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#stanley cup finals
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when my hands were caked with dirt at the foot of the grave, you loved me still; ask atrocity of me and see how i tremble with willingness at the sound of your voice.
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mt19 x reader: everyone loves to be taken care of.
(warnings: blasphemous filth, oral sex/fingering (m on f, another exception!), unprotected penetrative sex (m on f), kind of oral fixation (have you seen the state of that mouthguard), hair-pulling (bring back the curls), lots of praise and tension and all that nonsense, lots of talk about alcohol, also a lot of emotions! (be warned about those damn emotions! this one has a similar vibe to my qh43 og snakes one, i think), idk just please be warned, don’t read if you’re not 100% sure.)
(long a/n: my favorites - when i tell you i got carried away (again).  but how could i not, when mt19 could not even play in the final cup game because he broke the bone that protects his heart?  when poetry like that calls, you have to answer.  the playoffs inspired me, mt19 inspired me, enough that i created this fictionalized mt19 character that is basically a bunch of insecurities personified.  and the other character is just more of those in bartender form (i loved my bartending years! but they gave me a lot to think about!).  so, sorry.  this one’s a little sad, sometimes.  but you guys seem to like the sad shit, so i hope you like this.  apologies if i get caught up in the theatrics, at times.  we haven’t done a takeaway in a while, so here’s one - you deserve to be chosen and loved and taken care of because you’re you, not just because you’re around.  on a less serious note, can you tell how infatuated i am with mt19′s tooth gap?  yeah, i know, i made it too obvious, i need to relax.  i got a couple okays on the princess name, so if you don’t like it, you should have said something.  am34 is up next, i’m thinking some classic older brother’s best friend, we’ll see if the muses are kind to me.  please let me know what you think, i think i’ve made it obvious that your interaction means everything.  also you guys literally should have seen me trying to figure out the physics of fucking against a barstool, it was legitimately ridiculous.  gif is not mine.  sending so so so much love to you and your snakes.  go canucks.  see you soon.  be your own first choice.
meeting new people simply came with the job of bartending.  new faces filtered in and out of your bar like wisps of fragrant smoke, most of the time too fleeting to truly remember, never mind get to know.
however, the first day he entered your bar, a peculiar feeling hovered around you: the feeling that you already knew him, deeply and personally.
of course, you recognized him and his small group of teammates from the games that constantly played on the screens above the bar, but this was different. you couldn’t quite place the reason behind the feeling, not yet.
he didn’t approach the counter right away, but it was a saturday night, a busy one, so you were constantly being pulled from one patron to another, barely noticing the passage of time as your hands seemed to never stop moving.
but at some point, there he was, sitting at one of your stools, looking at you like he had all the time in the world, a confident, just bordering on arrogant smirk slanting across his face.  you didn’t have the presence of mind or time to appreciate the rest of him, not right now.
but you were paid to treat all customers the same.  and at the end of the day, that’s what he was, at least then.  just another customer on a busy, hectic night.
“what can i get you?” you asked as you mixed a drink for the party at the other end of the counter.  your voice was steady, knowing, friendly, but only just.  
his smirk deepened as he leaned forward.  “all business for the princess, hm?”
your brow furrowed in confusion before you realized where the name had come from.  you absentmindedly adjusted the plastic tiara a birthday party had given you earlier that night - the group of girls around your age had gushed about how delicious their drinks were, how you had made their night, how you just had to have it, how it would look so pretty with your hair.
they were sweet, and they tipped well, so you didn’t push the birthday girl’s hands away when she slid the crown from her head and onto yours, even smiling a bit at the gesture.  it was hard not to smile at women being girls again, and you loved the opportunity to be apart of it.
“princess is my side hustle,” you said to him now, keeping your tone even as you poured the colorful drink you were mixing into two glasses. 
he made a face that you couldn’t decipher before leaning on one of his hands.  “well, listen,” he started, to which you raised a brow.  you didn’t like being told to listen - you just did, it was something you were good at, and being told to made you not want to anymore.  he nodded to the group he came in with.  “my friends over there bet that i couldn’t get your number.  want to help me prove them wrong?”
you turned to drop off the drinks before running his words over in your mind.  you were hit on all the time, another part of the job.  people were attracted to being taken care of, and it was your job to take care of them, which always led to some misunderstandings, some one-sided crushes, some regulars that tipped much more than they needed to.
but something in your stomach dropped at his wording.  you didn’t like it, not at all.
