#matthew tkachuk fanfiction | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

holy-puckslibrary · 7 months ago

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─ 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐢𝐭'𝐬 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐧𝐢𝐜.

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

main masterlist

content warnings under the cut.

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

I. it’s getting so much clearer…

Matthew regrets making you a key.

Majorly.

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

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

Rooted in the entryway, he surveys the damage.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And he does.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh, hell no.”

II. it’s coming undone…

Matthew scowls at his reflection.

“—looks so fucking stupid.”

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

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

Twitter’s going to have a fucking field day.

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

“Of course, it fucking do—”

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

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

“It looks, what?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What’s gotten into him?

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

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

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

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

Not with you looking like that.

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

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

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

You snort. “Funny."

Sarcasm pinches his face as he unintelligibly mocks you.

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

Matthew turns you to face him without warning.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“W-We need to be quick—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s my girl.”

III. it’s delicate…

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

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

A robbery, if you ask him.

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

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

“Knock it off.”

You blink, bemused.

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

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

“I'm not.”

“You've never been a good liar.”

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

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

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

“Don't change the subject.”

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

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

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

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

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

“So?”

The probe is firm yet reluctant but not inherently dismissive.

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

A thick, paralyzing quiet descends on the balcony.

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

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

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

And you do.

Ever the benevolent people-pleaser.

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

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

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

“Thank you,” you acquiesce.

Mathew smiles.

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

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

IV. it’s been a long time coming…

He gets it now.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“They aren’t!”

They absolutely are.

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

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

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

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

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

And he doesn’t hate it.

💌 if you liked it, pls lmk! 💌

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matthewtkachuk · 7 months ago

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last night (blame it on the vodka)

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

pairing: matthew tkachuk x reader

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

word count: 3k

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

You’re never drinking again.

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

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

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

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

Brielle: Last night you told him you loved him

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Georgia: Last night you told him you need him

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

you: fuck off sammy

sam: still not my name, lightweight

sam: at least I didn’t propose last night

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Unfortunately your vibrating phone simply refuses to let that happen.

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

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

Just your ego is bruised.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Could it possibly get worse, you wonder.

Matty: let me up?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I was drunk, it’s not that deep.”

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

You don’t ask.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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tkwrites · 2 months ago

Note

Okay I'm done now and heading to bed, one last question.

Can you name a favourite fic for each of the boys?

Hi my Lovely,

There are quite a few of your asks I haven't answered, but please know I'm not ignoring them. They'll just take a little more time to respond to.

I can tell you my favorite fics, though:

Matthew Tkachuk - Back To You because it's such a complete story. I love the way he and Jessie meet, lose each other, and then are thrown together by fate again. I also feel like I really captured that sassy side of Matthew's personality in this fic, which I was really worried about at the time I was writing it. This is also the story that I think would be easiest to flesh out into a full length novel.

Nico Hischier - I love all the parts of his story for different reasons, but I think It Doesn't Matter Part II is my favorite. I had actually written the whole sequence of nude sketches for another character, but ended up scrapping the whole story because I couldn't find any real conflict for them to resolve. When I realized I could use it for Nico and Lena if she was an artist, I was thrilled and got to work rewriting it for them. In the end, the only things that stayed the same were 5 of the 6 poses. Getting into and out of them changed, as did the characters relating to each other during them. I love all the longing and awkward tension between them in this piece, as well as how they finally end up confessing their love for each other. Finally, the culmination of all of their longing into the final sex scene? Chefs kiss.

Quinn Hughes - This one is so hard. I've written so much about Quinn and Sarah and I love all of the pieces for one reason or another. If I had to pick three favorites, they would be:

1). Five Days of Joy because I'm so proud of this fic. It took SO long to write, but I love the way it turned out. I love that we go through so many consecutive days and such a gamut of emotions with Sarah and Quinn.

2). The Second Time is Better because I love the portrayal of a more real first time. One of the things that drives me batty about romance novels is how the characters get together and always seem to have this instantly amazing sexual connection. No room for human failing or first time jitters. In reality, it takes time to build sexual chemistry and connection, and I went into this piece wanting to show at least some of that.

and 3). Second Nature because I think it has the prettiest prose. I still think this passage is some of the best writing I've ever done:

This was ultimate flirting in Quinn’s book. Something he knew he could do. When someone wanted to talk about music, or art or classic cars, he was a fish out of water. But talking hockey? He could do that all day long. Convincing someone to like the sport he loved so much? There wasn't a more ideal situation.

“Oh, good,” she said, leaning forward to kiss him.

This was a perfect evening. Casual and comfortable. Cooking for someone he - liked, and kissing her whenever he wanted, taking no worry of who might be watching.

Letting himself get swept up in the kiss, he slid his hands over her hips and tried to commit her scent to memory. No matter what happened - though he was pretty sure nothing bad was ever going to happen with Sarah - he wanted to remember this. She smelled like a dream he’d had as a boy. Like vanilla and warm skin and fireside, summer nights. It was an outlandish notion, but he couldn’t shake it.

All her life, Sarah had read stories about star-crossed, fated lovers thrown together by chance and circumstance and serendipity. But those were all just stories. Even when her grandpa talked about meeting her grandma - like they were always meant to be together, and just had to find each other to make it happen - it seemed like folklore. A tall tale he spun to make their love story seem more epic.

After writing all this out, I realized perhaps you meant favorite writing from other authors. Let me know if that's something you'd like me to answer.

#tkanswers 📮#writing #favorites #quinn & sarah snapshots #quinn hughes #quinn hughes fanfiction #quinn hughes smut #nico & lena #nico hischier #nico hischier fanfiction #nico hischier smut #matthew tkachuk #matthew tkachuk fanfiction #matthew tkachuk smut #nhl fanfiction #nhl smut #hockey fanfiction #hockey romance #hockey smut

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swissboyhisch · 8 months ago

Text

You Can't Be Serious

Pairing: Matthew Tkachuk x OC

Summary: A night out celebrating brings co-workers closer than what they thought possible. With the help of a little alcohol.

Word Count: 1346

Warnings: Probably crossing work boundaries. Alcohol. Kissing. Blurry consent.

A/N: This is for @offside-the-lines Birthday Bingo!! Happy birthday to one of my favourite Aussie girlies. I know it was a couple weeks ago but Birthday month is the best thing to celebrate!

My choice of four bingo boxes were:

Drunken Confessions

Dancing

Rivals (enemies) to Lovers

Mistaken Identity

Sorry it's so late but work became a little stressful and unpredictable. But I got it in just in time! I really hope you enjoy this as it definitely had me writing tropes I haven't before. Happy birthday Rox <3

Also shoutout to @mp0625 for being my beta. Always can count on you!

THE MASTERLIST JOIN THE TAGLIST HOCKEY DISCORD

Cora sighed happily as she finally stepped foot into her apartment, taking off her shoes and collapsing onto the couch. Even though it was a lost cause as she’d be leaving again to meet the boys at the bar, they had organized to celebrate the team clinching a playoff spot. Some country bar that the boys liked to go have a good time at when celebrating a win.

As one of the off-ice fitness trainers, she spent a lot of time with the players, creating great friendships. Cora was the only woman in the facility's fitness physio and trainers team and the youngest by far. She had done a traineeship last season, and when the head physio left, he suggested that she come onto the team as one of the other men would be taking his position. As the only woman, the boys had taken to her like family, and suddenly, she had 22 brothers.

Notice the 22 and not 23? Well one of the team decided she was annoying and just looking for attention. Even when she was just doing her job. Matthew Tkachuk, ever since she started her traineeship, had taken a liking to pissing Cora off whenever he could. If she had to spot him while he did weights, he would do the opposite. She was younger than him and telling him what to do? Yeah right.

But he had been injured for the last 4 weeks so the two had been spending more time than usual working together making the tension peak. Hopefully, with Matthew being back on the ice tonight, he will have simmered back down before he said something to make Cora strangle him. He was holding it against her that he wasn’t allowed to play yet. Like it was solely her fault for not clearing him to play.

Instead of wallowing and thinking about the dumbass that was Ratthew, Cora pulled herself off the couch and into her bathroom where she could shower and get ready. She was thankful that quite a few of the girlfriends, wives and family members were also coming so she wouldn’t be the only woman within the group.

Cora chose to wear a red lacy bodysuit and a black denim skirt with a leather jacket to finish off the look. A bold red lip and simple smokey look with curled hair made her look out of this world. Something the boys weren’t used to as they only ever saw the woman in athletic clothes and team gear. She traded in her worn pair of Nikes for a pair of trusty black heeled boots. She knew by the time she ordered her uber and got to the bar, some of the players and family would already be there so she grabbed her clutch that had her phone, portable charger and ID in it. The uber luckily wasn’t that long for a Friday night.

“Cora!” Yana Tarasenko yelled as the young woman climbed out of the SUV.

“Yana,” She laughs, being brought into a hug.

The pair intertwined their arms and made their way through the security with Vlad to where there was already a group gathering in the back corner around multiple booths and tables. Players, partners and family alike were all chatting away happily, nearly all with some kind of drink in their hand. Whether it be alcoholic or not.

“I’m going to get a drink,” Cora yells over the music to Yana who nodded and waved her off.

Yana found a seat with some of the other girls in a corner booth tucked behind the boys. Cora found herself at the bar, ordering her usual vodka cranberry along with two tequila shots. If she was to get through this social gathering, to be what she deemed as a normal, she needed a few drinks. Hence the shots. When she wasn’t paying attention, a body slid into the bar right beside her.

“Your lips look lonely. Would they like to meet mine?” A familiar voice spoke up over the Carrie Underwood song that was blaring.

Cora turned slowly, not wanting to believe what she had heard. There beside her, and apparently hitting on her, was an already tipsy Matthew Tkachuk. What the actual fuck? Those words did not just come out of his mouth.

“Tkachuk,” Cora muttered uninterested.

“So you’re a fan?”

Cora laughed, “You can’t be serious…” The curly-haired boy looked confused for a moment. Which to Cora was comical. “Matthew, we literally–”

“Cora!” Barkov shouted when he saw her at the bar. He brought her into a hug, but she didn’t miss the shocked look that crossed Matthew’s face.

“Cora?” He gasped.

Instead of wasting time, she disappeared onto the dance floor with some of her friends dancing and sipping her cocktail. A few of the girls were cheering her on when she shook out her hair that she had put into a clip for the trip to the bar. They were all having fun, enjoying themselves. When the first few notes of Kesha’s song Take It Off played, Cora let out an excited squeal. She had practiced the line dance a heap after seeing it on TikTok.

“Go Cora!” The girls yell as she races to the middle of the circle with quite a few other bar patrons.

As the chorus came up, Cora stripped off the jacket she was wearing and waved it around in the air above her head. She thrived on the attention of all the girls and their partners cheering her on. Matthew had stepped up beside them and watched the girl he had come to be so frustrated with. After the song came to an end the group pulled her into the circle, showering her with compliments on the side of her she’s never shown to the team.

“You make not liking you hard when you move your hips like that,” Matthew whispers, coming up behind the dancing girl as the attention turns elsewhere.

She could faintly smell the beer on his breath but she was probably just as drunk. “Matt…”

Cora leant back against Matthew’s body as his arms came to wrap around her waist. His fingers tickled her skin through the lace bodysuit. Save a Horse Ride a Cowboy started to play as the two swayed together in time with the beat.

“Wanna get out of here?” Matthew yelled over the music after another hour of drinking and dancing.

Cora giggled, “Let’s go.”

Without saying goodbye to any of the team or partners, the two slipped out of the bar and into the back of an Uber that Matthew had ordered. The two laughed and whispered on the journey back to his apartment. Cora was helped out of the car by Matthew and led up to the 11th floor of the apartment complex.

“You frustrate me to no end,” Matthew mumbles against Cora’s lips as he pushes her to the now-closed door.

Cora frowns at the words, “What? Why?”

“You held me off the ice even when I was all good to play.”

That made Cora step away. Even though the two were definitely tipsy, probably drunk if you look at the true definition, it hurt to hear that. “I can promise you it was for the best.”

“But I was good to play…”

“We knew we’d make the playoffs, why risk you getting injured and missing the playoffs? Why risk our best player?”

Those words coming out of Cora’s mouth made Matthew’s thoughts flip. He had only thought of himself that Matthew hadn’t considered the team and the future of the season of he had made his injury worse.

The silence was worrying to Cora. What was running through his head? “Matthew?”

The curly-haired boy pulled her close again and pressed his lips to hers. It was addicting… For both parties. The two stripped off clothes, leaving a trail to his bedroom.

“I’m pretty sure I’m in love with you,” Cora slurs as they fall onto the bed together.

Matt grins, “I know I’m in love with you.”

TAG LIST:

@findapenny @mp0625 @hischierhaze @11zegras @lvrzegras

@francesfarhadi @cixrosie @dasiysthings @dancerbailey3 @puckmaidens

@cole-mcward48 @sammiejane22 @rleigh-47 @devilsandpensfan @luca-fantilli

@books-hlmc @kajasagmo @poufsouffle21 @there-goes-thefighter @totallynotrobotic

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broadstbroskis · 2 years ago

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cruel summer | matthew tkachuk

Devils roll the dice, angels roll their eyes What doesn’t kill me makes me want you more

15k, summer romance, fwb to lovers, childhood friends to lovers, significant references from cruel summer

+playlist

a/n: hi! i’m back, maybe! kinda. i am not exaggerating when i tell you this has been years in the making. someone once asked me a question about what song i would love to write a fic about and i said cruel summer by taylor swift. shoutout to them, whoever you are, for inspiring this! at some point, i lots of continuity errors that are not really relevant to the plot (i.e. matthew was traded to the panthers, although neither calgary nor florida appear in this, ages, etc.)

HUGE thanks to the many friends who cheerleaded me on with this. some of you don’t even go here anymore, i love you still and hope you’re all doing well. for those of you that still are ( @blueskrugs @matthewtkachuk @miracleonice87 @laurenairay probably more, i’m sorry i’m forgetting!) you are all amazing, i love you, you’re all incredible and supportive and the best!

Growing up, your year was split into three seasons: football season, lacrosse season, and summers at Cape Cod.

Your dad’s football season began early; he’d go off to training camp well before your mom would move you and your brother back home for the school year, and even once he’d retired from the sport and moved into a broadcasting role, he was still back and forth for the last month of summer much more frequently than the rest of you.

Lacrosse came next, the sport that both you and your brother loved. Once preseason began, it was all you lived and breathed until the season was over, whether that was in heartbreak or absolute elation.

But for all that you loved lacrosse, summers at Cape Cod were your favorite. You lived for those summers at the Cape, you loved the friends you made there, you loved the time spent at the beach, the peace felt there. Those summers were like no other part of the year.

So you were excited to be able to spend one last summer there before you had to enter the real world. One last hurrah of no worries.

Or at least, that’s your plan. You’re sure that your mom’s got other plans for your summer, but honestly, you’ve got a job lined up that’s set to start in September, once intern season is over, and you’ve got nothing planned besides sitting your ass on the beach with a book in one hand and a drink in the other until then.

Your parents had mentioned working on the house over the year, but the basics remained the same and the excitement for summer starts to bubble within you, as you make your way to your room, chatting with your mom as she points out some of the work they’d had done. Her next project- the downstairs bathroom- was ready to be started and she already wanted your opinions. “I brought cabinet and back splash samples to look at!”

“Deal.” You laugh, hanging off the door frame of your room, eager to get inside and throw your stuff down. “This weekend, for sure.”

Your room is familiar, unchanged in every way since you last left it, to the point that there’s still half a bikini out on the balcony that you must have forgotten to pack up last summer. You drop your suitcase on the floor and open the door to grab it, immediately distracted by the sea air, leaning against the railing.

“Yo!” A voice calls, and you look over to find its source, grinning when you do.

There’s a boy on the balcony facing you from the house next door-well not really a boy anymore; he’s got five years in the NHL under his belt now. But regardless, Matthew Tkachuk is grinning at you from the balcony next door, just like he used to every summer when you were growing up.

