#ranger!reader

[ellwynda]

you fall for a wild cat with your animal speaking .ᐟ

﹕You met him in the deep woods—half-draped in shade, half-painted in filtered sunlight, his massive body coiled across a fallen log like a lazy god.

A cat. Not a man-who-turns-into-a-cat, no. Not a druid. Not a shapeshifter. Not some fey masquerading in beast's skin.

A real cat.

Huge. Feral. Gorgeous.

Jungle-black fur. Paws big as your head. Teeth longer than your fingers when he yawned and stretched and blinked at you, tail twitching once, twice. He should’ve vanished into the trees.

Should’ve bolted when he saw you with your hand outstretched and your lips whispering soft words.

But you had a gift.

Speak with Animals.

And when you cast it—god, his voice.

Not just growls and instincts and hungry-fearful-wild thoughts. He was intelligent. Sharp. Sardonic. Beautiful in a way language rarely holds. And so lonely, hidden in the dark for too long, cursed with a tongue no one else could understand.

You kept coming back.

He told you to stop. Growled at you once. Clawed a tree in warning. But every day, you returned with bits of meat and stories, and every day, he edged a little closer. Until the day he let you scratch under his chin, and he purred so hard it knocked snow loose from the branches.

You fell in love.

Not fast. Not simple. Not easily. But with certainty. With clarity. The way he thought—the way his mind curled around yours like a sleeping tail, how he pressed his forehead to your chest when you couldn’t speak, how he made you laugh with dry, vicious little mental quips only you could hear.

It was a relationship. A real one.

And eventually, it became more.

You’d never been touched so carefully.

He was massive — tiger-sized, but heavier. Bigger. Every time he curled around you at night, it felt like you were being held by a living shadow, velvet-wrapped muscle and warmth that soaked into your skin. He’d purr until your bones vibrated. Rub his face into your belly. Press his head between your thighs and growl until you opened up for him.

He used his mouth. A lot.

His tongue was too rough for your skin in some places, but he'd learned. Lapped at your clit slow and careful, purring while you gasped and clutched at his ears, his massive body vibrating under you. His breath, always hot. His instincts, always right.

He couldn't speak with a mouth full of you—but you could hear him, always. His thoughts, thick with want.

Mine. You smell so ready. Let me taste. Let me keep you.

And he’d fuck you. God, when he was in heat, he’d fuck you nonstop.

Because no, he wasn’t fixed. No druids or kindly mages had ever stepped in to do the dirty work. And when the season changed, it hit him hard. His mind grew hazy. Thoughts thick with smoke and need. His scent turned heady, dangerous—spicy and sweet and heavy enough to make you dizzy. You’d walk into your camp, and he’d already be throbbing, half-hard, rutting into the mossy ground and growling your name in thoughts so loud they echoed in your skull.

He’d pounce. Not rough. Not too rough. But wild. Hungry. His teeth on your shoulder. His hips grinding into your ass, cock leaking against your thigh, barbed and swollen and desperate. You had to ride him sometimes—had to brace yourself on that massive frame, squatting over him with your thighs burning as his tail curled around your waist and held you down.

And when he came— When that thick, inhuman cock jerked and pumped hot inside you, all you could do was shake.

You leaked for hours after. Days, sometimes. Because he’d keep going. His heat didn’t stop with one release.

He’d fuck you slow the next round. Lick his mess out of you, then push back inside with a growl and a rumble of satisfaction in your mind.

Gonna breed you. Make you mine. Let me mark you, little mate.

You teased him constantly. Called him needy. Too much.

But you loved him.

And when he wasn’t horny and mounting you like a beast in a storm, he was purring against your thigh, resting his massive head in your lap, whispering soft, quiet things in thought-form only you could hear.

It wasn't normal. It wasn't easy. But it was love.

Feral. Untamed. And absolutely yours.

[yeyinde]

18+ | noncon. implied kidnapping.

In retrospect, camping all by yourself in a national park teaming with bears was probably high on the list of "dumbest things you've ever done in your life." But in your (shaky) defence—it really wasn't the wildlife you had to worry about anyway, but rather man.

In particular, a man.

That surly, gruff park ranger who happened to look just like a grizzly at first glance. The same one who found you all alone in your pitiful little tent, flashlight clutched in your trembling hands as you stared at him through the crack in the opening, visibly relieved that the thing you heard stomping around outside wasn't a bear, and quickly decided that pampered city princesses ought to be taught a lesson on what survival out here really means.

But he's merciful, he claims, and gives you a headstart to try and escape him (and the thick, unmistakable bulge in his pants, the dangerous look in his eye; naked hunger—that same, dead-eyed thing you'd seen in a big grizzly as he charged an elk earlier in the day) before he takes his prize.