“did they?” you asked, actually focusing on his face for the first time that night as you ran a rag over the counter.  his eyes were blue, so, so, blue, and almost comically confident, unwavering.  as was his smirk, his full lips so perfectly placed and practiced, not quite like a natural habit but more like a learned one.  
and then there was the brutal cut of his jawline, only made more prominent by his scruff of facial hair.  the way his hair curled over the tops of his ears, a youthful but not juvenile look.  his long lashes, elegant nose, flushed complexion, it was a little too perfect, at least for you, right now.
all of his features together appeared more like a masquerade ball mask, not a real, genuine face.  it was off-putting, this actor in front of you, the one you had seen on television so many times.
he hummed in affirmation, smirked deeper. 
you sighed.  “that’s too bad,” you said, to which he gave you what looked like his first genuine expression of the night - one of confusion.  “i only give my number to people who ask for it because they want it.”
you had long ago learned your lesson about being the person someone spent time with in order to please someone else.  it never ended well.
his brow furrowed in further disbelief, complete lack of understanding, maybe a bit of shock, but you only tossed the rag aside and grabbed a glass.  “now, how about a drink?”
he didn’t respond for a second, searching your face for something, maybe an explanation, less probably a spark of remorse.  you let him.  you weren’t going to budge on this, not tonight, not for him.
he shook out of it, literally, a small shake of his head before the mask was back on, in full strength.  “yeah, sure.  just an ipa, whatever you’ve got.”  he addressed you by the name on your name tag, an act you normally hated, but didn’t mind so much now, in his deep tone.
you gave a small grin as you filled a tall glass.  “thank god,” you started.  “after the million mixed drinks i’ve had, you might just be my favorite customer.”  you set the glass down on a paper napkin in front of him, only meaning to meet his eyes for a second.
once you did, though, you did a double take, now trapped in his gaze, completely transfixed on the pure hope you found there, so devastatingly poorly hidden.  this, this was genuine, no mask to be found.  the innocent hope lit up his eyes, his face from within, exposing an almost childlike expression that had you so deeply intrigued.
“yeah?” he asked, his voice no longer oozing with arrogance but instead with something you knew well.  unbridled wanting.  hope, hope, hope.  he might as well have the word please scrawled all over his face in thick marker.
you felt your lips curl up at this new discovery, this crack in his exterior that gave you a sense of deja vu.  “yeah, matthew,” you said, a little slowly, letting the rest of the bar melt away for a second.
this moment felt hot, sticky, like you were both suspended in amber, neither willing to be the first to break eye contact.  
but moments don’t last forever, and suddenly one of his friends was slapping him on the shoulder, saying something loudly about taking too long.  you weren’t really listening as you watched his face again harden into that confident expression.
he ordered a round for his friends, and the moment was gone, lost in the neon light, and you were soon pulled again to another patron, the chaotic rhythm of saturday night overtaking you again.
you didn’t see him for the rest of night, caught up in your work.  towards the end of your shift, though, you happened to look up, towards the door, urged by some magnetic force, and found his gaze awaiting yours right before he walked out of the door.
a real face, a real look, unveiled and vulnerable, swimming with heat and hope and a million other dangerous things.  an expression so true that you had to look away from it’s veracity, complete candor.  when you looked up again, he was gone, and you assumed that would be the last time you saw him.  
so, a couple nights later, deep into your shift, you almost dropped the glass in your hand when you turned and found him sitting on that same stool at your counter, looking up at you expectantly with those storybook eyes.  
“matthew,” you said, softly in greeting, almost a question, confused at his presence, especially on a weeknight, without his teammates.  alone, seemingly.
“princess,” he responded, an imperfect smirk playing across his mouth, revealing more teeth than he had the previous night - enough that you could see the gap between his two front, a little detail so beautiful you might have sighed. 
“no crown tonight,” you responded, half smiling.  
“it was never the crown,” he said, to which you gave a slight shake of your head.  it didn’t hide your shy delight.
“where are your friends?” you prompted, slightly suspicious.  
something that looked like hurt flashed ever so briefly across his eyes.  “they’ll be here, princess, don’t worry.”
you shrugged.  “wasn’t worried.  just wondering why you’re here alone.”
your last word seemed to strip him entirely, lay him bare in front of you, completely vulnerable.  you regretted it immediately, felt almost mean.
“but i guess you’re not alone, right?  you’re here with me?”  you gave him a smile, tried to will one out of him, too, half-succeeded.  “ipa?” you asked, eager to bring this interaction back within the boundaries you were familiar with, ones you could control.