“Hey!” You call back, waving excitedly, and as if being here with your family and your summer friends wasn’t enough to make this the best summer, having Matthew here too? Well, your last hurrah was just getting better.

-----

It’s far later than you would have woken up if you were going to lacrosse practice at school, but still far earlier than you’d like to wake up in the summer, when you find yourself blinking at the wall, unable to fall back asleep and feeling restless, so you slip out of bed and start digging through your stuff for some running clothes.

If you’re not going to sleep in late, you may as well get a good run in.

The route you start is familiar, an old comfort, and it brings a grin to your face to see everything that’s still the same and all the things that have changed since your last time running this path a few years ago.

A few minutes in, you notice someone fall into step beside you and look over to find Matthew running beside you. “Hey.” You pull an AirPod out of one ear and he does the same, returning the greeting.

“God, why are you awake?” Matthew asks, and you can hear how tired he is.

“Used to waking up early.” Seriously, lacrosse workouts had started hours before this. “Why are you?”

He pulls a face. “Needed to get a workout in before we go grab the boat from the marina.”

“What, and Brady doesn’t?”

“Lazy fucker said he’d do it after.” Matthew grunts. “Not gonna happen.”

“Ohhh, calling out conditioning already! I love it.” If you thought your own family was competitive, the competitiveness of the Tkachuks, put you all to shame. It was fucking hilarious to watch, a highlight of every summer.

Matthew shrugs. “110% to everything, right?”

“I want a front row seat when you guys play corn hole this week.”

“Shotty Taryn.” Matthew grins.

“Poor Brady.” You lament. “Not even going to know what hits him.”

Matthew shrugs. “That’ll teach him to sleep in.”

You burst out laughing, then have to stop running because you think you’re going to die if you continue doing both. “Oh my god, you asshole.”

Matthew shrugs again, waiting for you to catch up with him a few steps ahead, but he’s laughing too, which just sets you off more, and honestly, you might need more than a minute to recover from this one. It’s been a while since you’ve seen him and you’d forgotten how much fun it was just hanging out with him.

-----

“There’s a party tonight,” Nora, who comes from one of those Kennedy-esque giant New England families and has been summer-ing three doors down from yours for as long as you can remember, says, not even bothering to lift her head up from the towel she’s sunning herself on. “That a couple of guys from my school are throwing.”

You shrug, dragging your attention away from the game of cornhole that Matthew and Brady are playing with a couple of your other friends, Ethan, and Jake. “I’d be down.”

“You just want to hook up with Alex Miller one last time.” Bri, Nora’s cousin and best friend- a wild friendship that you have never been able to fully understand, but one that you think could just watch the back and forth for hours-accuses her.

“So would you, if you knew the things he could do with his tongue.” Nora waggles her eyebrows.

“This was a bad time to come over.” Ethan cringes and you, Bri, and Nora all burst into laughter as you see the same look on Ethan, Jake, Matthew, and Brady’s faces, game of cornhole evidently complete.

“Party tonight.” Nora explains. “You in?” Ethan and Jake both immediately and excitedly agree so you turn to Matthew and Brady. “You guys coming?”

Brady shrugs super nonchalantly, but Matthew nods. “Yeah, sounds fun.”

Nora grins. “Sweet. We’ll meet you outside tonight at 10.”

It’s already 10:15 when you and Bri make it down to their kitchen, finally dressed, already a little tipsy, and still waiting on Nora, but the boys have let themselves in and made themselves at home, drinks already in hand. “Uber will be here in five.” Jake says.

“Fuck.” Bri’s eyes widen and then she goes to shout off for her cousin as you laugh, suggesting a round of shots quickly before you go.

The best part about some of these old Cape Cod houses is all the land they have and how far they are from the main roads or, better yet, their closest neighbors, and when the Uber drops you off at the end of a driveway, it takes a minute before you realize the party is already in full swing. There’s music bumping, the bass is heavy, and there’s a bonfire crackling on the beach, which is absolutely where you’ll be headed just as soon as you find the keg and get yourself a drink.

“There’s your boy.” Bri elbows Nora, when the group of you are barely halfway up the driveway, and Nora holds a peace sign up to all of you as she dips off to the side.

“See you next week!” Ethan jokes to her, because she's known for disappearing for weeks at a time in the summer once she finds a boy, only showing her face at parties and the occasional beach day until she’s ready to find the next one.

Nora pauses long enough to turn and flip him off, grinning at all of you as you laugh, even Brady, who’s definitely least familiar with all of you, barely old enough to even sneak beers off to last time you were all in town together, but then she's off, and so are the rest of you, filling cups at the keg and moving through the party, saying hi to friends and familiar faces from summers’ past.

But the bonfire was your goal from the minute you entered this party and it’s where you find yourself almost immediately, squishing yourself into the smallest space, enough that it’s barely even a seat next to Mathew, practically half in his lap. “Hey!” He whines in protest, but it doesn’t sound serious at all, even as you shift yourself around and drape your legs over his.

“Thanks for sharing, Matty!” You beam but immediately want to take it back as he rests his cold cup against your leg.

“Payback.” He grins right back, but transfers the cup to his other hand, resting his free hand there instead, thumb just gently brushing back and forth over your skin, and quickly the two of you lose yourself into catching up with your friends again.

——-

“I’m dying.” You tell Matthew, when you meet him at the end of your driveway the next morning.

“I already puked in the bushes across the street.” He tells you. “Not sure how long this run is lasting.”

It lasts until you puke in the trees lining a stretch of road, which sets Matthew off as well, and then you both stop in a nearby convenience store to grab gatorades, before walking slowly to the beach and just...sit, slowly sipping.

“This is much more my speed today.” You tell Matthew, yanking your tank top off over your sports bra to use as a pillow and lying back on the sand.

“Yeah.” Matthew agrees after a minute, sounding a little spacey, so you turn to follow his voice, only to find that he’s done the same as you, and is lying back as well, showing off a lot of skin, and a lot more muscle than when you’d last seen him a few summers ago.

You feel a little ridiculous when you find your eyes lingering on the slope of Matthew’s shoulders and down to his pecs- after all, you’d spent all day at the beach together yesterday and hadn’t had this issue-but you can’t seem to take your eyes off him.

“Gonna stay here a while.” You close your eyes, turning away from Matthew, soaking up the feeling of the sunshine, already feeling yourself drifting off into a nap.

“Power move.” Matthew agrees and the next thing you know, someone’s pressing a cold can into your stomach.

“Holy shit!” Your eyes pop open as Jake laughs above you. “You asshole.”

“Here.” Jake passes you the beer can and a koozy and even as you feel your stomach turn, you pop it open.

“I’m going to regret this.” You tell him.

“Summer, babe!” Jake shrugs. “Live it up.”

And well, that’s what you’re here for, right? That was your whole plan for this last hurrah, wasn’t it? So even as your stomach turns, you cheers your beer with your friends, moving closer to Matthew to make room for the rest of them to throw everything down, thoughts of his shoulders almost forgotten as plans for tonight start coming together.

Almost forgotten.

-----

Tuesday night is burger night at the country club and it’s been a weekly event for your family since you were a little kid. So after another long day at the beach (and a much needed post-beach day shower), you and your mom make your way to the club to find your dad already waiting for you at a table on the patio. He’s flipping through the menu, like he doesn’t order the same burger every week, and he’s already ordered drinks for all three of you- a whiskey for himself and a glass of wine each for you (rosé) and your mom (chardonnay).

“How was golf today?” You ask your dad, already grinning and ignoring the glare your mom sends your way. Magic Steve, as he was known by almost everyone, after a football season filled with comebacks leading to a Super Bowl win, had picked up golf the second he retired from football, too competitive to sit around and do nothing, but the magic didn’t carry over and he was terrible at it, no matter how many lessons he took. You lived for his stories about how each different course was out to get him in a different way. Would it be the ball’s fault he lost today or his putter?

“Awful.” Your dad says, launching into a story about the eighth hole- the bane of his existence- and the group in front of them, and the cart girl, and his caddy, each playing a role in why he lost today. “Are you sure you don’t want to come back and work the course this summer?”

“Sorry.” You tell him, sure that you sound anything but about why you don’t want to come back to being a cart girl. The money was great, but, “I’m a free agent this year.”

He laughs. “What’s your starting offer then?”

“Sunshine, sand, and beer.” You grin.

“Got all those things here.” He jokes and it takes a second before it lands.

“Ugh, lame.” You tell him, but you can’t even keep a straight face because he looks so proud of himself. “Just like your score today, apparently.”

“Cold-blooded.” Your dad says as your waiter approaches. “Taught you so well.”

“Steven.” Your mom rolls her eyes, exasperated.

Your dad winks at you and you hide a giggle as you order. The conversation turns to some of the decorating ideas for the downstairs bathroom and when your mom wants to really get started, before switching to your brother, some of the neighbors, and some hot town gossip.

“Before I forget!” Your mom says, as your dad is paying the bill. “Chantal wants to do dinner with everyone when Chase is here this weekend.”

“Can you clear time in your busy schedule of sitting around doing nothing?” Your dad deadpans.

“I’ll have you know that Matthew and Brady are right next to me sitting around and doing nothing, but I guess we can make time for Chase.” You sigh dramatically.

He shakes his head at you fondly, ruffling your hair as you try to stand up from the table. “Must be a nice life.”

“Very peaceful.” You tell him, finally standing. “Maybe one day when Chase is here I’ll join you on the course and kick your ass.”

“Remember you said that next time you come home at 2am drunk and I let you sleep in.” Your dad advises, as the three of you start walking out toward the cars, because you both know the potential for you to beat him is there. “Because I will.”

You giggle and blow him a kiss, even though you know you’ll pay for it later. “May the best golfer win!”

It’s once you’re home, barely an hour later, that the text comes in.

ice cream🍦?

There’s really nothing to even think about. You were two seconds from your pajamas and bed but as soon as Matthew texts you to ask, you can practically taste a Dresner’s cone in your mouth. Meet you out back. You send back and then slip on some sneakers and head back downstairs.

“Where are you going?” Your mom looks surprised. You had, only a few minutes ago, ducked out of watching a movie with her and your dad because you were too tired from your long day in the sun.

You’d taken a lot of shit for that one.

“Dresner’s with the Tkachuks.”

“Oh, she can stay up for ice cream.” You hear your dad call out sarcastically.

You grin. “Bye, love you!”

When you get out back though, the only Tkachuk out there is Matthew. “Ready?” He twirls the keys around his finger.

“Yup!” You follow him around the corner to their garage, sliding into the passenger seat. “Siblings busy?”

He nods, starting the car. “Taryn’s with her friends.”

“And Brady?” You prompt.

“Brady’s with Melissa.” He smirks.

“Brady!” You say, putting on the most scandalous tone you can manage. “Look at him, growing up!”

“Grown up Brady is just one more person to share beer with.” He points out.

You burst out laughing. “We’re all legal adults now that can buy alcohol whenever we want. Some of you all even have jobs. I don’t think sharing beers is a problem anymore.”

“Yeah, it’s a good life now.” Matthew laughs.

You nod in agreement, grinning and jumping out of the car practically before he puts it into park and ignoring his glare. “Yeah it is.”

It’s late enough at night now that the families with young kids have mostly cleared out of Dresner’s, but there are plenty of high schoolers hanging outside still, which only makes you feel old as fuck when you glare at a pack of them for getting too close on their bikes.

Matthew’s cracking up at the look on your face as they pass. He has to stop walking for a second, hands on his knees and bent over to catch his breath.

“They almost ran me over!” You protest.

“Uh huh.” He says, failing to hide a smirk, as he presses his hand to your back to lead you to the counter. “Sure.”

Nothing about Dresner’s has changed since the two of you were kids, from the large blue and white planks the building is made from to the giant fading board listing all the flavors. In fact, the only thing that ever changed was the chalkboard in the center window listing the special monthly flavor- strawberry shortcake for May.

Matthew’s already eyeing it up, but you know exactly what you’re ordering. “Mint chocolate chip in a waffle cone with rainbow sprinkles, please!”

The teenager behind the counter raced off to make your cone, but next to you Matthew’s laughing. “Ever going to try something different?”

“Why should I when I’ve already found the best?” You laugh, accepting your ice cream from the teenager.

He laughs, shaking his head at you fondly, and placing his order- strawberry shortcake with hot fudge- before turning back to you. “How do you know it’s the best if you’ve never even tried any of the rest? You’ve been eating mint chocolate chip on a waffle cone since we were six!”

You smile sweetly at him. “From every bite of yours that I take.”

“Well maybe I just won’t give you one today.” He threatens and you laugh.

“Yeah, okay.” You snort, reaching for your wallet.

Matthew waves you off with his credit card, already passing it over the counter as he accepts his cup of ice cream. You thank him quickly and then reach for his spoon. “No!” He protests, lifting his ice cream out of reach as the two of you start walking away from the counter. “No way! Branch out with your choices! Stop being a thief!”

“Come on! One bite. Please?”

“No! Get your-” He starts, but you reach up to touch the skin on the underside of his arm, just under the sleeve of his t-shirt, already knowing his reaction. “Fuck! Your hands are cold!” His arms come down and you make your move, leaning in to lick at the ice cream in his cup, like you would your cone. He yanks the ice cream away, but it’s way too late, reaction far too delayed this time.

“Mmmm.” You grin. “But still not better than mint chocolate chip!”

But when you look over at Matthew, he’s got this weird look on his face, something you can’t really place. It takes a few seconds for him to even realize you’ve spoken and he blinks a few times before he responds. “You’re unbelievable.” He finally says but it sounds a little different than before, less like banter and more...serious? But maybe not in a bad way either...

You're not really sure what happened there or how to take that, so you just nudge him with your shoulder and keep walking next to him. “I know.”

-----

While on your run the next morning, Nora texts your group chat about a party that Alex Miller was throwing that night.

Oh you’re alive?? Bri texts, before confirming that she’ll be there.

Ethan and Jake are quick to pile on with jokes as well, and confirmations, asking about what time they should all arrive.

There’s a bunch of messages to catch up on when you and Matthew end the cool down to your run with a quick dip in the ocean before you sit on the beach between your houses for a few minutes to dry off.

“Party tonight?” You look over, eyes caught on a water droplet rolling down Matthew’s bicep as you wait for him to respond.

“Yeah.” Your eyes flicker up to meet his, but thankfully, he’s not looking at you and didn’t catch you staring (this time, at least, because it’s definitely happening more often).

“You don’t sound very excited.”

Matthew sighs, rolling on his side a little to look at you. “Getting bored.” He says, in that way that usually means he’s about to come up with a terrible idea. “Need something new to do.”

It’s only years of summers spent with Matthew that tells you him being bored is bad for you all. He’s too used to moving constantly to sit still and relax like this all the time. “Want to take a boat out one day this week?” You suggest. “Do some water sports?”

His face lights up instantly and you know right away it was the right thing to say. “Tomorrow?”

“You think you’re going to be up for that tomorrow?’ You ask skeptically. “After tonight?”

He hesitates. “Alright, maybe Thursday.”

You burst into laughter and he smiles back at you. “Thursday.” You promise. “Chase’ll be here by then, too. I’m sure he’ll love to come out.”

Matthew looks like a whole new person as he stands up, holding his hand out to help you up. “Great!” He beams, practically lifting you off the sand without any effort from you, a feat that you are very much not thinking about. “Let’s get moving, one day closer to the boat.”

-----

“What’s up?” Matthew asks, as you slip into his side later that night.

Or maybe slip’s not the right word. “Stumble and crash” into his side might be a better description. It’s late now, after all, and you’ve been drinking pretty steadily all night.

“Nora’s trying to set me up with Alex’s friend.” You complain, leaning further into his side as you see said friend approaching you from over his shoulder. “So she’s not ‘alone here’ anymore.”

Matthew’s arm wraps around you tightly. “And you don’t want to hook up with Alex’s friend?”

“No!” You stress, grabbing his cheek and pulling his face in your direction. “Lemme make this clear. No.” You repeat.