And so, you run.

Except making good decisions doesn't really seem to be your strongest point.

In an instant, something is slamming against your back before you even make it halfway up the hill, pushing you to the ground on your belly. A warm, thick body following down after you. Crushing you into the soil.

You're too dazed by the impact to struggle when your hips are lifted. Pants, panties shoved down. Warm, rough hands cupping between your thighs, groaning at what he finds (all wet for me, mm, sweetheart?), and when you do, finally, begin to struggle you're met with an immovable wall. The strength of a man with more power in the single hand he keeps anchored against the back of your neck than you seem to have in your whole body—

"Don't know a thing, do you, sweetheart?" He growls, pushing your cheek deeper into the softened soil. "Not supposed to run from a bear, love."

Oh. Right.

Before you can squeak out an okay or sorry or please let me go, your knees are shoved wider apart by his thick, hairy thighs as he slots himself between your legs. Mounting his spoiled little prize on the cold, damp ground like a beast.

"Dangerous animals out here," is all he rasps before he's shoving inside of you, groaning about finally claiming the sweet little prey he's been diligently stalking through the park since he first laid eyes on you in the visitors centre. "You don't have a lick of sense in you, do you, sweetheart? No. Didn't even notice me followin' you. You need somethin'—someone—to protect you from dangerous predators, mm. And a firm hand to teach you a lesson."

He pries you open on his fat cock before you can spit out the dirt in your mouth to refute that claim, rutting into you like an animal on the cold ground in the middle of a national park as he makes good on his promise to show you what happens when you try and run from predators. A lesson that tastes like geosmin. Peat. And salty, tobacco-stained fingers. And aches like a broken bone after he set a maddening pace behind you, jerking your body against the upturned soil. Small rocks, and twigs digging into your skin.

When he's finally done, pulling out of you with a bullish grunt and landing a heavy, satisfied slap against the stinging cheek of your ass, he gathers your limp, sore body up into his arms, and brings you back to the lookout tower he calls home (temporarily).

A stop along the way, he assures you before setting out to teach his spoiled city princess more "survival skills"—like how to swallow his cock the way he likes, and how to take him as deeply, and as often, as he wants to give it to you.

(and often really is the foregone conclusion; it's mating season, after all.)

And as he pulls you down to lay against his furry, damp chest, cock softening inside of you (a thing you'll just have to get used to, sweetheart because he has no intentions of pulling out until he's ready to), and starts purring about mates and cubs and how lucky you were that he found you first before anything else had a chance to sniff you out, you think maybe you should have just gone to New York instead.

[cuteandhughesy]

Tripping, Falling With No Safety Net ╰┈➤ MR73

summary: four weeks has passed since your adventure in the elevator, and you haven’t stopped thinking about the attractive stranger since then. just when you think you’ll never see him again, you run into matt in the most unattractive place.

[word count] 7.8k

warnings: NSFW! kissing | masturbation (f) | sex toys (reader and matt use a vibrator) | smut | brief oral (f receiving) | mentions of blowjobs | unprotected p in v intercourse | cum play if you squint | mature dialogue and themes | read at your own discretion

a/n: the much requested and anticipated part 2 of no sex in the elevator! I hope I did this justice and you all enjoy the blooming story of matt and y/n :)

🎵 safety net by ariana grande (feat. ty dolla sign), rush by troye sivan, don't blame me by taylor swift, + make it to morning by partynextdoor

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you see matt rempe everywhere. okay, well no—not really. the physical, almost 7ft tall man who rocked your world on the carpet of an elevator almost two months ago was nowhere in sight…physically. but his name, well you see it and hear it everywhere.

the last name you've since become well aware of is sprawled across the back of jerseys—haunting you as you walk around new york—his name is heard on the tv at work, all your male co-workers raving over how much a savage matt rempe is.

if only they knew.

that night, which somehow feels like forever ago but simultaneously feels like yesterday, has yet to leave your head—or your body. matt practically destroyed you, splitting you in two with his length until it felt like you were going to cry. the hours trapped with him really had you feeling somewhat fond of giant man, and growing enamoured with his little quirks and giggles.

not only did you learn so much about him, but matt learned so much about you. but that evening, as the maintenance finally rescued you from the hot, sex smelling metal box, you were both in such a hassle that you forgot to exchange numbers.

you didn't realize the mistake until you finally got back to your apartment, nearing 3 in the morning, crawling into bed already dreading your morning shift—still fluttering between your legs—when it dawned on you. you have no way of contacting matt, and he has no way of reaching you.