“whatever you’ll give me,” was his odd reply, one that had you scrunch up your face instead of reaching for a glass.  “ipa works.”
your voice was laced with confusion.  “i know it works.  what do you want, though?”
again there was that child-like look in his eyes, veiled by a thin film of doubt, uncertainty.
and somehow you thought you knew what might have been holding him back.  you shifted forward, leaned on your elbows, closer than you had been to him before.  “what if i promise you’ll still be my favorite, hm?  will you tell me then?”
you watched his gaze dip down to your mouth as you spoke, linger there before meeting your eyes again.  not like you minded, much as you wanted.  a spark of warning fired in your stomach.  don’t get too close, it mumbled, you can’t fill anyone’s void.
unfortunately, it was hard to deny the utter satisfaction you felt when he looked at you like this - like you had wiped away all the bad things in the world.
but then hands landed on his shoulders, loud greetings between friends exchanged, ripping you both out of the moment.
“now i know why chucky wanted to come back here,” one of them said eventually, looking at you with a gleam in his eye you didn’t quite like.  “i remember you, beautiful.”
“shame,” you said, “i don’t remember you.”
he put a hand over his heart like he’d been hurt, but his smirk was brutally arrogant, almost animalistic.  “how about we make sure you don’t forget my name again, yeah?”
you rolled your eyes.  “matthew, come get your dog,” you said as you grabbed a couple more glasses and began to pour the same drinks they had ordered the other night.
“you want me to start barking?  ‘cause i will,” the persistent teammate pushed before turning to his side.  “but it seems like you’re the one she’s got on a leash, matthew.”
you watched his face carefully as you slid the drinks their way, interested to see what would win out - the desire to maintain his mask around his friends or whatever was building between you two.
you bit your lip as you watched the internal struggle play out across his face, shooting a pleading look your way for a millisecond.
you decided to throw him a bone, put his friends in their place.  “i meant to tell you.  i put your game on yesterday,” you said to him.  
“did you?” he asked, so blissfully hopeful.
“yeah,” you said, leaning forward again, letting yourself get a truly greedy look at him.  “but i like you better in person.”
you reveled in how desperately pleased he looked by your admission.  
“we were playing too, you know,” someone said, half laughing.
“were you?” you asked, a theatrically confused expression on your face.  you shrugged.  “don’t think i saw you.  maybe i was distracted.”
one of his friends laughed.  “don’t feed him, beautiful, he’ll just keep coming back.”
but you didn’t even look at whoever said the comment, instead completely locked in on matthew, and he on you.  
“god, i hope so,” you said, barely more than a whisper, only meant for him.
just something you said, a true thing, and yet he did.  every couple of days you would look up and there he would be, on that stool at your counter, looking up at you.  sometimes his friends would come, and sometimes they wouldn’t, and on nights he was playing you would always put the game on the television where you could best see it, so you could best see him.
and despite everything he did, everything he said to you, which screamed longing and interest and want, you were surprised every time he came back.  surprised that his interest in you didn’t wear off after the first couple indulgences, like it seemed to with everyone else.
but, then again, matthew struck you as the kind of person who could make a home out of anything, anyone - like the kids who would cry if someone tried to come into their treehouse, as if the magic of the place was defined by it being all for them.  
sometimes this job made you feel like a building with a revolving door, so many faces fading immediately as they came into your life.  it felt so good to have whatever this was, this constant, even if that warning voice tried to convince you it wasn’t real, it wouldn’t last.
one night, when you put his away game on, he was picking fights, antagonizing the other team, all the while chewing on that abused mouthguard, which never failed to catch your attention, send a little shiver down your spine, make you wonder what those teeth would feel like on your bottom lip, your fingers, your neck.
this night, though, the officials had had enough, and handed him a game misconduct.  he skated off the ice, into the tunnel, chants and boos echoing through the arena so loudly that even the television cameras caught their strength.  
still, when the camera focused in on matthew’s face, there was nothing but that cocky, knowing smirk, that one that he had showed you the first day.  that fake one.  you narrowed your eyes at the tv, felt your stomach turn at the fact that he could be two people at once.  how could you ever trust him that way?  how could you ever believe that he really, truly, wanted you?  that warning voice compressed into a lump that settled in your stomach.
the lump was still there that next night, and so was he, there in his usual spot, right before you were about to close.  “missed you, princess,” he said, those blue eyes so full of meaning.  
and you hated how those words meant so much to you.  “yeah?” you asked, wiping down the counter.  “what’d you miss?”
you expected the answer that so many people in your life had given you before: how they liked how you made them feel, how you paid attention to them.  nothing about you, rather something that said more about them.  
so you were stunned when his gaze dropped to you lips and stayed there.  “think i started to dream about your smile,” he said, and you may have sighed, just a little, as you felt your cheeks flush.