Matthew’s laughing, but whether it’s from your vehemence or your drunkenness, you aren’t sure. “Well, he’s still coming over here.” He laughs again, but this time it’s definitely from the look of panic on your face. “Come on, we’ll go grab you a new drink.”

“Life saver.” You tell him, bumping your head against his shoulder and almost immediately reaching for his hand when you start walking to avoid getting lost in the crowd.

“Ugh.” He complains. “That’s the worst candy.” And that’s how you know he might not be as drunk as you but he’s definitely had at least a few. “Can’t I be, like, a Reese’s?”

“Nope.” You’re fighting back a grin, knowing exactly what your next words are going to do to him. “Butterscotch lifesaver.” He fake-gags and you giggle, the reaction exactly what you’d hoped for.

“Even worse!” He shakes his head. “I’m the candy you ignore at your Grandma’s house.”

“We can’t all be Werther’s caramels and Andes mints.” You reason with him.

He turns toward you, full cup of beer in hand, and you reach out for it, but he flicks your nose gently. “You can get your own beer.” He says, grinning. “Butterscotch lifesaver, my ass.”

“Hey!” You’re unable to stop the laughter, even as you look at him in protest. “At least I didn’t call you a strawberry bon bon.”

Matthew acknowledges that with a head tilt and by passing you the beer, before reaching for a new one for himself. “Brady.” You both say at the same time, and then exchange a secret grin.

“It’s the cheeks.” You point at your own. “Always just a li’l cute and red.”

Matthew laughs. “Oh, I’m telling him you said that.”

You’re back to leaning close to him, hand in his as the two of you try and navigate the crowd again. “Don’t you dare.”

“Strawberry bon bon!” He calls loudly, as you laugh and do your best to shove at him with your shoulder. “Where you at?”

“You’re an asshole.” You laugh.

He only grins at that, because he can definitely hear the fondness in your voice. “Not the first time I’ve heard that one, babe.”

“Not the last time either.” You chirp back.

“Nah.” He laughs. “Probably not.”

Matthew’s lost his good spot by the bonfire by the time you two return so you keep walking and talking, mostly about your brother now and the new girl he’s supposedly bringing with him when he comes into town tomorrow. It’s a nice night tonight, the heat’s kind of broken after a thunderstorm earlier in the afternoon, and as the breeze picks up you find yourself leaning further into him and ducking into corners that might block the wind while ignoring the laughter in Matthew’s eyes once he finally starts to notice what’s you’re doing.

It’s in one of these corners that you notice Alex’s friend again, watching you, and you immediately pull Matthew away to a different spot, only to see that same guy again only a few minutes later.

“What’s wrong?”Matthew interrupts his own story when it’s clear to him that you’re not paying any attention to him.

“That stupid friend of Alex is following us!”

He turns to glare, you can already see it forming on his face, but you’ve got a better idea. Maybe it’s the booze that makes you think it’s a great idea, or maybe it’s the late hour, but you reach for his turning face and pull him in for a kiss.

Right away, Matthew responds, pulling you closer, and it’s like this entire summer of the two of you just needing to be right there, right next to each other, this magnetic pull yanking you closer, it all comes together.

It could be minutes, it could be hours when you finally separate. You’re breathing heavily and Matthew is too. “Is-“ You clear your throat. “Is he gone?”

“Who cares?” Matthew asks, and then he pulls you in to kiss you again.

-----

In the morning you wake up still a little dizzy, but whether it’s from the alcohol or the rush of the memory of hooking up with Matthew, you can’t really tell.

You meet him between your houses for a run just like any other morning anyway.

“Wasn’t really sure about this run today.” You tell Matthew, as you see him waiting for you at the bottom of the driveway.

He cracks up. “What, do I make you that sick now?”

“Not just you.” You say, stomach a little queasy as you start to run.

He must see it on your face because he starts to laugh. “I’ll buy you a gatorade if you can make it to the gas station.”

“I might not.” You tell him. “Buy me one anyway please.”

He does. Your favorite flavor even. And then he sips on his own with you slowly as you walk back toward the beach.

“When’s Chase getting in today?”

You shrug. Chase runs on his own time. “Dinner, maybe?”

“Have you met the new girlfriend yet?”

You shake your head. “She sounds nice though. More than I can say about the last one.”

Matthew looks over, interested. “What happened with the last one?”

You burst into laughter. Oh man, that’s a story.

It’s easy to launch into the drama of Chase and Danielle as the two of you sit there on the beach with your Gatorade’s, sun just on the right side of beating down on you, not quite hot enough yet to be too much.

Matthew’s laughing by the end of it; it’s hard not to. “I don’t know if I am hoping for less drama.” He says and you glare at him. “It’d be nice to get some entertainment in.”

“I’ll find some other way to entertain you, I promise.” You say dryly.

“Oh now there’s a deal I can get behind.” He grins, eyes sparkling mischievously and you wonder what you’ve just gotten yourself into.

-----

Chase pulls his car into the driveway as your dad is pouring drinks for happy hour and you abandon your drink on the table in favor of throwing yourself at your brother.

He makes like he’s not going to catch you but at the last minute, he lifts you up and squeezes you tightly. “Ah, missed you, squirt.” You stick your tongue out at him-at that detested nickname mostly-and he laughs. “This is Hayley.”

“Hi!” She beams. “It’s so great to meet you; I’ve heard so much about you!”

You side-eye your brother. “It’s all lies.”

She laughs right away. “Yeah, I’ve got one of those too.”

Immediately you smile, linking arms with her as you pull her into the house, leaving your brother to get their bags. “I’m so excited to meet you!”

“Any help?” Chase calls to you.

You both ignore him.

——-

Outside.

You know what that means, and you go out to the balcony to see Matthew waiting below.

“Well?” He calls up to you. “How’d it go?”

“I love her.” You tell him, already reaching for the trellis against the siding to climb down to him, waiting in the garden. “She’s amazing. If he doesn’t marry her, I’m going to riot.”

He laughs, arms still up to steady you in your descent; it doesn’t happen often, but a fall or two has been known to occur. “You’ve met her once.”

“Don’t care.” You tell him stubbornly. “She’s a keeper. Where are we going?”

He shrugs. “Wherever you want to go. I just wanted the gossip.”

“You’ll see her tomorrow, they’re both coming on the boat with us.” You start walking toward the beach.

His entire face lights up. “Boat day!”

“What, did you forget already?” You tease.

“Just excited.” Matthew says and you can feel his excitement, he’s practically vibrating with it.

“What am I going to do with you?” You ask, shaking your head.

He laughs. “Listen, somebody’s gotta keep me entertained, shouldn’t have volunteered for the job when we were six if you didn’t want to be stuck with it when we’re 24.”

“You’re right, didn’t think that one through.” You say dramatically, dramatic enough for him to gently shove your shoulders toward the water. The waves crash on your shoes, but at least he doesn’t send you into the water. “Hey!”

“Oh sorry,” Matthew says mildly, which should have been a big hint. “My mistake.”

“Yeah, it-“ Next thing you know, he’s lifting you up and walking straight into the ocean. “You asshole!” You cry, the sentiment lost entirely over your laughter as you attempt to clutch at his shoulders, knowing he’s going to drop you as soon as he’s deep enough.

He ducks under a wave instead, your arms still wrapped around his neck and you emerge sputtering and laughing.

“You asshole!” You repeat, but he’s grinning back at you and you know you’re going to kiss him back before he’s even kissed you.

-----

Chase was more than happy when you’d mentioned that Matthew wanted to bring the boat out on his first full day in town. It was Hayley that had looked a little doubtful when it came up, mentioning she hadn’t been out on a boat before, let alone done any of the water sports you were talking about.

She’d been game to come out with you all though, just told you and your brother not to expect any promises about any water sports.

“You’re going to love the boat.” Chase had said at dinner, when you were talking about it. “Promise.”

He was right. It hadn’t taken long for her to relax in one of the seats and even less time from that for Brady and Taryn to get her out tubing.

It was Matthew’s turn driving and he’d motioned a moment ago for a new beer, which you’d pretended to ignore for a solid minute until he’d called you out on it.

“Finally!” He teases, as you pass him a can in a koozy. “What’s the driver got to do to get a beer up here?”

“Not get sand in every crevice imaginable.” You deadpan and he laughs. “Next time, let's at least put a towel down.”

“Oh so there’s going to be a next time?” Matthew grins and you pause. The words had just come out of your mouth, but neither of you had ever said anything about what you’ve done up until now or what you might be going forward.

“Play your cards right and there might be.” You say finally, settling down on the seat near him.

He winks.

-----

“Hello?” Your mom calls out to announce your family’s arrival, as you all follow her into the Tkachuk’s back patio. “We’re here!”

Chantal immediately leaves Keith alone at the grill and the relief on his face is clear. Matthew is standing right next to him, laughing as he passes back over a beer, but once his mom calls him and his siblings over to say hello, he dutifully follows her tracks.

He pulls you in for a hug as he’s making his rounds and if it feels like he holds you longer than anyone else, that’s definitely your imagination, right?

It must be. He moves right on to Chase and Hayley after that and you’re left with Brady. “Where’s Melissa?” You ask innocently.

“Sh!” He hushes you immediately, looking over to his mom quickly as you laugh, patting his arm.

“Sure, babe.” You tease. “Your secret’s safe with me.”

“What secret?” Matthew appears at your side.

“Mom’s birthday present.” Brady lies smoothly, before going off to get himself a drink from the cooler.

Matthew looks over at you as soon as he leaves. “Melissa.” You whisper to him conspiratorially.

“Ah.” He nods, fighting back a smile.

“I did notice she didn’t come out on the boat yesterday.” You admit, but you hadn’t really thought to ask about it. “I just didn’t realize he was keeping it down low.”

He shrugs, leading you over to the beer cooler. “I give it two weeks before he brings her home. I know he likes her and my mom’s suspicious.”

You laugh, accepting the beer he hands you. “Classic Chantal.”

“She’s been in her element this summer.” He agrees.

“She just likes having the whole family around.” You say. Your mom’s been excited about your brother being here since he told her what dates he could come back.

“Speaking of the whole family,” Matthew says. “Did you get roped into golf tomorrow?”

You nod. “Poor Hayley. Doesn’t know what she got herself into when she said she liked to golf.”

“What happens first?” He proposes. “Big Walt claims the whole thing is rigged or Magic Steve whiffs on a shot.”

“If Magic Steve makes it to the eighth hole without whiffing on a shot, I’ll give you a hundred bucks.” You say. “Two hundred bucks. Anything you want. It’s not going to happen.”

Matthew grins and his eyes light up mischievously. “Anything I want, eh? Alright deal.”

What have you gotten yourself into?

——-

Stomach full, plate empty, and a little drowsy, you find yourself leaning into Matthew on the couch you’re sharing with him and Taryn.

Around you the rest of your families are in similar states and no one seems like they’re in a rush to clean up. The discussion is light but loud, a staple for your families, always having to shout over one another to be heard anytime you all get together, which is probably how your mom and Chantal get away with whispering to each other for so long.

“What are you two up to over there?” Keith asks, finally catching onto them.

“Yeah, that’s never anything good.” Your dad tacks on teasingly.

“Nothing.” Your mom says, but it’s entirely unconvincing and everyone immediately latches onto it.

“It was!” Chantal insists finally. “We were just talking about those two.” She gestures over to you and Matthew.

“Us?” You repeat.

Your mom nods. “You two and the big summer Cape wedding we’d always dreamed about.”

“Hah!” Brady’s laughing, like the idea of you and Matthew getting married is the most absurd thing he’s ever heard, before your mom is even finished speaking.

“Those two?” Chase is right there with him.

“Well we know better now!” Chantal says. “I could only be so lucky for Matthew to bring home a girl this nice!”

“Hey!” Matthew protests next to you, but you’re laughing right along with everyone else.

“When one says hello to me, I’ll take it back.” She counters.

He hesitates. “Alright, that’s fair.”

She laughs. “Damn right.”

“Were you really planning our wedding?” You ask them.

“We planned it when you were ten.” Your mom informs you and everyone laughs. “The bridesmaids wore sage, but it has become abundantly clear that wedding will never happen.”

“I mean, we were ten.” You say. “So that wedding was probably never going to happen anyway.”

“Listen, mothers can dream.” Your mom replies.

“And that was a good one.” Chantal adds.

“Don’t worry.” Your dad says reassuringly to Matthew. “I’m sure whatever girl finally says hello to her will be just as good. The bar is pretty low.”

It’s a joke, a pretty good one even, that everyone laughs at, but you and Matthew exchange a brief look, joining in a beat late.

-----

Matthew’s waiting outside your window when you start climbing down the trellis, ready to steady your descent if needed, just like you knew he would be.

When you overestimate the last step, he grabs you, hands remaining on your hips even after he steadies you.

“Interesting dinner tonight.” You say carefully. Your moms’ words have been drifting in and out of your thoughts since they came up.

Matthew hums as his fingers slide up your side. “Yeah?”

You fight back a gasp as one of his thumbs brushes the underside of your breast. “You don’t think so?”

He smirks and you know you were unsuccessful in holding back your gasp, at least completely. “Oh I thought so.”

“Jerk.” You lean forward to kiss him, but he’s already right there, and for a while, you lose yourself in Matthew. His mouth. The heat of the summer night and how easy it is to just fall into this each time.

When you both pull away, breathing heavy but smiling, neither one of you actually moves away. “Tomorrow?” Matthew asks, thumb still brushing the skin at your hip.

“Again?” You ask, kind of surprised, as you look meaningfully between the two of you.

He shrugs. “Why not?”

“Because our moms just married us off at dinner a few hours ago?” You deadpan.

He laughs. “Well we haven’t said anything to them yet. Why change what’s worked?”

You pull a face at him- why would you have said anything to them yet?- and he laughs. He’s not wrong though. What has to change about what you’ve been doing? Because your moms made a joke?

You stick your pinky out to him, like when you were kids, a promise to keep secrets from your parents or siblings that would always end up getting you two in trouble. “Easy breezy.” You say.

Matthew loops his pinky around yours. “Easy breezy.” He agrees, and it feels like every promise you ever made with each other.

-----

Nora appears on the beach with the rest of you, sometime around noon, with a fresh cooler of drinks and some snacks, and takes her roast accordingly.

“You’re alive!” Bri cries dramatically, stealing a fresh White Claw. “Ohh, mango!”

“Ew.” Ethan shakes his head at her, shifting his chair over to make room for Nora. “Mango? C’mon, Nor, you find a boy for a week and you forget the good flavors?”

“Don’t you fucking dare give me shit right now when the next words out of your mouth are about to be lime.” Nora says and you pull your eyes away from watching Matthew playing Kan Jam long enough to laugh.

“Should we set the over under now?” You tease. “Or later, once their game is done?”

“What over under?” Nora asks.

“Wait until the game’s done.” Bri says. “Gimme some time to think.”

“I think that’s cheating.” Ethan counters.

“If you ain’t cheating, you ain’t trying.” Bri grins, leaning back into her chair more.

“What over under?” Nora demands.

“How long you’ll be gracing us with your presence.” Bri finally tells her and it’s worth it for the look on Nora’s face.

-----

“Beerdie tonight?” Matthew asks on your run the following morning.

“Shotty Taryn.” You grin at the look of outrage on his face and then sprint off ahead so he can’t catch up.

He does though, but by that point, you’re both far enough away from your parents’ houses that when he does, he captures you by the waist and pulls you in for a kiss.

“Mmm, not getting a workout in like this.” You tease, when you break the kiss.

He waggles his eyebrows. “I can think of another way we can get a workout in.”

You bust out laughing. It’s just such a lame line, you can’t help yourself. “Oh yeah? Where at?”

Turns out that trellis outside your room can hold Matthew just as well as you.

“Beach today?” You ask him afterwards. He’s still lounging in your bed as you move around your room, looking for the bottom to your bathing suit.

He pulls a face. “I guess.”

You laugh. “Boat tomorrow?”

That lights him up and serves to get him moving, just as you find your bottom and slip into it. “And just as I was enjoying the view.” He jokes, slipping past you with a playful pat on the ass and a kiss.

