to cup his face. 

He'd just had her, but the wanting roared back to life as soon as she touched him, as if his body was trying to remind him what was possible between them. Like he could ever forget. 

“This was so amazing. I promise I'll take you on a real date when I'm back, and I'll call you while I’m gone,” he said. “I'm sorry I have to dash out of here.”

He kissed her again, hard and purposefully, before rushing out of the dressing room. 

“Wait!” she chased him onto the sales floor still tucking her shirt, “my number. You need my number.” 

“Oh my god,” he slapped a palm to his forehead. “I can't believe I almost left without it again!”

She giggled, “you're not getting away from me this time.”

They exchanged numbers and Matthew raced home. 

He rushed to pack the last of his things, grateful for the example his dad set, in always having a base bag packed the day before a road trip just in case something came up. 

He was the last one on the plane, a first for him.

“Chucky just got fucked!” someone yelled. 

Matthew felt his cheeks get hot. His hair was probably wild from Jessie's hands, and he could feel the love bite on his neck, a sure sign it would soon be a full blown mark. 

Reino met his eyes and raised a brow. Jessie? he mouthed. 

Matthew nodded. 

He wiped the back of his hand over his brow in mock relief. 

“Oh thank God,” Bennett exclaimed from across the aisle. “I thought I was going to have to lock you two in a room until you got together.”

Matthew laughed. 

When he got settled, he sent Jessie a text. Just on the plane, but I'm missing you already. I'm back on the 14th, so pencil me in for that date. 

I have you in for the weekend. We have a lot of time to make up for. 

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