“did you watch me?” he asked, that spark of hope lighting up his face in a silent plea.  
you nodded slowly, remembering the game.  “wish you had stayed on the ice longer.”
he shrugged, the motion emphasizing the muscles in his shoulders and neck.  you pretended not to notice.
“why do you smile when they hate you?” you asked, your head tilted in genuine curiosity, recalling his face as he made his way down the tunnel.  
there was that mask again.  “i love it.”
“you don’t,” you said, shaking your head slightly, watched him swallow.
“what?” he asked.  you could have imagined the smallest shake in his voice.
“you don’t.  you do that other smile you do.”  you didn’t tell him your theory, that you knew if a crowd booed loud enough, maybe he could close his eyes and pretend they were cheering, instead.  pretend it was love.
he made a sound that was half-laugh, half-scoff.  “what other smile?”
you bit your lip, unsure how to explain it.  you reached your hands forward, paused for a moment as his eyes widened, so flooded with want.  that beautiful second of expectation before a first touch, the first of what you inherently knew would be many.
“like-” you put your hands on his face, ever so lightly, moved his lips until that cocky smirk was opposite you.  “like this.”
“like this, princess?” he asked through your fingers, his breath on your palms, and heat thrummed in your stomach.  
you nodded slowly, reluctant to take your hands off of him.  “and my favorite one is like this,” you said, moving his lips again until you were satisfied with the replica smile you had created, toothy and wide and beautiful - until you realized he was smiling at you like that anyways, without any manipulation.
you grinned back at him, melted at the simmering heat and longing in his eyes.  before you could question it, you let yourself tap one finger to his front teeth, feeling the gap there, that imperfect feature you had most loved when you first saw it, felt your throat tighten at the way he was looked at you, the way he let his mouth just barely close around your finger.
a feather light motion that made your next breath come out shaky before drawing yourself away.  you hadn’t realized just how close you had drifted towards him, even with the counter between you.
you glanced at the clock on the wall, surprised to see it much later than you expected.  “i need to close,” you said, clearing your throat.  “i need to count the register.”
“okay.”  he looked dazed.  maybe in a cartoon there would have been pink mist or little hearts floating around his head.  
you tried to collect yourself, ignore the phantom of his lips around your finger, a ghost of a kiss, a promise, a plea.
you gave a shake of your head.  “i need to sit there.  the register unlocks from that side, in front of your chair.”
your stomach dropped at the sudden darkness his eyes took on, so much so that you knew you would give in to whatever he said next.  
instead of getting up, he pushed his hips up and back, spread his legs apart, settling deeper into the seat.  “seat’s open, princess,” he said, and the confidence in his voice, all over his face, it wasn’t fake, it wasn’t a mask.
it was real, genuine, set ablaze by your touch.
you looked around.  you were closed, everyone was gone on this monday night, except the owner, a lady older than sin who was mopping in the corner, and who was known for minding her own business.
there was nobody to judge you there, nobody to punish you for giving into this, exactly what you wanted.
time felt like jelly as you made your way around the counter, paused for a beat in front of him before he helped you up onto his lap by your waist, faced you towards the register drawer, let his arms rest around your middle.
“this okay?” he asked softly, his breathy rasp warm on your neck.
you breathed out a yes, slightly overwhelmed by all of this touch at once.  his chest behind you, radiating heat, his thighs firm below you, thick arms around you.  here he was, everywhere, all at the same time, and after only interacting with a counter between you, this felt almost absurdly perfect, forbidden.
so perfect that it took every semblance of your concentration to unlock the register drawer, to push the rise and fall of his chest to the back of your mind, to ignore how your own body seemed to melt into his, relax completely, an utterly miraculous contrast to the stiff, constantly active way you usually were at work.
“still okay?” he asked as he rested his head on your shoulder.  you could feel his facial hair through your thin shirt, smell his cologne, knew you would smell like it, too.  his thighs flexed underneath you, and you could have moaned.  you were having trouble focusing on counting, never mind answering his question.  
he rumbled with a laugh you felt more than heard.  “princess?”