“Tragic.” You tell him, sarcasm clear. “What are you-” You stop yourself as you hear your mom’s voice getting louder and you watch Matthew’s eyes widen, sure that your face must be mirroring his.

Neither of you moves as her footsteps grow louder, her voice carrying her side of the conversation through the hall.

And then, the sound of the door shutting, and muffled silence. She must be getting ready for the day.

You breathe out a sigh of relief, watching Matthew do the same. “I’ll see you soon.” You tell him, walking the few feet with him over to the trellis.

He grins; it’s somehow just as carefree as it was a few moments ago. “Looking forward to it. Bring beer.”

“Ugh it’s my turn, isn’t it?”

He grins, poised to climb down the trellis. “Yup.”

“Fuck.” You scrunch your face up. One more thing to remember. “You going to be okay to climb down that?”

But he’s already at the bottom, looking up at you with a mischievous grin, and for the first time this summer, you realize you may be in trouble.

-----

“No.” Jake shakes his head, when Nora suggests heading to a party of one of her friends on the other side of the Cape. “No. Too far.”

She huffs at him. “Well then what do you want to do?”

“Can we just go to the bar?” He asks, almost pleadingly. “For God’s sake, we spent years dying to get into one and now that we all can, we haven’t been once.”

“Thank you!” Matthew cries. “I thought nobody was going to say it.”

“Why didn’t you say it?” You ask him.

“I-” He trails off and you grin at him, laughing when he just flips you off.

“Alright then.” Jake nods, like everything’s settled. “9pm, to the bars.”

“9?” Nora cries in disbelief, but she’s ready by 9:10, which is basically a record for her.

Jake has laid out a whole plan for the night, a crawl through the town bars, but once you make it into the first one, you’re pretty sure that none of you are making it to his second stop.

Bri drags you and Nora out on the dance floor the second you get drinks and you lose yourself there for a while, or at least until your drink is empty. You ditch the girls for a refill, shimmeying your way through the crowd up to Ethan, Brady, and Melissa at the bar to place your order.

“Where’s your brother?” You ask and Brady rolls his eyes.

“Over there.” He points. “Being his usual…” But you don’t hear the rest of his sentence, too focused on the girls Matthew and Jake are talking with. Or more specifically, the girl Matthew’s talking with, the one who’s looking up at him while she twirls her hair and laughs at whatever he just said.

Matthew’s allowed to do whatever he wants. You just talked about this. And, maybe more importantly, if you want to keep this thing between the two of you quiet, he should go off and do whatever he wants.

And you should too.

But judging by the sinking feeling in your stomach, the only thing you want is on the other side of the bar, talking with a pretty blonde.

When the bartender returns with your drink, you rush back to Bri and Nora, eager to try and forget what’s happening behind you. But you just don’t have it in you when a few guys approach the three of you and after one song, you find yourself back at the bar with Ethan, Brady, and Melissa for another round, unsure if you’re happy or not when you realize you can no longer see Matthew from where you’re standing.

“Gonna head home.” Ethan says, after he finishes his drink.

“Oh, I’ll come!” You down the last bit of your own.

He gives you a look. “You sure?”

“Mhm.” You nod, hugging Brady and Melissa goodbye. “Exhausted. Ready for bed.”

Ethan laughs as he holds the door open for you. “A college graduate and suddenly you’re an old lady. Ready for bed by 11?”

“Grandma status.” You laugh along with him, keeping the joke running as you wait for your Uber, so he won’t press any further, and it’s only much later that you realize how strange it is for him to be leaving so early.

-----

“Where’d you go last night?” Matthew asks, when you meet for your morning run. “I looked for you when I was leaving, Brady said you’d already left.”

You try to hide your surprise. You’d really just assumed he’d gone home-or at least gone somewhere- with that girl last night. “I left with E.” You’ve never seen his head move as fast as it turns toward you at that. “Whiplash much?” You laugh. “He was leaving so I left too. I was tired.”

Matthew shakes his head. “Yeah, uh-” He shakes it again. In past years, that would have sent his curls flying in all different directions; this year, his hair’s too short for anything like that. It’s a good look for him. “Yeah, no, I just didn’t see you leave.”

You purse your lips, fighting back a frown. “Guess you just weren’t looking.” You shrug.

“Doubt it.” He mutters, or at least you think that’s what he says, because he changes the subject before you can ask.

-----

A few days later, a round of storms roll in, and by lunchtime your mom is shooing you out of the house. “But it’s raining.” You whine at her. “What can I even do?”

“Are you 22 years old or not?” She frowns, guiding you away from the tile and cabinet samples. “How did you entertain yourself at school?”

“I literally didn’t, I was never alone!”

“Well you don’t have to be now either!” She smiles at you. “You go next door; send Chantal over here for some peace and quiet.”

Chantal is more than happy to trade places with you when you arrive, stopping only long enough to grab a bottle of wine for her and your mom to split, and you laugh as you close the door behind her, before looking for Matthew.

He’s not hard to find, the sound of him and his siblings quickly coming up from the basement as you start walking in the house.

“Fuck yeah!” Matthew grins when he sees you. Brady and Taryn are, as usual, ganging up against him in bubble hockey. “Let’s go, right here, come on.”

In classic older brother fashion, Matthew resets the score to zero once you get settled in your spot and he assigns you your handles, completely ignoring his siblings’ protests about how they were winning (and handily). And then, with an extra set of hands, he (and you) begin to dominate.

In public, both Matthew and Brady are gracious winners and losers. There’s light trash talk and playful teasing before their games and hugs and catching up afterwards.

But in private? They go cutthroat.

So it quickly devolves into Matthew against Brady while you and Taryn watch and giggle from the side, occasionally calling out comments of your own and then laughing again at the snide looks they send you in return.

It’s not long before Matthew’s celebrating his victory-loudly and uninhibited- and Brady’s rolling his eyes, and wandering off upstairs.

“God, you’re annoying.” Taryn says.

Matthew ruffles her hair and she scrunches her nose at him. “Part of my charm.”

“Mm.” She hums. “You tell yourself that.” And then she’s heading upstairs as well, leaving just you and Matthew behind.

“Well at least one of you thinks I’m charming.” Matthew grins at you.

“Oh.” You pull a face at him. “I don’t remember ever saying that.”

Matthew’s tackling you onto the couch practically before you finish speaking, kissing the laughter right out of you. It’s easy to get lost the same way you have been the last few weeks, when he’s pressing you into the couch, lips moving over yours, warm palm spread over bare skin.

It’s only when you feel like the entire world is spinning and you’re dizzy enough to pass out from it that you pull away. Everything settles a little, but still you feel caught in Matthew’s orbit, a feeling that you’ve noticed happening more and more often. Matthew’s thumb brushes against your ribcage, breathing heavily, and it’s only when he moves back in to kiss you again that you notice it’s both of you, barely able to catch your breath but still ducking in for more.

“Matth-” You try to breathe. It doesn’t do much good as Matthew just moves to kissing down your jaw. “Your siblings.”

“They won’t come down again.” He says, almost absentmindedly, clearly more focused on other things.

“They-” You start to say, but he shuts you up pretty quickly and luckily, he ends up not being wrong.

-----

“That’s what you wear?” Matthew mutters to you, almost too low. You have to strain to hear him over the wind, from where the two of you are sitting in the front of the boat, shoved there by your mom when Chase and Hayley had showed up unexpectedly a day early for Fourth of July week, a week traditionally filled with outings on the boat, barbecues, and family competition.

You look down. “What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?”

He stares at you in disbelief. “We’re out here on a family boat day. And that’s what you show up in? Are you trying to kill me?”

You laugh. “Depends on what you left me in your will.”

He chuckles. “What I leave you in the will? You’ve been getting me into trouble since we were six years old and you think I’m leaving you anything in my will?”

You bust out laughing. “I’ve been getting you into trouble since we were six? Reverse that there, buddy.”

But Matthew’s shaking his head the entire time, fondly smiling like you’re missing the point entirely.

-----

Selection night for the Beach Olympics takes place on a Sunday, as it always does, but this time it’s about ten times rowdier than it ever has been, with almost all of the kids being legal to drink and Taryn hiding the seltzer that Brady snuck her in a Sprite can

Keith holds his hat up high, filled with paper slips with numbers written on them. “Who’d like to go first?”

“I think as last winners, it’s our right!” Chase says and then gestures Chantal forward to pick before him.

The look on their faces as they draw their numbers, pleading to get the same again, and then revealing different ones is hilarious, but you barely have time to laugh at their reactions (Chantal’s face falling and Chase letting out a loud “Fuck!”) before it’s your turn.

Your “5” doesn’t match either your brother’s “2” or Chantal’s “3” so you watch as the hat makes its way around pairing everyone up, until finally Matthew makes his choice and when his face lights up just before he meets your eyes, you don’t even need him to show your families the little slip he’s pulled to know that he’s got your matching “5.”

“Unfair!” Brady cries, even as he already sits next to his mom, his Beach Olympic partner for the next week, and she shoves him off the stool he’s sitting on. “What?” He looks at her. “C’mon!”

“Talk to me when you’re a Beach Olympic champion.” She says, purposefully adopting a haughty tone and you all laugh, as Taryn begins prepping the tiny toy flags.

Matthew moves next to you, nudging your side and grinning throughout the draft of countries. It’s hard to stifle your giggles, both of you laughing the entire time, the last team to draft, and watching as Taryn and your mom select Spain (because of the wine your mom was drinking currently), allowing Chase and your dad to snatch America up. Brady and Chantal select Canada, to no one’s surprise, and then Keith and Hayley pick Italy.

“We’ll be eating pasta only for the rest of the week.” He jokes, reaching for their toy flag, and she laughs but also looks like she’s not sure if he’s kidding or not.

“What do you think?” Matthew whispers to you, nudging your side again. “Mexico? Iceland?”

“The bad guys from Mighty Ducks 2? I don’t think so.” You quote a favorite show of the two of you and he grins immediately.

“Germany.” The two of you say simultaneously. “They’ve never been the bad guys in anything!”

Matthew holds the tiny toy flag about his head as he makes the short walk back over to you and the rest of your families’ groan, but you only laugh, sure that sound is going to become familiar over the next few days.

-----

“C’mon, baby.” Matthew coaches, crouched in a ready position near the Kan Jam bin and it’s just one more day of easy affection, one more pet name falling out of his mouth that you can’t even react to. “Right here, give her to me, nice and easy.”

“You got nothing.” Your dad scoffs. “Weak flex.”

You grin at him, winding up to throw the frisbee; if it hits the can at all before Matt touches it, you and Matthew will lose points and that just won’t do.

You release the frisbee, watching it arc and following Matthew’s eyes. He lunges once it gets close, throwing himself onto the sand to smack the frisbee into the can.

You cheer, loudly, as he hits it against the side and then the frisbee lands on the sand.

Matthew’s whooping, just as loud, and running to meet you in the middle with his arms open, ready to catch you as you leap into his arms. He catches you when you jump up, spinning around a few times, and still cheering.

“Ugh.” Your brother shakes his head. “This is just annoying now.”

“How are you this in sync?” Brady agrees.

You shrug as Matthew puts you back on the ground, but you don’t wander far from him. You haven’t all week, your partnership for the week a convenient excuse to have to be close to him…not that you really want to be apart from him.

And all the time you’ve been spending together this summer has definitely been beneficial for your chemistry. Brady wasn’t wrong. You and Matthew had always been a pretty good team, your years of friendship translating well into team games, but now? This week you seemed unstoppable, midway through the week and already collecting a first or second place medal in every event so far.

Puting you well in first place for the week, with each game the two of you only looking better and better. It was quickly driving your families’ nuts.

“Just the dream team, baby.” Matthew grins, finally answering his brother, but he doesn’t take his eyes off of you when he says it, so it’s hard not to think that he’s talking to you and even harder to avoid the flutter in your stomach when he says baby.

No one else is looking at you this time, at least. They can’t see if you blush.

-----

For the fourth time this week, you say goodnight to your parents, go upstairs, and immediately climb down the trellis to the garden to meet Matthew.

“This feels ridiculous.” You complain to him, even as you feel the rush of seeing him, the thrill of this thing between only you. “I feel like we’re sixteen again and sneaking off to go drink at a party we’re not supposed to be at.”

“Doesn’t the secret make it kind of fun?” He asks, but only after he kisses you, which is definitely unfair. You had a point to make, but it’s gone entirely.

What’s that saying about secrets? Secrets are no fun...you can’t remember the rest anyway. “Easy breezy.” Instead, you echo your last promise, because that you can remember, made from this same spot, and Matthew links your pinky’s together at your sides as he moves in for another kiss.

-----

Closing ceremonies for the Beach Olympics takes place out on the boat, as usual, and you stand smugly between Brady and your dad, with a bottle of champagne and a smirk on your face.

“Show off.” Your dad says, shaking his head. “Didn’t anyone ever tell you it’s unbecoming to brag like that?”

“Like this?” You bite one of the-many-fake medals hanging around your neck, far more than anyone else on the boat...except Matthew, that is.

Brady groans. “Fuck off.” He whines, definitely still bitter about his loss at bocce.

But whatever he and your dad say next is lost to you, because Matthew’s caught your eye. He’d seen you joking with your dad, apparently, because he’s grinning when he catches your eye and then lifts one of his medals up to mimic what you’ve just done.

It’s hard not to laugh, feeling such fondness for him deep in your chest that it hurts almost, even as your dad and his brother look at you like you’re crazy, because he’s back to talking with his mom and looking completely normal by the time they turn around.

“What?” Brady presses again.

“It’s.-” You shake your head, because this feeling is so familiar but you just can’t place it. “Nothing, don’t worry about it.”

It’s just another thing between you and Matthew.

-----

“You got sand in my hair.” You groan, fixing your shirt as you sit up, reaching for one of the bottles of champagne you’d been sipping on since the celebration with your families earlier in the evening.

“Sorry.” Matthew says dryly. “Did you want to be on top next time?” You pull a face and he laughs, like he already knew the answer to that. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

“Not on the beach.” You shove his shoulder. “We’ve talked about this.”

“I can track you down a bed.” He says thoughtfully.

“Fuck off.” You pull the champagne away from him, laughing. “Ass.”

He waggles his eyebrows playfully. “Oh, that’s on the table?”

“Oh my god!” You groan, but you’re still laughing. “I hate you so much.”

“Nah.” Matthew says confidently, and you can’t look away from him as he says, “You love me.”

You love me. It rings in your head as he steals the champagne bottle from you, and again as he helps you stand up, brushing the sand from your legs. It’s still echoing as the two of you walk back towards your houses, as Matthew sneaks into the garden with you, and helps you begin your climb up the trellis.

It’s stuck in your head the entire climb up, it’s there as you turn back to face him, it’s there as you watch him smile back up at you now that he’s sure you made it to the top, and it’s there as you wave goodnight to each other and he starts walking back home.

“I’m fucking in love with you.” You realize out loud and Matthew turns, grinning up at you.

“What was that?” He calls back.

“Nothing.” You call back helplessly. “Nothing at all.” You repeat to yourself, turning away from him to go into your room before he sees the look on your face.

-----

Almost immediately following that realization, Matthew announces to you on your run he’ll be going to Toronto soon for a few days for a camp.

“Oh.” You say, kind of relieved. A few days to collect your thoughts and feelings actually sounds...nice. “When do you leave?”

“Not until Thursday.” He frowns. “And Big Walt and Chantal are even away at a wedding this weekend. Damn it, we could have had a bed.”

“Anal’s still not on the table.” You deadpan and he laughs so hard he has to stop running.

“Anything you want.” He promises, when he can finally stand up fully again and start running. “We’ve been good; nothing needs to change.”

It’s not until later that night, when you’re at the bar with all your friends, and Ethan and you are hanging at one end of the bar while Matthew and Jake are again out around the floor making the rounds, that you realize why that statement irked you.

You want something to change.