you're just two strangers who fucked in an elevator.

although neither you or matt disclosed the full extent of your professions—you knew he worked in sports. but the shock you felt when you saw him in an nhl highlight reel, over your middle aged colleagues shoulder at work nonetheless, had your jaw dropping. I mean, you should've expected it just based on the muscles underneath his soft skin, and the stamina he displayed when he was pounding into—you need to calm down.

you went home that night and found him on instagram, sending him a DM before you could overthink the situation. you've started to catch feelings for him for fucks sake, you can't allow him to slip through you fingers that easily.

but you never got a response. I mean, with the amount of DMs a young, attractive professional athlete must receive, yours was bound to get lost in the abyss—but there was still a small part of you that has hope. but that hope was started to get crushed when you were meet with radio silence for weeks.

almost 4 weeks to be exact, which in hindsight isn't that long, but when the only thing you can think about or focus on is seeing matt, or talking to him one more time—4 weeks feels like a lifetime.

4 weeks of pent up sexual frustration stemming from matt damn rempe. worst of all, not even your fingers or shitty bullet vibrator are doing the trick—you can't even make yourself cum because he’s ruined you for life.

which brings you to now, 7 p.m on a thursday night. the soft blanket strewn loosely across your bed rubs your shoulder blades soothingly as you shuffle around, brows furrowed in concentration as you slide the slick, gray vibrator through your folds.

your jaw goes slack as you bump your clit, your back arching of your bed as your nerves ignite. the humming vibrations tickle your core just right, and you're getting increasingly more wet and slippery as you hold the bullet to yourself. you're not close yet, but it feels good enough—which seems to be the new motto of your lacking sex life: good enough. a breathless sigh escapes you, legs spreading impossibly wider as your body naturally searches for more—for him.

the vibrator stutters oddly, and your eyes widen at the feeling. pushing yourself up onto your elbow, you eye the slick device. it stutters again, more frantically this time before completely quitting. you whine, body falling back in defeat. you feel like you could cry, removing the device from your folds and hastily plugging it into its charger.

it's a long shot, considering you just took it off the charger, but maybe it's battery life has decreased since you purchased the toy—in fucking college. you pump your fingers in and out of your dripping entrance while you wait, but it does nothing to soothe the burning in your loins. much like you suspected, the vibrator isn't charging. it's completely dead. garbage.

"stupid piece of shit." you roll your eyes and toss it across your bedroom. it hits the lipgloss you left on your vanity before falling into the trashcan—along with the brand new tube of rhode lipgloss still in the box. you're too horny to even worry about that right now, so you get off your bed and slip on the pair of sweatpants you'd discarded the night before.

you're feeling flushed, and the white tank top you’re wearing is doing nothing but sticking to your dewy skin uncomfortably. throwing on a zip up is the last thing you want to do, but walking to the drug store in just a tank top will have you regretting not wearing one—so here you are. just before you walk out of your apartment, you grab a pair of oversized sunglasses. the last thing you need right now is getting caught by a co-worker or a friend while trying to buy a new vibrator.

as soon as you step into the pharmacy, you slip the glasses down, shielding yourself from the fluorescent lights. you make a beeline to the hygiene aisle, darting past the tampons and adult diapers until you're at the correct section. you’re so horny and determined you can’t even care how crazy you look.

"okay," you sigh, peering through the options on the middle shelf in front of you. there's more options that you were expecting, and it's making your brain go a little fuzzy. it doesn't help that you can feel your arousal dripping down your inner thigh—but you digress.

you opt for a new version of what you already had, your nimble fingers grabbing it off the shelf and quickly tucking it against your chest. you let out a breath of what feels like relief, turning on your heels and walking out of the long aisle.

about a mater away, lingering at the end of aisle 8, thumbing through body wash, stands matt rempe. your steps falter, and your stomach swoops with something you can't decipher—whether it's excitement or nerves, you’re too shocked to tell. your face pales and flushes all at once, and the grip you have on the sex toy box tightens.

matt hasn't seen you, so before he has the chance to, you turn around and dart back into the aisle. you’re fumbling, bumping into the shelf of tylenol beside the pregnancy tests, and you curse as some of the medicine clatters and falls to the ground. you can feel him moving—your body igniting like a magnet.