“still okay,” you managed, “but you have to be still.  i need to count.”  
you felt him nod and smile into your shoulder as you got to counting, the rhythm of the bills eventually lining up with the rhythm of his breathing against your back, so peaceful and right that maybe, eventually, you both would have fallen asleep like this.  
“finished,” you whispered when you were done, organizing everything back where it needed to go, soaking up the last few moments of his touch for that night.  
“already?” he asked, although it had probably been half an hour.  
you hummed, pushed yourself up and off of him, even as his hands continued to reach for you, his gaze hungry.  
so hungry it scared you.  you still didn’t quite know if he just wanted someone, or if he wanted you, if he would have acted this way for anyone who asked the right questions, gave him the attention he craved, saw through his mask.  
hungry, hungry, hungry, and what scared you most was that you knew that you weren’t hungry for just anyone.  only for him.  and that question of reciprocation, it was like injecting ice into your blood.
“it’s late,” you said.  “you have to go.”
if he was hurt, he didn’t show it, seemingly completely fine with taking things however slowly you wanted to.  “okay,” he said.  “may i have your number, please?”  there was your favorite smile.
you smiled, despite yourself.  “why?”
maybe it was the late hour that caused him to misspeak when he said, “because i want you.”  he quickly realized his mistake and flushed, only just.  “it!” he corrected, looking like a kid with chocolate he wasn’t supposed to eat schmeared all over his face.  “i meant i want it.”
you fluttered at his mix-up, delighted that maybe he meant what he said.  enough that this time, you didn’t deny his request.
it was a while before you saw him again in person, as he had back to back games and then several away contests before coming home again.  but, like always, you put him on the screen by the bar, feeling yourself warm every time the camera caught his face.
one night, a late night, a couple hours after one of his games had ended, you looked up and you saw him at the doorway.
a bad feeling immediately bloomed inside you.
it had been a tough loss, close until the end, and one of his stupid penalties had forced a power play goal in overtime for the opponent.  worse, this result had been crucial for their playoff bid.  it wasn’t looking good. 
you had not expected to see him tonight - he usually didn’t come by on game nights, only on nights off.  and he didn’t look right as he stood under the neon signs at the door, he looked off.  he looked drunk.
his speech was slow and slurred, making you cringe.  after a couple of years at this job, oh, how you hated drunk people.  oh, how you never wanted to see him like this, so at the mercy of something as truly stupid as alcohol.
and even more so, how you hated to see him drink himself stupid, how you wanted to make everything all better.  you signaled for the bar-back to cover for a moment.
you walked around the counter and approached him.  “matthew,” you began, “what’s going on?”  you tentatively touched his forearm before grabbing one of his hands, wrapping it in both of yours, bitterly aware that he was not present as you were.
“oh, princess,” he said, stumbling just a bit into your grip as you pulled him outside.  he mumbled something you couldn’t hear before laughing, but the laugh was cruel, devastated.
when you were outside, the only audience was the small group of smokers that always hung around the front of the bar.  you took his face in your hands.  “tell me what happened.”
“what happened?” he said slowly.  “what happened?” he repeated, maybe asking himself.  “ruined it, always ruin it, ruin everything.”  his voice came out like a haunted childlike sing-song.  it made your heart shatter.
you looked in his eyes, still holding his face.  “you do not ruin everything, okay?  you just need to go home and sleep this off.”
“princess, princess, always tryna’ make me feel better,” he slurred, letting the whole weight of his head rest in your hands, your fingertips touching the wisps that curled around his ears.  he stumbled forward into you.  “need to kiss you, yeah?  make me feel better.”
you dropped your hands from his cheeks as if you had been scalded.  if your heart wasn’t broken before, it was now, as you pushed his chest away while he leaned forward.  you felt tears begin to prickle on your waterline.  
of course, he wanted you now, when he was begging to be taken care of, when he was outwardly desperate to be reassured, when his vision was probably so impaired that he couldn’t really even see your face.  
of course he wanted you now, when you could have been anyone.
“one of our cabs will take you home,” you said, trying to hide the wobble in your voice as you waved one over, barely able to look at him.  
he pouted.  “what?” he said, teasing, but there was a bite to his tone.  “don’t like me like this?  not your favorite anymore?”
you didn’t have the energy to scoff.  “don’t be mean.  sober up.  goodnight.”  you opened the car door for him, forced him down into the seat.