-----

“Are you okay?” Bri gives you a look

It’s been a few days since realizing this casual, friends with benefits, “easy breezy” thing with Matthew wasn’t enough. And despite that, you’d done nothing different. You’d woken up each morning the same as every other one this summer to meet him for a run, ducking off the side of the path for kisses and then slipping away as he chases after you. Afternoons on the beach, sneaking glances through your sunglasses, pretending you don’t see him looking back at you, hoping your friends think the flush of your cheeks is from the sun and not recognizing it for the blush that it actually is. Pretending you were meeting friends at night when you were meeting Matthew instead, sneaking back in through the gate, like you were 16 again and trying not to wake your dad as you crept back in the house drunk off whatever cheap beer you could get your hands on (entirely different from how you stumble back home now, still drunk off whatever attention Matthew will give you, head still woozy with every kiss he pressed to your lips and the words he muttered to you between them).

“No, seriously.” She continues. “Are you okay?”

“Yup.” You giggle, reaching for your drink again. “Why?”

“I just haven’t seen you drink like this, I don’t know, maybe all summer?” She says.

Your jaw drops, outraged. “That’s not fair!” You cry. “I’ve had plenty to drink this summer! So many hangovers!”

“That...that’s not what I said at all.” She rubs her temples. “You just haven’t been drinking at this pace all summer.”

“I’m fine.” You tell her and she gives you a look as she pushes a cup of water toward you. “See?” You drain the entire cup and stick your tongue at her. “Fine.”

She laughs fondly, picking up her own drink. “If you say so, babe. Back to dancing?”

“Good 4 u!” You cry in excitement, leading her away from the bar, throwing your joined hands up in the air as you do.

“No, they’ve already played-” Bri shakes her head. “Nope, not worth it.”

Nora’s right where the two of you left her on the dance floor- with her boy of the week, who’s name you could not remember if your life depended on it. You last another song or two, begging Bri to let you go up and request your newest favorite song and being denied each time, before you get bored again, and wander off in search of your other friends.

“Whastsa matter with you?” You frown, poking at Ethan’s sour face.

Brady pulls his head away from whispering to Melissa just long enough to say, “He’s just been sitting here being a grinch all night.”

You swipe the untouched drink in front of Ethan away from him for yourself, giggling as he doesn’t even attempt to stop you. “Christmas in July isn’t until next week, silly!”

That gets Ethan to crack a smile, finally, as he laughs at you. “What?” He grins again, before his face falls back into a frown.

You frown, turning unsubtly to follow his eyes but you can’t see anything worth frowning about. You wave when you see Nora and she laughs, waving back, and only when you wave back even more ridiculously do you turn back to the table.

“Cheer up buddy.” Brady’s saying when you do, even as Melissa rolls her eyes. “They’ll be back soon. Those girls aren’t going home with them.”

Your breath catches in your throat, as you whip back around, missing Ethan’s response entirely. But sure thing, there’s enough of a cut in the crowd to see now, there’s Jake and Matthew with those girls. The same ones they’ve been chatting up every time you’ve been to this bar all summer. Right away, your thoughts are racing about what Jake and Matthew could have been doing with these girls all night long, while you were sure to keep your distance from him.

Well, specifically, what Matthew has been doing with the girl while you were staying away from him so no one could see the feelings written all over your face. The one you see laughing at all his jokes when the four of them are talking together, with ridiculous eyelashes that she bats up at him, and an equally crazy body that absolutely no one should be able to attain.

“Hey.” Melissa says quietly, studying your face, and it feels like she’s been doing that to all of you all summer, watching you to get a better sense of who you all are and where she fits. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” You plaster a smile on your face. “Just time for another drink, I think. I’ll be back.”

You’re off to the bar before she can even follow, before one of the boys notices you’re missing, and it’s only when you’re crowded in between a dozen strangers trying to get the attention of the bartender do you feel like you can breathe again.

-----

“It’s time to go!” Bri tugs on your arm gently. “Come on, babe!”

“No.” You whine, dragging out the word. “I’m-” You hiccup. “-having fun.”

She looks at you in disbelief. “Flagged. Let’s go.”

“No!” You whine again. “All my friends are here.”

“All your friends are leaving.” Ethan says gently. “We’re right here.”

“They’re not!” You look over your shoulder wildly for Matthew, eyes scanning the crowd for a familiar face. “They’re not leaving!”

“We are!” Bri sighs. “Even Nora’s leaving. See,” She turns your head. “She’s waving!”

“But-“ You wave back slowly. “That’s-“

“Everybody’s leaving.” Bri continues. “Or they’re already gone.” You feel numb as she takes your hand to pull you out of the bar, toward the Uber that Ethan has called. Their mindless chatter rolls over you as Bri’s words echo in your head and you leap to a place you don’t want to be in. That everyone else was already gone. That Matthew was already gone and that he left without saying goodbye.

The tears are rolling down your face before you even know what’s happening and suddenly you can’t stop. You’re hiccuping in the back of the Uber, crying huge crocodile tears that just keep rolling down your cheeks.

“Oh babe.” Bri says sympathetically, as the Uber driver looks back at you in the mirror skeptically.

“What’s wrong?” Jake frowns, looking over at you.

“I’m fine!” You sob.

“You’re crying in an Uber, sure, yeah, that’s what people who are notoriously fine do.” Ethan says dryly.

“Not helping.” Bri hisses to him, rubbing your back gently.

“I’m fine.” You sob again, even though he’s right, and it couldn’t be further from the truth.

-----

Midway through your run on the morning of the day Matthew is leaving for the weekend, he makes an abrupt turn off your usual path and continues running.

“Matthew!” You shout after him, stopped at the corner.

“Are you coming?” He calls back, not stopping his jog to look back at you.

You huff, but then take off after him, practically sprinting to catch up, and then having to ease back into a jog when he doesn’t pick up the pace. You have no idea what his plan is, why he turned off your usual route, or why he decided to go down this road instead of following your usual path to lead to the beaches between your houses, and he’s giving you no hints, so you’re stuck following him at this almost leisurely pace.

He turns again, almost cutting you off, and then again, almost losing you when he cuts abruptly through a spot in some tall grass, leading finally to a very long wooden dock. You can’t even see where it leads to when you climb the steps up, but you follow him dutifully, slowing to a walk as he does the same. “Where are we going?” You ask again, falling into step with him, on the boards just wide enough for the two of you, the long path crossing over shrubbery and small pockets of salt water.

“Just wait a sec.” Matthew chides playfully. “You’ll see in a minute.”

“Ugh.” You whine, never patient enough, and he laughs, bumping your shoulder.

“It’ll be worth it.” He promises.

“Big promises.” You tease haughtily, but you’re eating those words as soon as you reach the end of the pier.

There’s a few steps to actually get down to the beach but you stop right at the edge of them, taking in the view in front of you The beach itself is empty, unsurprising maybe, for what you had to do to get here, but it’s peaceful- just you and Matthew, standing maybe a little too close but neither of you doing anything about it. To the left, the beach thins for a bit, the ocean spanning an endless stretch. To the right, off in the distance, your houses, on the horizon with some other familiar landmarks.

“How’d you find this?” You ask, stuck between being breathless and grinning. The view is amazing but more than that; something about being in this place, with Matthew, standing with your shoulders brushing against each other just feels special.

Fuck, it’s literally just a beach with a different view of your houses; you need to get this feelings shit under control.

“Brady and I found it years ago.” Matthew smiles softly, like it’s a fond memory. “Before it was all overgrown like that.”

“I like it.” You say, and then clarify. “The overgrown. It’s kinda cool.”

“A little character.” Matthew agrees.

“More private too, I’m sure.”

“That too.” He smirks, purposefully bumping your shoulder so you laugh, which you do, before the two of you settle into a comfortable silence.

“What time do you leave today?” You ask finally, the question that’s been weighing on you since he even told you he was going.

“Too soon.” He grimaces, looking down at his watch.

“Oh.”

“It’s always too soon.” He says, reaching for your waist and pulling you close.

“Don’t even tell me you’re not packed yet.” You chide, but you’re looping your arms around his neck as you speak and you can see the smirk growing across his face.

“Alright, I won’t.” He says and then he’s kissing you before you can lecture any further.

——-

“What’s wrong with you?” You flop down next to Ethan on the beach a few days later, holding your hand out expectantly for him to pass you a drink.

He takes his sweet time, slowly reaching into the cooler for a White Claw, and eyeing you carefully when he passes it over. “What’s wrong with me? You haven’t stopped moving since your partner in crime left the country for a few days. I could ask you the same thing!”

Your breath catches and your heart starts racing. You swore you’d been so careful this summer, that none of your friends had even noticed an change in either of you. “I’m crimeless.” You babble, playing off the joke. “I’ve had to be good for four whole days now.” You tease, but Ethan’s not even listening anymore, and you follow his eyes to watch Nora fall against another boy of the week after they score a point in volleyball, and you think maybe this isn’t about you at all.

——-

Matthew somehow manages to balance a bottle of Pink Whitney in his hands while climbing up your trellis and onto the balcony.

“You weren’t even going to get up and give me a hand?” He flops down on the bed next to you, nudging for your attention with his shoulder, his elbow, his words.

You hold your Kindle up lamely in his direction. “I’m at a really good part.”

He opens the bottle and holds it out for you to take a swig. “Lame.”

“I guess you don’t want to hear all my gossip then.” You sigh dramatically, already grinning before you even finish your sentence, knowing his reaction.

He doesn’t disappoint. “Gossip?” His ears perk up and he looks over at you, taking the bottle back for his turn. “Details, come on.”

You giggle. “Mmm, I don’t know if I should.” Matthew pokes your side, right in the spot he knows you’re most ticklish. “Stop that!” You slap at his hand.

“Never!” He does it again, then again, and then again, and then he’s rolling on top of you, and both your book and your gossip about Ethan and Nora are long forgotten as he yanks his own shirt off and then yours only a moment after.

——-

Nora’s newest man is having a party on his yacht for a bunch of his friends and she swings you all an invite.

“I’ve made some very wrong decisions in my life.” Melissa says as soon as you, her, Matthew, and Brady arrive, eyeing the yacht, the staff member waiting to greet you, and how Nora is waving eagerly at you from the deck.

“Now’s your time to find an upgrade.” Matthew quips, only barely avoiding spilling the Bellini he was just handed when Brady elbows him in the ribs.

Melissa looks both vaguely horrified and amused, but you, used to their antics, roll your eyes. “If you break that $200,000 vase, you’re going to be sorry.”

“That vase costs $200,000?” Brady lowers his voice as you start to approach the upper deck and the rest of the party, but it doesn’t manage to hide his shock.

“One eighty nine, nine, I think, if you want to get technical, but,” You shrug. You’d seen it last week with your mom when you were out shopping with her for the remodel. “Basically, yeah.”

Brady still hasn’t managed to wipe the look of shock off his face when Nora throws herself at you. She gets you and Matthew in one go, him steadying the three of you as she laughs, definitely already tipsy. “You’re here!” She beams.

“And now I might never leave.” You look around you.

Nora waggles her eyebrows. “That’s fine; Tom’s got a brother.”

You laugh. “Sure, okay. And when you break up with Tom next week and I’m here alone with the brother?”

“You’ll still have a yacht.” Melissa jokes.

“Good point.” You grin at her.

“Nor, where’s the bar?” Matthew interrupts before any of you can make any more jokes about Nora trying to set you up again.

“Right here!” She chirps, leading you all through the crowd to the bar, where Bri and Jake are already posted up. “I’ll be back soon!” She promises, after ordering a drink with you.

“Sure, ok.” Jake rolls his eyes at her and she grins at him before slipping through the crowd.

“No E?” Matthew asks, swirling the ice around his bourbon.

Bri shrugs. “He said he was busy today.”

“Huh.” Matthew says and abruptly you remember you never got a chance to tell him your theory about Ethan and Nora. “He didn’t mention anything yesterday.”

“Probably came up suddenly.” You say and then ask the bartender for a round of shots, because you can relate to loving someone who doesn’t love you back, whether Ethan knows it or not, and there’s a sense of solidarity it gives you.

——-

“Yacht parties fucking rule.” Melissa decides, an hour or two in, definitely tipsy on champagne drinks, and grinning each time someone walks around with trays of snacks.

You laugh. “I fucking love you.” You smack a kiss to her cheek.

She giggles again. “I fucking love you guys too. This has been such a fun summer.”

“Yeah, we’re fun fucking people!” Bri beams, getting a little too excited and spilling the last little bit of her drink. “Oops.”

“It was time for another one anyway.” You assure her and she grins.

“That’s my girl!” She stands, pointing at you and Melissa. “You better be done with those by the time I get back with another round!”

You drain yours before she even turns around. “Ready whenever!”

She cheers and parts the crowd, leaving you and Melissa. “Have you seen the boys lately?” You ask, scanning the crowd.

“They were playing shuffleboard earlier.” She looks behind her. “But I don’t see them now.”

You do. Or well, you see Matthew at least, still at the shuffleboard table, laughing at whatever the beautiful girl next to him just said. She’s one of those girls, the ones that make everyone feel inadequate the second she walks in the room, so of course she’s funny too.

Your stomach twists as Matthew laughs again and it’s not because you’ve had too much to drink. In fact, you think, as your stomach twists again watching Matthew lean in closer to that girl, you’re pretty sure you haven’t had enough to drink.

——-

“Where are we going?” You giggle as Matthew tugs on your hand, leading you down an empty hallway below the main party.

He gives you a look. “Come on, really?” He puts his ear up to a closed door and makes a face; you giggle again, but don’t have much time to follow up about why because he's pulling you down the hall to the next door, listening again, and then pulling you inside. As soon as the door closes, you press against him, not sure who kisses who first, only certain that you need more, more, more of him.

You can’t seem to get close enough to him, even when he lifts you up. Your legs wrap around his waist, hands teasing the ends of the hair that’s just starting to grow out. Matthew’s hands roam, one hand caressing your cheek and then sliding lower down your back and then teasing lightly along your rib cage, like he can’t decide what he wants.

“Been waiting for this all day.” He breathes out, pressing kisses down your jawline. “Can’t get enough of this.”

You nod eagerly. You too. You could have been doing this all day, couldn’t you? What was stopping you?

It’s hard to think as Matthew kisses you again, but you do pause, until his hands reach around to untie your bathing suit top. “Holy shit.” He mutters as it falls to the ground, eyes wide, and as flattering as it is, that moment apart is enough for you to remember why you weren’t doing this earlier.

And how, at the end of the day, you were still in love with someone who didn’t love you back.

“I can’t do this anymore.”

You don’t even realize you’ve said anything until Matthew stops, until he’s staring at you in confusion, until he’s stepping away and you have to catch yourself on the door handle.

“Ok yeah-“He babbles. “No, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to pull you away-yeah, of course we can stop-we-“

“I don’t-“You start, annoyed he didn’t get it, that this is the one thing he hasn’t been on the same page about all summer, that this is really the one fucking thing you actually have to explain to him; and it feels like tears are coming, but you fight them back. “No, that’s not-This isn’t easy anymore! This isn’t the simple thing we were doing, Matty!”

“I don’t-” Matthew cuts off abruptly, running his fingers through the curls that have just started to grow back. “I don’t want to screw up if we try harder.”

We’re not trying, you want to say. We’ve barely been trying, want to scream. Instead, you reach down and gather your top, tying it back up and leaving him still gaping.

Every day it seems like you fall deeper for him, find something else about him that you want to wrap up and keep close to you, before the memories of this fade away, just as the summer always does, pulling Matthew-and your relationship- away with it.

—--

“You know, you can’t avoid him forever.” Ethan drops down into the chair next to you, and only when you’re sure he’s alone, do you open your eyes from the nap you were pretending to take.

“Avoid who?” You say, too quickly to even feign innocence. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He snickers, signaling for you to hand him a drink. “But if I were avoiding someone, I’d say you’d be severely underestimating my ability to commit to the bit.”

He laughs. “Alright, that’s a good point.”

“Should watch out for that glass house, too.” You say, and he takes a minute to press his cold can against your skin as payback before he opens it.

“Alright.” Ethan says finally, almost reluctantly. “I’ll talk if you do.”