"shit." you curse hurriedly, gathering the medicine off the floor and hazardly throwing the bottles back onto random shelves—you’re pretty sure one even ends up with the ultra thin condoms. out of the corner of your eye you see a large pair of sneakers walk by the aisle—matt walk by the aisle. you freeze, breathing catching and hands stilling on a bottle of extra strength.

but matt doesn't stop—oh fuck, never mind, he's doubled back. you've definitely been found, you think. you clear your throat in hopes to act natural, getting off your knees and placing another bottle of medicine back onto its proper shelf, attempting to appear small and nonexistent.

he slows to a stop right beside you, large frame towering over you and casting a shadow. but you don't look. instead you pretend to rifle through the shelves like you work there or something.

matt lets out a small breath of laughter, and the sound has your heart leaping. he reaches out towards you and plucks your sunglasses off your face. fuck, you think—he's got you know. slowly, your eyes flicker up to meet his familiar brown gaze. immediately your knees feel weak.

his lip quirks up in a smirk that makes you flush. "thought that was you." matt says casually, sliding the oversized glasses back into your hair, revealing even more of your blushed skin.

"it's me." you swallow.

you feel a bit dumbfounded. you can't decide if you want to turn heel and sprint out of the store, or sprint into matt rempe's arms. he looks so good, all cozy in a hoodie and matching sweats—light gray nonetheless. subconsciously your eyes trial down to matt's crotch, and yeah, you can see his dick print. your vagina clenches pathetically—it remembers the man in front of you all too well.

you tried so hard to get in contact with matt, hell you prayed for it. and now here he is, all 6 foot 9 inches of him. standing with you in front of the tylenol and condoms in a random new york drug store.

matt's smirk deepens, and a splash of pink dusts over his cheekbones. "it's you. hey." he's got one of the body washes in his hand, the same brand he'd been looking at when you spotted him—some old spice scent that probably smells like heaven. "how are you?"

it has you remembering what you've got in your arms, and your eyes widen comically. it’s no use because matt has already seen the vibrator, but he lets you panic anyways—smirk still on his face nonetheless—fumbling with the box until it's behind your back. "i'm okay."

he nods his head, amused. "I bet."

you blink, swallowing roughly as you tilt your neck back to look up at him. your mouth opens, but nothing comes out. you've spent so much time thinking about what you'd say to matt if you ever saw him again, and now he's here and your mind has gone blank. "I dmed you..." you start lightly, trailing off, taking a shaky breath. "on instagram. I didn't know your last name but my co-worker, dylan who's a total jerk by the way—he had highlight reels on and I saw you. on the ice. matt rempe."

you laugh breathily like you can't believe what's happening—because you truly can't believe what's happening. matt's heart flutters fondly at your rambling admission and the small laugh that bubbles from you. his brows shoot skyward in surprise.once he focuses on what you said, rather than how you looked when you said it. "wait, really?"

you nod pathetically.

he hums. "damn, I should check my messages more often, huh? i'm sorry, I had no fucking idea. If I did I would've..." matt trails off, tongue swiping along his bottom lip as his eyes dart over your face. slowly. your eyes are bright and lustful, cheeks pink with embarrassment and something else, and he can see your pale purple lace bra through your thin white tank top. "I would've answered."

your breath hitches, fingers tightening on the box still hidden behind your back. "oh."

he runs his free hand through his messy, damp hair. you wonder if he had an afternoon game today, and his hair is wet from his postgame shower. or maybe matt has started his shower at home and then was out of body wash—leaving him with no choice but to come here and get some. whatever it is, you're glad matt rempe is here.

and in some sick way, you're glad you decided to masturbate tonight, and even more so that your old, shitty vibrator died.

matt's smirk is back, and for a moment you’re back in that broken down elevator, starring at him through the haze of red light as he dares you to sit on his lap. matt’s eyes dart past your shoulder for a moment, "you need help with something?"

you just know he's referring to the sex toy you'd been trying to buy, and your skin burns so hot you feel like you could ignite in flames. hesitantly, and to honestly save yourself some dignity, you bring it back around to your front. you laugh dismissively, "it fell. actually, I was just putting it back." you shove the vibrator box between a rabbit toy and some lube.

matt's brows furrow, but his small amused grin doesn’t wavers. "no need to be embarrassed, y/n. i've been inside you, remember?"

you squawk like a parrot, looking around frantically to ensure nobody is in hearing distance. matt doesn't care though, and he picks the vibrator right back off the shelf and tucks it between his bicep and forearm.

"matt." you say, looking between his face and the sex toy nestled in his arm. "you really don't need to-"

"-I need to grab deodorant and some candy, come on." he interrupts, walking further down the aisle, vibrator in his grip. you blink once, then twice, and before you can register what you're doing, you're following him. matt slows his long strides as he hears your feet slapping against the tiles quickly to catch up, a fond grin on his soft face.

matt is itching to reach out and touch you in some way—he's missed you so much it's honestly embarrassing. you look so soft and warm, looking up at him all bright eyed and long lashes, following him blindly. matt has no excuse for being turned on…it’s simply just you that does it for him.

he comes to a stop in front of the deodorants, looking through the various brands. "so, were you just coming here to get this?" matt questions without looking at you, grabbing an irish spring aerosol. he smells it through the cap, and then puts it back.