“don’t you want to kiss me?” he pressed, looked up at you, like he had before so many times from his barstool.  like he had so many times, when it had been different.
oh, how they love to be taken care of.  and look at you, taking care of them.  desperate, foolish girl.
and even now, you couldn’t bring yourself to lie, to say no.  “ask me when you’re not out of your mind.”  you shut the car door and turned away, wiped your eyes with your sleeves quickly and methodically before taking a breath and getting back to the bar, to your job.
but you were a shell of yourself for the rest of the night, his words repeating over and over again in your mind.  make me feel better.
so you blocked his number that you had just added, sighed of relief when one of your colleagues mentioned his team was headed away for a long stretch on the road.  a week and a half without him.  surely, completely isolated from him, you could forget about what happened.
and you half-believed that, until you came into work that next day and realized you would not be completely isolated from him at all.
right next to his stool there sat a bouquet of flowers and a red jersey, folded up.  you already knew what name was on the back.  you stood still at the entrance, reluctant to approach the offering.
“left it earlier,” the owner called from across the room, sweeping.  “i told ‘m to fuck off, but he wouldn’t.”
“thanks anyways,” you said.  
“i asked him why not,” she continued, the barest hint of a smile on her thin lips.  
you furrowed your brow, confused. 
“asked why he wouldn’t fuck off,” she said, “took him a second.”
you breathed out a laugh.  
“said you didn’t know how much he cared, yet.  and he needed you to know.”
you swallowed.  “that’s nice of him,” you said, running the words over in your mind.
“not everyone deserves your second chances,” she said.  “but i don’t let just anyone in our bar before we open.”
the words settled between you like diamond dust.  the owner finished sweeping and left.
you approached the gift, found a note sitting on top of it in terrible handwriting.
i’m sorry, it read, i’m back next thursday.  i’ll ask you then.  you wondered briefly what he was going to ask you before you recalled what he had said to you that night when you put him in a car.  your inability to fully turn him away.
you took a shaky breath as you read the last line of the note.
even if i’m not your favorite, you’re still mine.
your stomach fluttered, surprising you.  so simple, and yet those words meant everything to you.  that even when he got nothing from you, he wanted you still.
you hoped and hoped and hoped he meant it, and you believed it enough that you put the flowers in a vase and wore the jersey for each of his game days.
thursday came faster than you thought it would, probably because of how nervous you were.  in this time apart, anything could be true.  he could mean what he said, he could want you and only you, you could be counting down the minutes until finally kissing him, touching him how you so desired.
deep down, you were so deeply afraid that when he showed up, if he even showed up, that dreamy facade would be broken, and instead all of your greatest worries and insecurities would be realized.  
throughout your whole thursday night shift, you were jittery, versions of how tonight could play out flashing through your mind.  
the entire night flew by, until eventually it was time to close, and you tried to ignore your heart sinking.  maybe this version of tonight, the one with you alone, maybe this one was for the best.
you counted the register, began to mop, waved goodnight to the owner as she left for the night and reminded you to lock up.  
you did your final wipe-down of the counter, feeling the devastation begin to finally set in.  you scrunched up your face, told yourself you wouldn’t cry on your bar top.
“princess.”
you looked up, and there he was, draped in neon light, and for a second it looked like sunlight streaming in through church stained-glass windows.
the sentiment didn’t seem altogether different.  how many prayers had been answered at this bar?  how many homemade temples had been elicited?  how many haphazard gods?
“didn’t think you were coming,” you said as he made his way over to you, sat down on his stool, exactly the same dynamic as that first day, but there was no one else.  only you and him.
“it’s my fault you ever had a doubt,” he said, looking up at you with those blue, blue eyes, an ocean of apology.
you nodded, tossed the rag aside, rested your forearms on the counter and looked at him, eye to eye, and waited for him to say something.
“i’m sorry,” he said simply, and there was no mask to be found, only genuine regret.  “i’m sorry i showed up here the way i did, i’m sorry i embarrassed you at work, i’m sorry i made you feel like just another person.”
you felt your heart stitching itself back together, however painful the process.  he gently took your hands in his, warm and rough and firm.  “you’re not just another person, okay, princess?”  his voice was rough. 
your exhale was choppy, so forced you had to close your eyes for a second.  how long had you waited to hear somebody say that to you?
“you didn’t embarrass me,” you whispered.  “i could never be ashamed of you.”
he gave the smallest laugh, shook his head.  “even now, that’s what you focus on.  how i’m feeling.”
“only because i care about how you’re feeling,” you said, almost defensive.