You side-eye him, looking to see how serious he is. “Matthew and I have been hooking up all summer, except I’m in love with him and he’s only in it for the fun and games.” You wave the fingers of your free hand around sarcastically. “If it’s not easy breezy fucking Cover Girl…’

Ethan gives you a look. “Do you need another drink?” You do and he waits patiently for you to dig for a new White Claw and open it before saying, “Nora and I hooked up this year at school.” You choke on your new drink, the carbonation going down hard, and Ethan laughs hollowly. “I thought it’d be fine. It was. We’d get here, it’d be like any other summer.” He trails off, but you don’t need him to continue.

You’ve been living it.

“Easy breezy.” You hold your can out for him to cheers against. “Seems so simple.”

“Easy breezy.” He clinks his can against yours.

“Shit.” You see Matthew and Brady walking out of the ocean, still talking and hopefully distracted enough still to notice you still. “Gotta go.”

Ethan’s cackle might have given you away though. That, or the one flip flop you left behind in your haste to get away in time.

——-

You manage to successfully avoid Matthew for four days before he takes the matter into his own hands.

It’s not long after dinner, another burger night at the club with your parents where even they had commented on how they haven’t seen him for a few days, a conversation that made you want to crawl under the table and die, but instead only left you just on the wrong side of tipsy.

Maybe it’s because of that that Matthew tumbling into your room via the trellis comes as such a surprise.

“Jesus Christ!” You gasp, climbing out of bed to run over to him. “What the fuck?”

“I’m fine.” He says, standing up and brushing non-existent dirt off his shoulders. “Thanks for asking.”

“I’ve made that fall many times. Stop milking it.” Matthew grins back at you and now you know for sure that he’s fine. Which brings you back to your initial reaction. “What are you doing here?”

He gives you a look. “How else was I supposed to see you? You know, considering you’ve been avoiding me.” He pulls your flip flop out of his pocket. “I have your shoe, by the way.”

“Oh, I’ve been looking for this.” You say lamely.

“Jesus Christ.” He snickers and you can’t help but laugh. At least it breaks the tension a little, or at least it does, until Matthew stops laughing to smile at you instead, long enough that you stop laughing too.

“What?” You ask, the laugh still kind of fading away with the word.

“Nothing.” He shakes his head. “It just feels like it’s been forever since I’ve heard you laugh like that now.”

And then it’s abrupt, the return of the tension. You feel your shoulders hike up, almost defensively, and Matthew’s eyes flash. “Not a lot of reason to laugh lately, I guess.”

He sighs, looking almost defeated. “What? What is it?” You shake your head. “Just tell me! Come on.” And you know what? If that’s how he wants to play it, fine. He’s the one that’s so concerned with screwing it up, then he can pick up the pieces too.

“I love you!” You laugh hollowly, a little vindicated with how many emotions wash over his face at your words. Good. You’ve been pushing them down deep for weeks; he can work on them for a bit now. “Isn’t that the worst fucking thing you’ve ever heard?”

“No.” Matthew says quietly. “It’s really not.”

“What?” You frown, but he’s crossing the room and kissing you before you can say anything else.

“I messed up the other day.” Matthew kisses you again. It’s hard to concentrate when he’s kissing you like this, so you step away. “I don’t-I don’t want to screw up with you if we try harder. Because you mean too much to me. I don’t want to lose you.”

You bite your lip. “I don’t want to lose you either, but I can’t. I can’t keep this secret anymore.”

“I know.” He says. “I told my mom; she’s waiting to have drinks with us.” He’s so serious that your jaw drops for a second, but then he cracks a grin.

“You ass-oh my god!” You groan. “No, not again.

Matthew’s grinning as he steps closer to you, pulling you in for another kiss. “Dunno, that joke might never get old.”

“We’re breaking up.” You declare, which is a little hard to do as he’s in the middle of trying to kiss you again. “I’ve changed my mind.”

“Nah.” He teases you. “You love me.”

“Worst fucking thing you’ve ever heard.” You agree, finally allowing him to kiss you how he wants.

“Best fucking thing.” He corrects. “I love you, too.”

#matthew tkachuk #matthew tkachuk fanfic #matthew tkachuk fanfiction #nhl fanfic #nhl fanfiction #hockey fanfic #hockey fanfiction #my hockey fics

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midnightsnyx · 2 years ago

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hey girl! could you do an insta edit for matthew tkachuk? maybe something with a couple posts going from best friends to lovers? please and thank you!!

i love this idea so much!!!

yourusername

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tagged: matthew_tkachuk

yourusername he's alright sometimes

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user1 are you guys dating??? ⤷ yourusername nah

bradytkachuk where's my photo credit ⤷ yourusername sorry ⤷ yourusername FYI everyone Brady took these pictures like a creep from the table across from us

taryntkachuk look at you guys with your matching hats ⤷ tessavirtue17 I love this!

yourusername

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yourusername ignore Matt's middle-aged dad look. I tried to talk him out of it.

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bradytkachuk wow you guys are so cool can I be you ⤷ matthew_tkachuk no

user1 y'all drink a lot of coffee ⤷ yourusername how do you think Matt stays awake during games

user2 are you SURE you're not dating ⤷ matthew_tkachuk yes

taryntkachuk does Matthew ever take those sunglasses off ⤷ yourusername of course not, they were a gift from me

matthew_tkachuk

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matthew_tkachuk she's alright sometimes

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user1 not dating my ass ⤷ user2 find someone who looks at you like Matt looks at her😭

johngaudreau03 when's the wedding ⤷ yourusername ask Matthew

taryntkachuk aw, Matthew's heart grew three sizes!! ⤷ matthew_tkachuk you're hilarious Taryn ⤷ user3 lmao I love taryn

user4 omg he looks so good in green ⤷ yourusername right?

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yourusername my prom date

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yourusername just kidding, we're so glad to be supporting the charity event the Flordia Panthers organization is hosting tonight!

user1 screaming

tessavirtue17 you look beautiful!! ⤷ yourusername says you!

user2 omg her dress

flapanthers So glad to have you both tonight!

matthew_tkachuk wow 😍

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yourusername my love ❤

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taryntkachuk 🥰🥰 ⤷ yourusername ❤

user1 literally the cutest couple

johngaudreau03 so when's the wedding?

matthew_tkachuk love you ❤

bradytkachuk alexa, play about damn time

#hockey imagines #nhl fanfiction #hockey fanfiction #nhl imagines #allies writing #allie answers #hockey imagine #fake insta post #hockey social media au #fake social media #social media au #fake instagram #matthew tkachuk blurb #matthew tkachuk x reader #matthew tkachuk fanfiction

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cheddaryouthanme · 1 year ago

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Hockey RPF writers being known across fandoms as literary masters

When I first started reading MattDrai fics on AO3 I remember thinking “wait what the HELL is going on why is this the most consistently well-written fanfiction I’ve read in any fandom? Is this a thing? Do people know??” And apparently it is and they do.

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cailinsblog · 15 days ago

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Like Father, Like Son | Matthew tkachuk

Matthew tkachuk x reader

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

————————————————————————

Repost helps a lot and requests are open

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

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chukys-mouthguard · 5 months ago

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please please please

“if you wanna go and be stupid, don’t do it in front of me”

featuring -> matthew tkachuk x female reader

genre -> fluff/angst

word count -> 1.4k

*not proofread

-> short n’ sweet masterlist

Surely there was no way that Matt could even think about alcohol after his multi-day bender after winning the cup. But somehow, he was knee deep in the sand, and knee deep in his fifth margarita. Jumbo margarita to be exact.

You’d begged him to pace himself, mostly concerned his body would shut down on him in protest of not being able to digest any more alcohol. But he reassured you he was good to go!

The vacation was something he’d planned spontaneously, wanting some time for just the two of you before he’d have to retire his party boy ways and get in gear for the upcoming season. Though he’d now gathered quite a reputation from fans and haters across the internet for his persona after winning the cup.

People were calling him all sorts of things, simply because he had been living his best life on cloud nine. Though you knew nothing they said was true, you were a bit unsure of how you’d deal with drunk Matt on this vacation all by yourself.

Thinking back to day three of no sleep when he thought it was a good idea to host a drunk belly flop competition at your house, only for two of his teammates to puke instantly after hitting the water. Not a fun cleanup for those involved, and Matt still won’t live that down in your heart. But this vacation was a good start to him getting back on your good side.

He’d planned a couples massage, a nice moonlit dinner on the beach, the whole nine.

“Matty, I love you.”

He smiled at you from his beach chair, the word drunk practically branded across his forehead and written in his eyes. Eliciting a chuckle from you as he simply whined, hating when you laughed at him when he’d been drinking.

“You say you love me, then you make fun. Not nice.”

“Babe, I do love you. But I also love when you’re acting goofy like this. It makes me smile, it’s not to make fun I promise.”

He just shrugged it off, reaching his hand out for yours as he closed his eyes to enjoy the moment.

“Matthew Brendan Tkachuk, if you don’t hurry up we are gonna be late.”

You scolded as he continued taking his sweet time getting out of bed. His jumbo margaritas having caught up to him and making everything difficult. A groan fell from his lips as he slid off the side of the bed, stumbling to his suitcase to look for clothes to put on.

“Babe, I laid your clothes out already. Come on! We are gonna be late!”

As much as you loved Matthew, he was getting on your last nerve. This vacation was supposed to be a turn from the crazy Stanley Cup celebrations. A chance for the two of you to have a moment for yourselves before training camp and another crazy season got underway. Matthew having told you the trip wouldn’t be consumed with drinking as he was sure his liver couldn’t handle anymore after the week long partying he’d done back home.

You should’ve listened to his dad and Brady, both of them telling you that Matt wasn’t done celebrating yet. Though you wanted to believe he’d retire the alcohol for even a few days to make the most of this trip with you.

He smiled at you with rosey cheeks as he grabbed the clothes from the dresser where you’d set them out, heading into the bathroom to quickly rinse off and get changed.

Checking your watch you knew you were at risk of missing your reservation, this dinner being something you’d looked forward to since the first day here. Matt had put so much planning into it, and soon it would be all for nothing.

“Okay hun, let’s go!”

Matthew finally emerged from the bathroom, the buttons on his shirt proving to be a challenge as none of them lined up properly, causing you to chuckle as you rushed to fix them.

“Matthew, stop it now!”

You scolded him as he was walking along a ledge of the beach, pretending he was on a balance beam at the Olympics. While it was funny at first, the wall had grown increasingly higher and you were nervous that he’d injure himself and put himself in hot water with the organization come training camp in a few weeks.

“Relax babe, m’fine! See!”

He sped up his pace as he quickly put one foot in front of the other, laughing down at you as you tried to keep up with him. Your heels in hand as you weren’t trying to break an ankle chasing down his drunk ass.

“And now for the dismount.”

He stopped in his tracks, taking a deep breath as he turned to face the sand, a concentrated look on his face as you pleaded with him to not do something stupid. Keith and Brady’s words replaying in your head have fun trying to keep him in check. You were very much hating them for ever putting those ideas into the universe right now.

“He’s going to attempt a front tuck, will he stick the landing.”

He flashed a smirk to you with a wink, ignoring your pleading for him to stop. Telling him to think about the upcoming season, training camp, the team would kill him if he ended up with a season ending injury because he was drunk in Mexico pretending to be an Olympic gymnast.

But Matthew surely didn’t listen, attempting his flip only to fail miserably. His groans immediately sobering you up from any drop of alcohol you’d had, though nothing compared to him.

“Matt, are you okay!”

He rolled in the sand grabbing at his shoulder as he groaned, and your fears had come true. A torn ligament, broken bone, surgery, his season would be in jeopardy.

“Matt, come on tell me what’s wrong?”

His groans soon turned to chuckles as he smiled at you, your concern immediately turning to anger as you smacked his arm.

“Are you fucking kidding? What the fuck is wrong with you! Get yourself back to the hotel, I’m done.”

He quickly realized his joke was nothing but, running after you and stopping you in your tracks. His hands were holding tight to yours as he frantically apologized.

“Baby I’m sorry, okay, it wasn’t funny. You’ve just been so stressed and worried about me all trip, I thought you needed a good laugh.”

“So you pretend to fucking get hurt? Everyone told me this trip would be me baby sitting and got were they right! You promised this was a trip for us, to relax after the hype of the Cup celebrations. But here we are with you drunk everyday once again. I should’ve known this would turn into a multi day binge for you.”

You rolled your eyes as you pushed past him. Matthew cursing himself for fucking up this trip, one that he’d planned and promised to be anything like the last month or so. And yet he’d fallen short, living up to the expectations of everyone that told you that he’d not give up the partying.

“Baby please, okay I’m sorry. Please stop.”

Matt stood in front of you, his hands caressing your face as he tried his best to apologize.

“You’re right, I promised this vacation was for us. And I ruined that by getting so drunk. And that joke wasn’t funny, I know you’re just worried about me doing something stupid. Which, I fucked that up. Clearly. But, please don’t be mad at me. Let me fix this!”

You tried your best to keep your stern look and be mad at him, but as he peppered your face with kisses. Moving to your neck before he picked you up and spun you around, earning a laugh from you and knowing he’d won you over.

“See, I knew you couldn’t be mad at me for long!”

Rolling your eyes you kissed him back, running your hands through his curls as you sarcastically smiled up at him.

“Well I’m still mad, but if you promise to not do any more stupid drunk shit like that, maybe I’ll forgive you.”

He nodded his head, stealing another kiss before he started walking towards the water with you in his arms.

“Matthew, what are you doing? This feels like another stupid drunk thing!”

The closer the two of you got to the water the more you fought his grip, knowing he was planning to take you for a swim. Matthew laughed at you as his arms held tighter to you, ready to dunk the two of you into the ocean despite your pleading for him to stop and turn back.

“No, no babe, it’s not I promise. The water will help sober me up quick! But they say night swimming is dangerous alone, I’ve seen plenty of research studies!”

#matthew tkachuk angst #matthew tkachuk fanfic #matthew tkachuk x reader #matthew tkachuk fic #matthew tkachuk imagine #matthew tkachuk #nhl imagine #nhl fics #hockey imagine #hockey fic #nhl fanfiction #nhl blurb

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holy-puckslibrary · 11 months ago

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˗ˏˋ main masterlist ˎˊ˗

✩ PAIRING(S) — bull-rider!MATTHEW TKACHUK x barrel racer!hughes!reader ✩ WC — 1.8k and counting… ✩ SEIRES CONTENT WARNING(S) — profanity and innuendo; adult themes and content; family drama and other angst; infidelity, betrayal and deceit; descriptions of injuries; and more.

please refer to individual uploads for more specific content warnings.

MAIN SERIES

feelin' single, seein' double all nighters with rodeo riders (uploaded FEB 3) a legend at lovin' and leavin' movin' on with jack six-gun sugar

EXTRAS & RELATED ASKS

✩ blurbs + hcs coming soon…

✩ asks — prequel vs. sequel (poll) — wild west (grace's version)

MUSIC & MOODBOARDS

✩ knockin' boots ✩ bunkhouse blues ✩ dutton state of mind ✩ raise a garden ✩ make boys cry, make beth dutton proud

my inbox my main blog — @holy-pucks

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blueskrugs · 8 months ago

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'tis the damn season | Matthew Tkachuk

today's the unofficial official start to summer, so here's a 4th of July Matty fic I couldn't bear to hold on to for another month. once upon a time, kim @troubatrain wrote another matthew fic by the same title, but i'm fairly confident this is entirely different. as usual, @wyattjohnston was my enabler in writing this.

length: 3.0k words

It’s late when you finally peel yourself off the Adirondack chair you claimed hours ago next to the bonfire, empty seltzer can dangling from your fingertips. The bonfire has died off, barely more than some embers and the occasional spark. Even the fireworks that have been echoing around the lake for days have petered out. It’s just you, Matthew and Taryn left outside, all your other friends having wandered off to find somewhere to sleep—except you think Taryn might have also fallen asleep, wrapped up in one of Matthew’s old Calgary sweatshirts and a beach towel.

Matthew watches you with heavy eyes, watches as you stretch sleepily and the big T-shirt you’d thrown on over your swimsuit rides up over your hips.