"ummm, yeah." embarrassment is lacing your words, and you clear your throat once again. but matt doesn't seem bothered, picking up some name brand deodorant that apparently smells like fresh wood and the ocean.

"really? you loose your charger or something and have to buy a new one?" he asks, popping off the cap and taking a sniff. it actually smells like shit, not wood and ocean—matt puts the lid back on and slots it on the shelf.

"ummm, yeah." embarrassment is lacing your words, and you clear your throat once again. but matt doesn't seem bothered, picking up some name brand deodorant that apparently smells like fresh wood and the ocean.

"really? you loose your charger or something and have to buy a new one?" he asks, popping off the cap and taking a sniff. it actually smells like shit, not wood and ocean—matt puts the lid back on and slots it on the shelf.

the absurdity of it all makes you laugh gently. his seemingly casual demeanour is rubbing off on you, and although matt rempe is technically a stranger, he's also not. you run a hand through your hair, which is no doubt tangled from when you'd be rolling around in your bed trying to make yourself cum. "worse, actually."

"oh yeah?" he grins curiously.

you nod. "yeah, 30 minutes ago it literally broke down in the middle of using it. so here I am."

his eyes gloss over, and matt looks right at you, deodorant forgotten. "you were touching yourself 30 minutes ago?"

you nod again.

matt shudders out a breath, a small hushed curse following. his eyes quickly dart to your boobs because he can’t help himself, and then they travel further down, briefly landing on your covered pussy before he finds your face again. he can feel his dick twitch uncomfortably in his sweats. "you're killing me."

his admission is so quiet that you're not even sure if he meant to say it out loud. you swallow your anticipation, watching as matt hurriedly grabs an old spice deodorant without smelling it, adding it to the growing pile in his arm before looking back at you. "come back to my place, y/n."

your stomach swoops, and then a shaky please follows matt's words and you're nodding quickly—desperately. his grin widens, "okay, let's go. fuck the candy." and he's dead serious.

you giggle, and it has matt joining in. one of his large hands wraps around your waist, pulling you in front of his body as you begin to walk towards the checkout. "stay in front of me," matt mumbles, leaning down and brushing his lips against your ear. "i'm half hard and if you move everyone is going to know what’s going on.”

that gets you both moving, lining up in the check out lane to purchase the collection of items—and yes, matt buys you the vibrator. the teenage boy behind the cash eyes matt and the sex toy curiously, but matt doesn't seem bothered. if anything, he seems proud, wrapping his long arms around your waist and tugging you back against his semi.

matt's place is a bit farther than yours, and you know that because you could've walked to yours in the time it takes matt to drive to his. but you don't mind—how could you when the entire drive is filled with soft conversation, and matt's thumb rubbing your knee as he grips your thigh.

there's a unspoken tension on the ride up in the elevator that lingers between you and matthew, slinking between you both and reminding you of what happened last time you were in an elevator together. kissing, laughter, breathless moaning and lewd wet noises.

your vagina is fluttering again, and it doesn't help when matt steps closer to you, gently grabbing your face between his hands and tilting your head backwards—leaning down and kissing you.

his lips are as soft as you remember, and they work yours just the way you want them too. your body is falling apart in his hands, swaying into his chest and sighing into his mouth. as you attempt to deepen the kiss and swipe your tongue along his bottom lip, the elevator doors slide open.

matt snickers when you whine, hands sliding down your body until he's grabbing at your hips. "c'mon."

matt's place is actually really fucking clean. it's a typical new york apartment, all white and modern with crisp furniture and counters that look so expensive you're scared to not use a coaster. there's small touches of matt throughout the space though. a framed photo of what looks like his family on a kitchen shelf, as well as snacks not yet put away but instead, left on the counter. it's all mostly healthy shit that makes you pull a face.

there's a few loose throw blankets on the couch and a fake plant on the coffee table. there's spare hockey sticks in the corner of the room next to a tall lamp—although you're sure if matt stood next to it, it would look miniature. there's shoes by the door, and coats on the chair. it smells like hockey puck and cologne, and matt must've left the tv on before he left, because you can hear madagascar playing.

you've been gawking at his apartment long enough for matt to have already unpacked the drugstore bag—his deodorant, body wash and your fucking vibrator lined up on his counter.

he grins, balling up the fabric tote bag and shoving it in the cupboard beside the fridge. matt's dark eyes flicker to your form, still standing in the threshold between the kitchen and living space. "you look pretty in my apartment."

his voice has you blinking out of your unapologetic stare, looking over just as matt grabs your waist, gently bringing you into the kitchen and up against his torso. "just in your apartment?" you tease—you're too horny and too touch deprived to feel embarrassed any longer.