“you gonna let me care about how you’re feeling?” he asked, his thumbs tracing circles on your palms.  
you stayed quiet, bit your lip, searched his eyes for an trace of doubt, falseness, didn’t find any.  only a slowly simmering flame, drowning in want.
“you’re too far away,” you whispered.
“i’ve always resented this counter,” he said with a hint of a smile. 
you gave a small smile back as you walked around the bar top, finally stood in front of him, exhaled before sitting down on top of him, your legs straddling his hips, your faces only a breath apart.  you clasped your arms around his neck, leaned forward into his chest as his hands settled on your hips.
“ask me,” you all but begged.
his voice was a low rasp, his gaze syrupy with lust.  “don’t you want to kiss me?”
you nodded, and he smiled, and then you were leaning forward, finally capturing his lips in a kiss that felt like neon light and television static and a million pleases, all finally answered with of course, anything for you.
you let yourself melt into his chest, tangled a hand in his curls, felt his grip tighten on the flesh at your hips.
he smiled into your mouth when you ran your tongue along the gap between his front teeth, groaned when you began to move your hips back and forth across his lap.  
you tugged at the curls at the nape of his neck as you felt him grow harder beneath you, to which he bit down ever so lightly on your bottom lip, the feeling even better than what you had imagined all those times you had watched him gnaw on his mouthguard.
he used his grip to set your hips into a rhythm as you ground down on his lap.
“want to taste you so bad, princess,” he breathed into your mouth.  “let me take care of you, yeah?  just want to make you feel good.”
you nodded feverishly, tugged at your clothes as he lifted you off of his lap and rested you back onto the counter.
laid bare for him, you become aware of how wet you already were, perhaps the result of all the waiting, the questioning, the wanting that had existed between you both since the beginning.
he groaned at the sight of you.  “fuck,” he rasped, “so wet already, hm?”  he ran a finger through your folds, brought it to his mouth and sucked.  “who’s this for, princess?”
“for you,” you whimpered, so eager for him to touch you how you wanted.  “for you, matthew.”
“all for me.”  you could hear the satisfaction in his voice before he leaned forward and began to tease you with his tongue, forced a choked moan from your throat.  
one of your hands braced the counter for stability while the other shot forward of its own volition, grasping a handful of his curls, making him grunt.  the noise vibrated through you.
“fuck,” you bit out, overwhelmed.  he pressed his tongue flat against your clit, making your hips push up into him and your grip on his hair tighten.  “fuck, you’re good at that.”
you felt his smile as he pushed two fingers inside of you, began to move them in and out slowly while continuing to tongue your clit.
you moaned loudly as your eyes rolled back, the combination of sensations making it hard to control your breathing, stop your back from arching up off the counter.  
he brought his other hand to your stomach and pressed down, cementing your hips down into the bar top, intensifying every shock of pleasure, immediately bringing you impossibly close.  “fuck, i can’t,” you whimpered, your hand grasping for sheets that weren’t there.  “can’t, shit, so close-”
he lifted his head up, thumbed your clit while curling his fingers slightly inside of you.  “gonna cum for me?” he cooed.
you nodded, eyes scrunched shut.
“cum, then, princess,” he pressed.  “make a mess for me, hm?”
that building wave finally crashed over you, and you gave him exactly what he wanted, reveled in the fact that you could.  
you caught your breath, let out a weak exhale, opened your eyes when you felt him press a light kiss against your hip, on the side of your ribs, up to your collarbone, finally on your lips.
pressed against you, you could feel every inch of him, so hard, immediately making you hungry for him again.  “more,” you pleaded simply.
“yeah?” he rasped against your lips.  “want more of me?”
you palmed his cock in reply, making him hiss, helped him move his clothes aside.  “need to feel you inside me.”
he shifted you off of the counter and against his stool, which you immediately bent over and rested your forearms on.
he groaned, pumped his cock once, twice.  “tell me this is okay, princess.”
you nodded.  “please fuck me, matthew.”
he did as told, pushing inside you entirely, barely giving you any time to adjust before he set a brutal pace, practically splitting you in half.
“holy fuck,” he choked out as you stretched around him.  “shit, you’re so perfect for me.  bein’ so good, princess, stretching for me so well.”
you moaned as you began to adjust to his size, every part of you still so sensitive from your last orgasm.
he built up his rhythm, forceful and deep but never so much that it hurt, only a pleasant pressure that began to build inside of you.
“so deep,” you whined, your voice muffled by your own arm, “fuck, feels so good.”
he grunted in time with a slow thrust in response, making your eyes squeeze shut at the sensation.