“Don’t drive home,” Matthew says, so low you barely hear him.

“What?” you ask. You’re not heading back to the city until after the long weekend is over, and your parents’ lake house is just a couple of miles away.

“Don’t leave, there’s a lot of drunk idiots out still,” he says again, standing too. You and your friends were some of those drunk idiots earlier in the day, but you don’t point that out.

“Dude, I’m fine,” you tell Matthew. You turn to look for your flip-flops. “It’s not far, and I stopped drinking a while ago.”

Matthew grabs you by the hip. The night has cooled off, but Matthew’s hand feels hot on your skin. “I’m not worried about you being stupid, I’m worried about something happening to you,” Matthew says. “Don’t go.”

You didn’t pack enough clothes to spend the night—you’d always been planning on heading back to your parents’ at the end of the night. The house was crowded with friends of Matthew and Taryn.

“There’s nowhere left for me to sleep,” is what you end up saying.

Matthew tightens his grip. You step closer. “Sleep in my bed.”

You’d done it before, but not since before Matthew had moved to Michigan to play for the USNTDP. Not since before your crush on Matthew had shifted from something childish to something more like pining. You stare up at him, his blue eyes serious, clear even in the moonlight.

One of the logs on the dying bonfire pops and shifts, sending out a spray of sparks. You both startle, moment broken. Matthew takes a half-step back from you. You hadn’t realized how far you’d both leaned in. Taryn stirs somewhere behind you.

“Fine,” you say quietly. “I’ll stay.”

Matthew grins at you. You shake your head at him as you finally turn to walk inside.

You think you hear Taryn murmur, “Get a room,” as you pass her.

The lake house is a mess. You survey it with dismay for a moment: there’s people passed out on several different couches, empty cans and bottles scattered across most surfaces, and remnants of dinner still sitting out in the kitchen. You drop your own empty can into the recycling near the door and wander quietly through the first floor, picking up what you can. You haven’t been at it very long when Matthew steps inside as well, gently shutting the door behind him. He clicks his tongue at you when he spots you in the kitchen, loading the dishwasher.

“I thought you were going to bed,” he whispers.

“I got distracted,” you whisper back.

Matthew trails his fingertips across your side as he steps past you to open the fridge. You shiver, and not because the AC is turned down low. Matthew pulls two bottles of Gatorade out, offers one to you.

You take it, suddenly surprised at how thirsty you are.

Matthew watches in amusement for a moment as you chug a third of the bottle, before he says, “C’mon, it’s past your bedtime.”

“It’s not that late—” you try to protest, before you catch a glimpse of the time on the microwave clock. Almost 2 AM. “Oops,” you say instead.

Matthew flicks off the kitchen light and heads upstairs.

You make a pit stop in Taryn’s room on your way down the hall to Matthew’s room. The door creaks as you open it, and you wince, squinting at the bed, where three of Taryn’s field hockey teammates are sleeping. No one moves. You steal a pair of shorts to sleep in and sneak back out.

Matthew is waiting for you, again, perched on the edge of his bed. The shower in his ensuite is running, steam filtering through the ajar door. “Shower’s ready for you, if you want,” he says.

There’s a bottle of your face wash and a toothbrush with your initials Sharpied onto the handle underneath his sink, the same way they have been since you were 14. You take a fast shower and try not to think too much about it.

You run into Matthew when you walk out of the bathroom. Literally. You're bumped backwards, into the doorjamb. Matthew doesn’t step away. You’re still wearing one of his T-shirts.

“I was just—I need—” Matthew stutters.

“Matty—” you breathe, before Matthew’s lips crash into yours. He tastes like beer and sunscreen, and you wrap your hands around the back of his neck so you can pull him closer.

Matthew breaks the kiss first, but he doesn’t go far, pressing his forehead to yours. It could have been seconds, or it could have been hours.

“I was just going to brush my teeth,” Matthew whispers.

You make a face instead of kissing Matthew again. His face is still so close to yours.

“Good, you need it,” you whisper back. Matthew rolls his eyes at you, presses a kiss to your forehead before ducking into the bathroom.

You’re sprawled out in the center of Matthew’s bed when he re-emerges, watching the ceiling fan turn lazily above you. You feel drunk, like the room’s spinning, too, but you think that might just be proximity to Matthew. You should have just found a couch or a corner of floor to sleep on.

“No way,” Matthew says, standing at the foot of the bed. “Scoot over.”

You think about pushing it, just to see if Matthew would push back, but you scoot over. Matthew flops onto the bed next to you in the space you just left, then rolls on top of you, anyway, braced with his hands next to your head.

You take a second to just look at him. You’ve been sneaking glances all day, over the rim of a seltzer can, from underneath your sunglasses, across the boat. It had felt illicit then, but now Matthew is right in front of you, blue eyes meeting yours. His curls are getting long, messy from being in and out of the lake water all day. He’s always tan now—living in Florida all winter does that—but he’s sunburned across his nose and across the tops of shoulders. You lift one hand and skim a finger down his nose, across his jaw.

“I miss you,” you blurt. It’s not what you had meant to say, but now that you’ve said it, you’re not sure what else there is to say.

Matthew laughs softly. “I’m right here, babe,” he says.

He’s here now, but it won’t be long until summer’s over, and he’ll be gone again. Back to the real world. You don’t know the last time you and Matthew were able to spend time together like this, don’t know if you’ll ever get this time again. It’s always been one thing after another—injuries, or vacations, or work. You don't talk the way you used to, either. Matthew's schedule clashes with yours so often that neither of you have time for hours-long phone calls anymore.

Matthew drops to an elbow and brushes your hair out of your face. You try not to sigh. His hand is on your knee next, by his ribs with your feet flat on the bed. You don’t stop him as his hand starts to slide up your thigh, closer to the hem of his T-shirt, riding up your hips again.

Matthew drags a line of kisses down your neck. You can’t stop your sigh this time. Matthew comes up for air, tucks another strand of hair behind your ear. It’s humid outside and in Matthew’s bed; you can’t breathe, gasp for air. His hand is back on your hip, burning hot on your skin.

He asks, “Yeah?”

You can feel his breath on your cheek. He’s panting, too, and it’s nice to know that he’s as wrapped up in this as you are, at least for this moment. That he might want you almost as bad as you want him. That he’s wanted you as long as you’ve wanted him.

You don’t trust yourself to get any words out, just nod.

“Think you can stay quiet?” Matthew says, before sealing his lips on yours again.

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You wake up late the next morning, the ghost of Matthew’s fingers still on your skin. He’s in bed, too, tangled in the sheets, head turned away from you. Distantly, you hear the sounds of the rest of the house stirring, your friends laughing, coffee brewing. You don’t make any move to get up.

You’re still laying there later—15 minutes, 30 minutes, you’re not sure—when Matthew starts to stir. He rolls over quickly, almost panicked, but he relaxes and smiles when he sees you still lying next to him.

“Hi,” he says dumbly. He fumbles for his phone, but it’s not beside him. “What time is it?” His words and eyes are still heavy with sleep.

You don't know either; you must have left your phone downstairs last night;. You shrug and stretch. Matthew watches you closely, the way your body moves beneath the sheets. You feel your cheeks flush.

“Dunno,” you say. Closer to noon than early morning, if you had to guess by the way the light is slanting through the partially closed blinds. “Late,” you add.

Matthew grins at you and props himself up on one elbow. You have to resist the urge to reach up and tug on his curls, even messier now from your hands and sleep.

“Then I don’t think anyone will miss us if we stay in bed a little longer,” he says, leaning over to kiss you.

You indulge him and his morning breath for a few moments. Wrapped up in your own little bubble, twisted together in Matthew’s sheets, you can pretend just a little longer—that this is real, that it won’t disappear the second you step through that doorway and back into a world where other people and other obligations exist. But then your stomach rumbles and shatters your illusion.

You push Matthew away by the shoulders—gently, though part of you wants to be harsh with him, hurt him the way you know he’s going to break your heart. Matthew goes easily, but you see the flash of furrowed brow before he smooths his expression back into something easygoing.

“Not that I’m not enjoying this,” you say, “but I need something to eat.”

Matthew raises his eyebrows at you. “I’ve got an idea of what I want to eat,” he leers.

You knee him in the chest in retaliation.

“Oof,” Matthew complains, but he’s laughing.

He rolls off of you, rubbing his chest and pouting at you. You just roll your eyes and slide out of bed. You hunt the floor for the shorts you’d been wearing when you went to bed, trying to ignore the way you can feel Matthew staring at your ass. Your shorts ended up across the room, by the bathroom door. When you turn around again, Matthew is pulling on a shirt. There’s a hickey on his collarbone that you hazily remember leaving there. He sees you looking as his bare skin disappears and smirks at you before throwing another clean shirt of his at your face.

You grab the hem of the shirt you’re wearing, but say, “Turn around.”

Matthew gapes at you. “It’s nothing I didn’t see last night,” he tells you.

It feels different in the daylight, though. You stare Matthew down until he heaves a sigh and turns his back.

You poke Matthew in the ribs when you’ve finished changing. It didn’t go unnoticed by you that Matthew gave you a shirt with his number stamped on the left shoulder to wear. Matthew reaches to take your hand as you start down the stairs, but you pull away and run ahead of him.

This isn’t like that.

“Oh, you’re both alive,” Taryn calls when she sees you. “We were thinking about sending someone up to check on you.”

You and Matthew exchange a look. You don’t miss Taryn smirking from her spot on the couch.

“Where is everybody?” Matthew says, instead of saying anything to give Taryn any more ammunition. The house has quieted down. There’s still a few of Taryn’s teammates lounging around, but it looks like more of Matthew’s friends have cleared out.

“Weather’s shitty, people started leaving after breakfast,” she says.

Outside the windows that overlook the lake, there’s fog clinging to the water. It looks chilly out, and you shiver. You tell yourself it’s because of the cold, and not because Matthew is standing so close to you that you can feel his body heat. He nudges your elbow, and he’s holding a cup of coffee out to you, already the perfect color for you to drink it. You shoot him a grateful smile as you take it; your fingers brush, and you try not to jerk your hand away.

“Nobody even said good-bye,” Matthew gripes.

You laugh, but it’s Taryn who says: “Maybe because you’re a shit host.”

Matthew gasps in outrage and throws a discarded can koozie at her. It falls weakly to the floor halfway to the couch, and all of you burst out laughing. You and Matthew move easily around each other in the kitchen, piecing together leftovers and assembling your breakfasts. It sends a pang through your chest, the familiarity of it, even as the years and distance build a canyon between your relationship. You don’t know when Matthew went from being your best friend, to the boy you dreamed of marrying one day, to the guy you knew so well yet barely knew at all.

You feel like you can’t breathe.

“That’s disgusting,” you say, watching Matthew take a bite out of a cold bratwurst straight from the fridge.

Matthew shrugs. “What?” he says with his mouth full. “It’s a sausage, people eat sausage for breakfast all the time!”

“But not—oh, fuck you, never mind,” you say.

You escape the kitchen, slipping through the back door to the porch. The bonfire from last night has long since burned out entirely, but you drop into one of the chairs beside it anyway, where you eat your breakfast undisturbed. When your plate is cleared, you wander down to the dock.

The late morning sun has finally started to burn away the fog, but the air is still cool. You sit down on the edge of the dock and let your feet dangle in the water. It’s quiet, especially for the day after the holiday; the weather has scared people indoors. You shiver again. You only have a few minutes of peace before you hear footsteps behind you. You don’t have to turn around to know that they belong to Matthew.

He drops down onto the dock behind you, drapes his legs off the edge on either side of yours. He wraps his arms around your shoulders, and you let yourself lean back into his chest. Neither of you speak.

You’d been here once before, sitting on this dock with Matthew. You were younger then. Matthew had just been drafted, and you were heading off to college. You’d both been on the verge of something big, and you thought maybe it had been your chance to do big things, together. You wonder if Matthew is thinking of that night, too, of the silence in the darkness of midnight, when you’d both slipped away.

Matthew presses his lips to your shoulder, where the collar of your shirt—his shirt—has slid down and exposes your bare skin.

“Would you wait for me?” you asked, 18 years old and so, so scared of losing everything you had ever known. Desperately trying to hold onto Matthew.

“Would you?” he asked back. “Would you still be ready for me in another few years?” You both knew you couldn’t even imagine following Matthew to Calgary until you had graduated, unwilling to sacrifice your own future for a possible one with Matthew.

You had waited. You had been waiting for Matthew for even longer than you were willing to admit. Even when you were in other relationships, you felt like you were just waiting for something else. For someone else. You wondered now what your life would look like if you had said yes to Matthew on the dark dock all those summers ago, if you’d waited for each other. You couldn’t wait any longer.

“You could stay for a few more days,” Matthew says.

“You know I can’t,” you say. You reach back so you can run your hand through his hair. One last time. “Think we could do this again sometime?” Matthew asks. “You know we can’t,” you say. Matthew sighs. You can feel the tension in his body. He’s ready for a fight, but you don’t know if you have the energy for it. You lean more of your weight against him, and he holds you up, strong and steady.

Matthew takes a moment before he responds. “We could,” he argues. “We could do this forever.” Your heart hurts. You know he doesn't mean it.

“Matthew,” you say, quietly. “Matthew, please.” “Why not?” he asks. “We’re good together, aren’t we?”

You are, and you wish you didn’t know just how good it could be between you. In your head, you see all the things you could have, all the things you should have done. It’s so, so tempting.

“I think we both know why we didn’t try ‘us’ when we were 18, Matty,” you tell him. The petty arguments, the way you were both so stubborn that hanging out ended in slamming doors just as often as it didn't. You always came back, but you don't know if you can do it much longer.

You move to leave, and Matthew slides back to allow it. You let him offer you a hand as you stand up. Matthew squeezes your hand once, quickly, just before you let go. You leave him sitting on the dock. You don’t look back as you make your way back up to the house.

Some things are best left in the past.

#cait writes things #matthew tkachuk imagine #matthew tkachuk fic #nhl fic #nhl imagine #nhl fanfiction #hockey fic #hockey imagine

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tkwrites · 4 months ago

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An Infinite Kind of Love - A 300 follower celebration fic - Matthew Tkachuk x ofc

Photo from Pinterest

Title: An Infinite Kind of Love

Author: Tory / @tkwrites

Relationship: Pre-established: Matthew Tkachuk x Sophie (ofc)

Warnings: Other than mentions of a not great biological father, it’s all fluff.

Summary: Matthew and Sophie get married!

Word count: 3,800

Comments: I hit 300 followers way back on July 12 and set up this poll to determine the fic I would write in celebration. We’d just passed the 4th of July, and I had a very specific idea for Matthew and Sophies wedding because of it.

This fic has actually been finished for about 3 weeks, but I was worried people would be upset if I posted it before the latest Quinn and Sarah Snapshot went up. So, here it is.

I hope you enjoy seeing Matthew and Sophie get married! If you did, please consider commenting, reblogging, or sending in an ask. I love hearing your thoughts about my writing!

Also we're just going to pretend the suit in this photo is navy because I couldn't find a photo of Matthew in a navy suit other than last years NHL Awards suit, which is not a suit for a wedding.

An Infinite Kind of Love

A Matthew and Sophie Fic

“Can someone get Matthew?” Sophie asked.

“Of course.” Taryn darted out to run across the courtyard.

When she got back to the suite, Matthew was running in after her.

Gwen was naked to the waist and yelped.

He slapped a hand over his eyes. “Sorry! Sorry! Soph?”

She rushed to him, pulling him out onto the balcony. “It's safe,” she said, nudging his hand down.

The late afternoon sun turned her into nothing more than a silhouette. He had to blink a few times before she came into focus. She'd changed from the short ivory colored dress she'd worn to brunch into a set of loose satin pajamas. Her hair was in rollers, and even with brows that looked too heavy without the rest of her makeup done, she still looked beautiful.

“What's wrong?” he asked, his hands automatically going to her arms, rubbing up and down. He didn't think it would actually happen, but thoughts of her calling off the wedding had still weaseled their way into the back of his mind when Taryn raced into the groom's room telling him Sophie wanted to see him.