"everywhere." matt corrects himself, his words whispered in the minimal space left between you. his large hands slide down and over your ass, giving the flesh a firm squeeze before he's lifting you off the floor and sitting you down on the counter.

your breath hitches in surprise, but soon enough you feel yourself stop breathing completely—because now you're at the perfect level to be in proper eye contact with matt. instinctively your hands slide up his shoulders before wrapping your arms around his neck, holding him close. matt's eyes flicker down to your lips, and then in a blink he's kissing you again.

this kiss is slower and more messy than the chaste, hurried one in the elevator. it's like matt's taking his time with you, his hands alternating between sweeping up and down your spine and squeezing the flesh of your ass, each time pulling you closer to the edge of the countertop—closer to him.

you moan pathetically into the kiss, fingers carding through matt's hair and squeezing the roots firmly.

reluctantly, matt pulls away from the kiss, his lips all swollen and slick. you chase his mouth desperately, but he doesn't give in. matt sighs, the sound shaky and desperate as he takes his hand off your ass—instead placing it flat on the counter just next to your hips.

"matt," you pout, eyes flickering to his in a way that has his cock hardening. "please."

you don't have to say what you're begging for, because matt knows exactly what you want. he wants it to—he wants your warm, sweet walls squeezing around his length the same way they did a month ago. but he also wants you in every other way, not just sexual—which is a surprise to him too, trust me. "I know." he says, pecking the corner of your mouth quickly.

matt watches as your eyes flutter closed at the feeling, only to snap back open when he pulls away. he continues, "but I missed you too much, and i'm fucking starving."

"what?" you blink.

quickly, matt's eyes darken until they're almost black. he reaches up to your face, taking your sunglasses off your head and placing them on the counter—next to a fruit bowl that's only full of bananas and oranges. your hair falls in your face, but matt tucks it behind your ear before you get the chance. his hand lingers on your face when he says, "first we're going to eat, maybe watch a movie and then im going to take this new vibrator and hold it against your pretty pussy until you cum. understand?"

your mouth falls open in what can only be shock. you nod dumbly, speechless as you digest matt's dirty words—anticipation bubbling low in your belly.

he kisses your cheek and then completely pulls away from you, turning around and opening the fridge. "what do you want to eat? i've got stuff to make pasta if you want that."

you're gripping the edge of the counter so hard that you're knuckles are turning white, looking at matt's back as he stifles through his fridge. you blink again, still feeling the aftershocks of the shock that you have from matt's filthy promise. "what?" you finally speak.

it makes matt pause, looking back at you over his broad shoulder. your expression has him flattering, "are you okay?"

your brows furrow. "am I okay? no, i'm so wet it’s not even funny. god, you've turned me into a slut, matt. i'm fucking banging one out every night because of you and what you did to me in that elevator....and you want to cook for me? also yeah, I love pasta."

his lips tug in a smile at your pathetic, whiny tone. you're not actually mad, that much is seeable. sure, you're confused and so horny it's not even laughable, but matt wanting to cook for you....it just turns you on even further. there was a part of you that was worried he'd only want sex again, and as much as you hated to admit that, it would've crushed you.

you'd never had more fun or felt more comfortable than you had with matt in that broken down elevator. when you ran into him again tonight, all those feelings came rushing back, and if he only wanted to fuck you and kick you out, you don't think you would've recovered.

but here he is, all tall and handsome with ground beef in his hand, looking at you softly with an amused smirk. "I haven't seen you in a month and I didn't think i'd ever see you again. so yeah, I wanna talk for a bit before I get you naked, y/n. I missed your voice and snarky comments too much."

you release a breath you didn't realize you were holding. his words providing the relief and conformation you were hoping for. "I missed your voice too."

matt smiles then, a real smile that you can't help but mimic. he nods once, almost shyly, and tosses the ground beef on the counter—a firm smack echoing throughout the kitchen knook. "get over here so I can feel you up while I start this meat."

you laugh and slip of the counter, pushing yourself next to matt and begin help him start making dinner. and like promised, matt smacks your ass appreciatively. 

you hadn't realized how hungry you'd become until the smell of seasoned meat sauce hits your senses. when you got home from work you hadn't even eaten anything, too pent up with sexual frustration to do anything but strip your pants off and get to business.