“want to see you,” he rasped, hooking one hand around your thigh and flipping you around before pushing back into you, so that now your back was against the stool, your front facing him, one knee bent.  he groaned when your eyes met.  “fuck, like that.”
you reached one arm up to his shoulder for support, rested the other one back against the stool.  your thighs began to shake from the stimulation, making you clench down on him harder, urging another deep moan from him.  
time disappeared as the rhythm of you both continued, so lost in the feeling of him and his noises, so perfect and better than anything you had imagined.
at one point, he brought one of his hands to your clit, began to tease you again with his thumb, while the other hand braced the back of your neck.
“hm, look, princess,” he said, his voice rough with wear, as he forced your gaze down to where your bodies met.  “watch me fuck you, yeah?”
you whimpered at his crudeness, couldn’t tear your eyes away from the sight in front of you, his cock thrusting into you, his hands willing you to the edge again.
he let out a choked laugh.  “oh, you like that, hm?  feel you close.”
“fuck, i’m so close, matthew,” you whimpered, feeling your legs give out.
“‘s okay, princess, ‘m there too,” he mumbled, his motions becoming less controlled.  “cum with me, yeah?  want to feel you cream on my cock.”
you did as he asked, spurred on by his words, the overstimulation.  you felt him reach his high with a groan, warm inside of you, his body collapsing against yours.
you held each other close for several long moments, the only noise between you satisfied breaths and shallow heartbeats.  the air was warm, so peaceful, and you bit back a smile at how this bar was now forever changed - this peace would never leave.
you felt his facial hair scratch gently against your shoulder as his head rested there, so content to simply have you close.  
it could have been a lifetime.  it was probably a minute or two.
he was the first to speak.  “so,” he said, drowsy and sweet, “you guys still open?  how’re my chances of getting a captain and coke?”
you smiled.  how far you had come from the man with the mask asking for anything, maybe an ipa.
if please had been written all over him before, x’s and o’s were now, in pastel pink.
“anything for my favorite,” you said, and he kissed just under your ear.
fin.
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mattymartin · 2 years
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↳ a guide to support the colorado avalanche in the 2022 stanley cup final 
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masoncarr2244 · 10 months
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2023 Stanley Cup Champions Vegas Golden Knights
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lurlur · 10 months
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Reasons to root for Vegas in the Stanley Cup final:
The team all genuinely like each other
They are super cute
Everyone likes goalies and we have SO MANY OF THEM!
A Stanley Cup win in his first post season is exactly what Jack Eichel deserves
Our captain, Mark Stone, also deserves the win after the last two years of injuries, surgeries, recovery
There's a really high occurrence of brain weasels in the Vegas locker room
Like, not to diagnose strange men through a screen, but if these guys are all neurotypical I'll eat my hat
Unlike Florida, all of our guys wore their pride night jerseys
Seriously, you would rather root for a team with the homophobic Staals? I didn't think so
Consider that I love them and it would make me really happy?
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homoerotichockeyfights · 10 months
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prison-mikes-bandana · 10 months
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To all those watching the nhl stanley cup right now!! A nice throwback moment!!
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grandlarks · 9 months
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The Great Gold Sheep - the Mountain Goats
"...It's about idolatry, obviously." - John Darnielle, 2020-06-15 - WNYC Session - New York, NY (x)
(Matthew Tkachuk) led the Panthers in playoff scoring with 24 points (11 goals, 13 assists) in 20 games... So the fact that Tkachuk couldn't play in an elimination game spoke to the severity of the injury. (x)
the Mountain Goats + hockey 2/?
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oeldeservesthenorris · 10 months
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Sasha Barkov and his Panthers, down 3-1 in the Stanley Cup Finals, remain unbothered, stopping for seafood before heading off to Vegas. This is a whole vibe.
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starboydjh · 7 months
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stanley cup finals (matthew’s version)
8x10, oil on panel
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cyarskj52 · 10 months
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mensuited · 10 months
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d3m0l1t10n-l0v3rs · 10 months
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vegas are only winning the cup because they have nolan. even if he hasnt played a game this season. his Manitoban vibes pushed them to this level of success.
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mattymartin · 2 years
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↳ avs at stanley cup final media day | 6.14.22
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Sudden Death (1995) directed by Peter Hyams and starring Jean-Claude Van Damme
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aume · 10 months
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Panthers media team, you are 🔥🔥🔥🔥!!
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GO AVS!
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so proud of them
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