“Nothings wrong,” she said, looking into his face. Despite only wearing a t-shirt and shorts, he looked fresh faced, and handsome. He and the boys had gone to the barber shop after brunch, and they'd done his hair so his curls were perfectly set and defined. It took all her willpower to not run her fingers through them. They’d also given him a straight edge shave, and she could tell how soft his cheeks would be without even touching them.

She preferred a bit of scruff on him, but he'd insisted he'd rather be clean shaven, saying he didn't want to look like a Muppet on their wedding day.

“Plus,” he'd said with a mischievous glint in his eye, “don't want to give you any beard burn,” before rubbing her cheek with his stubbled jaw.

She’d laughed and told him she didn’t mind.

“What's up?” he asked now, looking relieved.

“I just wanted to see you,” she said, stepping into him and wrapping her arms around his chest.

As his arms enclosed around her, she felt his chuckle at the same time she heard it.

“I missed you, too,” he said. With the rollers, he couldn’t tuck his face into her hair the way he liked to. He settled for resting his lips on her forehead.

“For being our wedding day, we don't see very much of each other,” she said.

While they’d had a brunch with many of their wedding guests before coming to the ceremony venue to get ready, they’d slept apart the night before and spent much of the morning away from each other. Then, they were supposed to be apart until the first look and the ceremony. It felt incongruous. This was a celebration of their union. Shouldn't they be together?

“I know. It's bullshit,” he whispered.

“What aftershave did they use?” she asked. He smelled fresh like cut grass and mountain air.

“I'm not sure. I picked it because I thought you'd like it.”

The simpleness of the act and of his thoughtfulness made her a little weak in the knees. “It smells really nice.”

Matthew closed his eyes, drinking in the feel of her body pressed to his, her breath on his neck and her nose in the soft spot under his jaw. Knowing that he'd picked right made pride swell in his chest.

“I'll ask them and get some,” he said.

Pulling back, she leaned up to kiss him.

It wasn't anything extravagant. It wasn't a kiss that made him break into a hot sweat or one that brought him to his knees. It was loving and soft. There was tongue, because with Sophie, there was always a little tongue.

They kissed a few more times before she pulled away to find a look of adoration on his handsome face as he smiled down at her.

Caught in the moment, they stayed that way for a few beats longer, just staring at each other until someone cleared their throat.

In the back of her mind, Sophie knew they were all in the room, but it was still a bit shocking when they looked over to find all her bridesmaids, both of their moms and the wedding photographer all gathered around the balcony door.

“You guys are so cute,” Gwen gushed.

There wasn't much about their wedding that was traditional. Instead of the usual noon, 2 or 5 o'clock ceremonies, their ceremony was set to begin at 8:30 so it would be dark enough by the time they kissed. They served a cocktail hour with food before the ceremony, at which the bridal party, minus the bride, mingled. After the vows, they were headed to a late-night reception with food trucks, cocktails, and partying.

With 20 minutes to go before the ceremony, they all snuck off to a more secluded part of the garden. The groomsmen insisted they wanted to do a first look with Sophie. It turned into a whole thing: groomsmen along with Keith and her stepdad Greg. Then Matthew would come in and join them to get his own first look.

Sophie was hidden behind a trellis in another part of the garden with both of their moms and her bridesmaids.

Her mom grabbed her hand to stop her from nervously pulling at her dress, and Sophie felt butterflies attack her stomach.

Before the bridesmaids went out to join the guys, Taryn wrapped her in a tight hug. When they parted, she held Sophie at arms length to look her over. “Matthew’s gonna shit himself,” she said, tone full of a kind of teasing approval Sophie never experienced until she’d met Matthew. Their family teased, but mostly, it was all in good fun. It was rarely the kind of needling teasing she got from her dad as a child.

Once she’d tried it on for the first time, Sophie couldn’t stop thinking about Matthew seeing her in this dress. She’d had it custom-made, pieces of a few dresses stolen and sewn together to make exactly what she’d wanted. The bodice had a plunging neckline that narrowed between her breasts, so it wasn’t all that scandalous and floral embroidery that cascaded down onto the A-line skirt. It was simple and understated, just left of center enough to make it unique and just off white enough to be flattering. If the color were a little darker, it might be called blush.

She knew Matthew would love it because she loved it. That was just the kind of guy he was. But Taryn’s reaction still made her insides fizz like champagne.

Upon a prompt from their wedding planner, Sophie walked out.

The groomsmen were lined up, facing away from her.

They turned around when the photographer, who was standing off to the side with full view of everyones reactions, gave the signal.

As Sophie watched, a broad grin spread over every face. Greg and Keith both started crying, which she hadn’t expected. Keith pulled his glasses off so he could wipe his eyes.

Greg rushed forward to gather her into a hug. His chest shook with sobs as he whispered, “thank you for letting me be here.”

“You’re the best dad, Greg. I’m so glad you’re here.”

“Matthew’s one lucky son of a bitch,” he said, wiping his eyes. “I’m so proud of you.”

She hugged him again, squeezing extra tight.

Her brother followed. “You're so pretty, Soph,” he said.

“You look really handsome in your suit,” she said, wiping at her own tears that had finally spilled over.

He worked his thumbs under his suspenders and puffed out his chest.

Their laughter was loud and raucous as she struck a pose of her own.

When it was his turn, Keith gathered her into his barrel chest and lifted her off the ground in a bear hug.

She let out a surprised little squeak and giggled as her feet kicked out behind her.

“I don’t know —” Keith had to stop to wipe his eyes again after he set her back down, “I don’t know what Matthew did to get on your good side, but I’m sure glad he did.”

“You raised a good man,” she said, patting him on the chest as they parted, “that’s what he did.”

He gave her a watery smile and went back to Chantal and Taryn, slinging an arm around each of them.

“Matthew’s gonna lose his mind,” Sam whispered in her ear as they hugged.

She giggled, hoping he was right.

And finally (finally, finally!), Matthew was walking down the garden path next to Brady, looking as nervous and excited as she felt and so handsome in his navy blue suit. He had his Louis Vuitton belt on. Even though she thought it was a little distracting to wear to a wedding, he insisted it was his signature piece and couldn’t go without it. She found an indulgent smile on her face, glad he was wearing something he loved so much. At least she’d convinced him to wear real dress shoes and not those ridiculous mules he’d been sporting to the arena all season.

Sophie came into view, and all at once, Matthew felt tears sting his eyes. He’d known he would cry. He knew there was no hope of stopping it. He loved her so much, and this whole day had him all discombobulated. This wasn’t even the first time he’d cried, and he knew it wouldn’t be the last.

After today, he would be her husband. Her husband. He would be her husband, and she would be his wife. And —

She was wearing the most beautiful dress he’d ever seen. Simple and elegant and completely Sophie. A strong pang of longing, love, and nostalgia pulled through him when he realized her lips were even painted the same pink they had been on their first date.

She was perfect.

“Oh my god,” he said, awestruck as they joined the group.

She knew he would probably do that no matter what she was wearing, but it still felt good.

Brady stepped forward and gathered her into a hug. “You look beautiful, Soph,” he said before going to stand with Emma, wiping a few tears from his eyes as he leaned down to whisper to her about how much this reminded him of their own wedding.

Finally standing in front of her, Matthew was at a loss for words. Eventually, he just said the thing that kept running through his mind. “Holy Shit.”

Everyone around them laughed.

Matthew continued to stare silently as everyone else headed back to start ushering the guests into the ceremony seats.

“I don’t…” he paused, trying to articulate the words. He wasn’t sure there were words for what he was feeling. “Fuck.”

She burst into laughter. “Is that good? Or bad?”

“Good,” he said, half of his mouth tipping up in a smile. “You’re –” he blinked a few times, “you’re so pretty, Sophie.”

Heat flushed into her cheeks. “Thank you. I think you look really handsome.”

“You don’t mind the belt?” he asked, tone and eyes teasing as he hooked his thumbs behind it.

“Nope,” she stepped forward and threw her arms around his neck. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” he said into her hair, getting a mouth full of hairspray. He turned to lay his cheek against it instead.

“I can’t believe it’s finally here.”

“I know,” she whispered.

His phone buzzed in his pocket at the same time he saw her mom walking down the path that led from the ceremony.

“It’s time for me to go,” he whispered.

Tightening her arms around him, she resisted nuzzling into his shirt, knowing she’d get makeup all over the starched white material.

“I’ll see you in a minute,” she said, pulling back to look into his face.

He dipped down to drop a quick kiss to her lips. “See you in a minute, my betrothed.”

He’d started calling her that after some venue asked him if he and “his betrothed” would be attending a catering tasting together.

“Soon not to be,” she said with a wink.

He laughed, stole another quick kiss, and hugged her mom before jogging to meet Brady, who was waiting at the end of the path.

Sophie asked her mom to walk her down the aisle. She thought the idea of a man giving a woman away was archaic anyway, but especially after her dad left, she vowed never to have a man walk her down the aisle at her wedding.

So when the music started to play for their bridal party, an instrumental version of Here Comes the Sun — requested by Matthew because he called Sophie his ray of sunshine and they were heralding her entrance — she and her mom walked to the end of the pathway that was serving as their aisle.

Everything looked beautiful. Matthew was standing with their officiant — someone he grew up with who was now a pastor — under a large trellis, covered in a vine of blooming jasmine. The small white flowers (another reason her dress couldn’t be white) stood out against the mens dark suits and the lilac of the bridesmaids' dresses. Everything was bathed in the gentle golden glow of the candles, lanterns, and fairy lights strewn throughout the garden. It was like walking into a dream.

The song she would walk down the aisle to began, it’s jazzy, guitar playing softly from the speakers hidden around their guests.

The officiant instructed everyone to stand, and they did, turning to look at her, as she and her mom stopped at the end of the sidewalk.

While everyone looked at her, she looked at Matthew. Watching his smile and his breathless excitement as she made her way to him. He was even bouncing on the balls of his feet. Her own heart ticked in her ears, and she concentrated on the song lyrics in an effort to keep herself from running to him.

When we were strangers I watched you from afar When we were lovers I loved you with all my heart But now it's getting late And the moon is climbing high I wanna celebrate See it shining in your eyes Because I'm still in love with you I wanna see you dance again Because I'm still in love with you On this harvest moon

Watching Sophie walk down the aisle, her lips painted the same color pink they were on their first date, it felt a little like watching her walk through their history. He was outrageously glad to be on this side of it, having won her trust and love and finding himself in a situation where he had the chance to be with her forever.

Her mom hugged her and went to sit with Greg.

Sophie took the last three steps to stand in front of Matthew by herself. She was ready to take this last leap, eager to no longer do this life on her own.

The officiant invited everyone to sit and began talking about matrimony. She missed most of the speech, too busy thinking about the vows she’d written and watching Matthew. The navy suit made his eyes a deeper shade of blue than usual.

Finally, after what felt to Matthew like forty minutes, though it couldn’t have been more than five, they were invited to read the vows they’d written.

“When we agreed to write our own vows, I made Soph promise to let me go first so I didn’t have the pressure of trying to follow her.”

Sophie and the crowd laughed. Matthew noticed his mom wipe a tear from her cheek. His dad put an arm around her.

Taking in a deep breath, Matthew closed his eyes for a moment before looking back to the printed piece of paper Brady had handed him.

“Sophie,” he began. His voice wobbled a little. The way she was looking at him made him feel light-headed. The culmination of the day coming together and seeing her looking so beautiful in her dress was too much. Truth be told, he was a bit shocked he was even still standing.

She took his free hand, and the grounding in her touch centered his breathing.

He looked at her and began again.

“Sophie, if I tried to articulate all the ways I love you, I’m pretty sure we’d be here for several days because I don’t think I could ever find the right words.”

The audience awed.

“So instead of that, I wrote down some of the things I love about you, and what I’ll try to be for you, and you’ll just have to put up with the words I’ve got.”

She snorted, and he heard Brady laugh behind him.

“So here goes. I love that you make me quiet.”

Tears pressed behind her eyes. She hadn’t expected him to go for the jugular right off the bat.

“Most people know I have a pretty hard time shutting up,” he paused, listening to his dad laugh, “but you taught me the value in quiet moments, and I love that I fell in love with you in them. I love that I get a side of you no one else does, and I love that you trust me enough to show it to me.”

A few tears leaked out and slid down her cheeks. Gwen slipped a tissue into her hand, and Sophie smiled gratefully, pressing it to her lashes to stop her mascara from running.

“I love that you love my family and that I feel like I could be with you forever, and we would never get bored. I love that we’ve created our own little ecosystem and that it thrives because we’re both invested and working on it.”

His mom was crying into a handkerchief.

“I can’t promise that I’ll always be this good looking.”

The suddenness of the joke made Sophie bark out a sudden laugh, much too loud over the amplification system. Her hand slapped over her mouth to quiet the sound, and he laughed indulgently, as if that was the exact reaction he’d been going for.

“But what I can promise is this: that I’ll always try to protect you, except when it comes to spiders.” He paused for the laughter to die down, “That I’ll always do my best to be present when I’m home, and that I’ll always listen to and help you achieve your dreams. Most of all, I promise that I won’t ever stop trying to earn and deserve your trust and love.”

He folded the paper up. His mom was crying, as was Emma. He was pretty certain Taryn would be tearing up, too, but he couldn’t see her with the way the bridal party was standing. He wanted to end it in some fancy way like he knew she would, but he didn’t know how, other than to say, “I love you and I can’t wait to start this new chapter with you.”

Sophie wiped her nose and dabbed at the tears in her eyes. “I love you, too.”

She sniffed and swallowed, trying to get her bearings.

“Matthew always tries to tell me he isn’t good with words,” Sophie said, giving him a wry look as her fingers squeezed around his, “but I think you all can be the judge of that.”

He laughed.

She coughed gently to get some of the tears out of her voice. “When I started writing my vows, I couldn’t think of anything but love. I’ve been trying to understand it my whole life. When I was a kid, I thought I had to parcel out my love to make sure it didn’t run out, and other people had to do the same. Matthew, although you didn’t teach me that there’s an infinite amount of love in the world, you did prove that infinite love exists in a way I had never experienced before with a man.”

Now he was crying.

“I’ve always felt a little on my own,” she explained, “a little too quirky to be loved in that big infinite way.”

The audience was listening, wrapt. This was exactly why he didn’t want to go after her. Not only would he be a mess, there would be no way he could possibly follow her words.

“The last thing I expected in life was for this muscle-bound, curly-haired, rough and tumble hockey player to not only understand my quirks but to embrace and encourage them.” Her voice trembled. “I’m forever grateful I can take down my walls with you, Matthew.”

He took the tissue Brady handed him, unashamed, and wiped the tears from his eyes.

“And for your patience and consistency, even when I can be skittish and uptight.” She paused, listening to her half of the audience twitter.

“I promise I’ll kill the spiders,” she said, and he laughed along with the rest of their guests. “And I promise to never be unreasonably jealous of your job. But most of all, I promise to always be honest and to love you in the infinite way you showed me was possible.”

He wanted to kiss her. He wanted to lean in and just lay one on her. Tradition be damned. He pressed his mouth to hers, mumbling how much he loved her against her lips. When he pulled back, her eyes told him how much she loved him in return.

The officiant led them through the traditional “til death do us part” stuff, and they exchanged rings. It was a strange thing to feel the weight of the band on his finger, but Matthew had never been so glad to have something tying him down. It felt like he might just float away without it.

“You may now kiss the bride,” the officiant said with a wide smile.

Matthew’s hand slipped up to cradle her jaw, and he looked into her eyes as the fingers on her left hand tapped out five beats on the back of his arm.

And just like they rehearsed, just like they planned, just like Ryan said it would happen, the moment their lips touched, fireworks screeched to life behind them, screaming into the sky and exploding in a fan of sparks and color and sound.

It was perfect.

It was this video, first showing their faces as they looked adoringly at each other and then cutting back to catch the fireworks igniting the moment they kissed, that Matthew shared on his Instagram.

It’s been fireworks from the first kiss, and we’re still going strong.

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