you're stirring the curly noodles in the boiling water when matt's soft voice filters through the kitchen. "you know after you and I were rescued in that elevator…I realized I forgot to ask for you number when I was halfway home—I made my cab driver turn aorund and take me back. there was a part of me that was hoping you were still there for whatever reason, but you weren't. I was so mad at myself."

you frown gently, looking up at matt. his brows are furrowed as he drags a wooden spatula through the sauce, still bubbling on the stove next to you. you clear your throat, "I remembered when I got in bed that night, and I was so angry at myself for forgetting. I thought id never see you again—but when I saw you on tv, all sexy and famous, I had a feeling that I'd run into you again. somewhere...somehow."

he meets your eyes, and in the most deadpanned voice he mumbles, "i'm so glad I was out of body wash." you smile, and matt presses a loud kiss to your temple, making your grin grow.

once dinner is finished and plated, matt chooses to sit next to rather than across, and that really shouldn't melt your heart as much as it does. light conversation and flirtatious glances are exchanged between chews and swallows, making the coil in your stomach clench and throb pathetically.

matt begins talking about his last game, and about the fight he'd been in—which explains the small split on his eyebrow that you noticed when you were sitting on the counter top. it makes you think back to when you first saw matt on your collages computer screen. you finish your bite of pasta, "my co-workers called you a savage."

he snickers, eyes twinkling with amusement as he swallows his mouthful of food. "did you tell them that you know me?"

"no." you breathe a laugh, stabbing some noodles onto your fork. "then i'd have to tell them how I know you." matt's brows quirk in further curiosity while you take the pasta off the utensil, chewing it quickly before continuing. "my one co-worker, the one I mentioned earlier, he has some weird hard on for me, so I don't think he'd appreciate me talking about his favourite athlete pounding my shit."

it doesn't make matt laugh like you expected. instead his gaze hardens and jaw ticks as he looks at you. "want me to punch him in the face? because I will." it's only after he says it, does matt allow his lips to slide upwards into a grin.

you snort, rolling your eyes with a fond smile. "no, matt oh my god. you're crazy."

he shrugs, taking another bite of food. "for you." matt mutters through a mouthful of curly saucy noodles, waggling his eyebrows in a playful manner.

you look away. "cheesy."

"but true."

"but cheesy." you reiterate softly, gaze flickering back to matt's.

he breathes and lets a beat pass. "...yeah." and when matt's eyes flicker down to your mouth and his hand runs up your leg, your face falls—looking at matt with a soft, yet hopeful expression. your own eyes fall down to matt's lips, watching his tongue slide along his bottom lip to moisten the plump skin. you blink and he's leaning in—slowly—to not startle you.

you put down your fork, the sound a small clink against the ceramic plate—echoing in your ears. matt had already put down his utensil, you note, because both hands are on your face in an instant. despite his grip on you, he doesn't bring you in for a kiss, but rather meets your mouth exactly where it is.

he taste like pasta and the strawberries he'd been sneaking when you were making dinner—and you taste the same, because he'd been feeding you the fruit like some kind of hallmark boyfriend. you moan into his mouth, and matt's long fingers slide through your hair smoothly, eliciting another breathy sigh from you.

you've turned into complete pudding, and he knows it too. the way you let matt move your face and touch your body—the sighs and groans passing through your mouth—they're all tell tale signs. an after dinner movie is long forgotten as matt lifts you up and off the small kitchen chair, back into his strong arms. your thighs tighten around his torso, and your arms wrap further around his neck as matt brings you back to the kitchen counter-top, sitting you on the surface like he did almost an hour ago.

the kiss never stops, and if anything it deepens. there's more heart and passion in this kiss—you need him and he needs you, and your mouths are doing a good job at telling that.

"what were you thinking about? when you were touching yourself?" matt barley pulls back from the kiss as he asks, lips brushing over yours slipperily.

you moan loudly, too loudly for simply just dry humping and dirty questions. "you." you admit breathlessly, your control and filter out the window. "was thinking about you."

matt doesn't answer, but instead leans back in and resumes the kiss. this time it's more messy and hurried—clashing teeth and tongues like they're in competition. his hands slide down your back, pass the elastic waistband of your sweats and over your ass.

matt groans when he realizes you're not wearing panties and that it's only your smooth, soft skin under his calloused palms. he squeezes your ass firmly, dragging you closer to the edge of the counter. "lift your hips."

you do without question, and matt takes the opportunity to pull your sweat pants down, all the way down your thighs, past your knees and over your ankles. matt's jaw goes slack at the sight of your bare, glistening pussy—the pussy he hasn't stopped thinking about for a month.

you're so wet it's not even funny. you can't help it, you've been turned on since before you got home from work—an interrupted solo sesh combined with matt's filthy words and kisses have you feeling on the verge of combustion.

his eyes finds yours again. "you're so fucking beautiful." he spreads your legs further apart with his hands, manoeuvring your limbs until you're perfectly exposed and positioned—exactly how matt wants you. the counter is cold under your feet and ass, but you don't care. all you can focus on is matt as he reaches behind you, grabbing the vibrator box and ripping it open.

your breath hitches and matt smirks. you swallow roughly, walls fluttering around nothing as his long fingers pull the toy out of the plastic holder. "matt...please, I need it so bad."

"take your shirt off." matt demands, ignoring your whiny pleas and pouty lips. he watches through hooded lids, toying with the bullet between his fingers as you lift your tank top off, revealing the pale purple lace bra he'd seen peeking through your shirt earlier. he falters slightly, groaning at the sight of your nipples pebbled under the lace. "I thought the animal print bra killed me...but this one? fuck."

your hips jerk, buts matt's quicker, pushing you back to the counter with one hand—while the other flicks the vibrator to life. the sound of rhythmic buzzing fills the room, and your pussy recognizes the sound and begins fucking dripping. "tell me you want it."

this matt is different from the one in the elevator. he's more sure—more dominant. and maybe it's because you're too wound up to form proper sentences, but unlike the time in the elevator, you're speechless. no quips or remarks, only pure burning need. you're submitting, and it's so hot.

you nod dumbly, pushing up onto the tips of your fingers so you can nudge your nose along matt's. he presses a chaste kiss to your puffy lips simply because he can't help it, and then he smirks when it makes you whine.

"I want it." you mumble, "I want you to touch me. with the vibrator...push it through my folds and hold it on my—oh fuck." you're interrupted as matt does exactly what you need, running the expanse of the toy up your slippery lips and finding your puffy, needy clit.

you mewl loudly, arms giving out underneath you and leaving you no choice but to fall back on your elbows.

"that's it, fuck, that's my girl." matt praises softly, running the vibrator up and down your folds. the feeling is heavenly, leaving your walls clamping and fluttering as your juices spill out your entrance.

"matt." you say his name helplessly. you're close, and you've been close for hours.

he hums, licking his lips. "I know baby, let me just have a taste." matt doesn't wait for your response before he’s dropping down to his knee. he keeps the vibrator solely on your throbbing clit, and like the kind, sweet, perfect man he is, thrusts his tongue into your entrance.

you moan loudly. "oh my god! don't stop."

and he couldn't even if he wanted to. you taste delicious, and matt's lapping at your juices like he can't get enough. the way he's got you spread open with his free hand on your inner thigh, combined with the vibrations on your clit and the feeling of his smooth tongue dipping in and out of your hole has you snapping.

"i'm cumming." you moan, your body tensing as your orgasm flushes through your nerves and muscles. matt doesn't slow his pace, fucking you through the high of your climax like a starved man.

you sigh loudly, falling back against the counter top as your body goes limp. it's only then that matt takes the vibrator off your clit, his tongue slowing in thrusts as your walls clamping dies down. he kneads and squeezes your thighs comfortingly, hushed praises falling from his slack jaw as you come back to reality.

"you okay?" matt questions softly, rising back to his full height. he helps you sit back up, and your arousal is cold against your skin—but your body is still hot and desperate for more.

you nod quickly, hands dipping beneath the hem of matt's shirt and feeling up his abs. his muscles contract and jump under your touch, and when you pass over his pecks—graze his nipples—he curses lowly. "I wanna suck your cock, matty."

one hand drops down, brushing over his hardening length beneath his gray sweats. matt's lashes flutter against his cheeks, a rough groan vibrating through his chest. "oh fuck—another time baby, I need to feel your pussy."

and who are you to object that?

matt's grabbing you again, wrapping you around his torso like you’re a koala and blindly walking you over to the sofa. you giggle happily into his warm neck, pressing a few lingering kisses against his pulse point that make his dick twitch—poking your ass.

he sits down with you on his lap, and matt is instantly attaching his lips to your jaw—kissing, nipping and sucking along you skin. automatically your head tilts, giving him the access he needs to continue a path down your neck. his hands are all over you—grabbing the meat of your ass, squeezing your waist and brushing your tits.

you're grinding against his clothed core pathetically, soaking his sweatpants like you're in heat. "you're wearing too many clothes," you breathe, already tugging on the hem of matt's hoodie. he leans back, watching with a soft smile and lazy eyes. he nods leisurely and you pull off his hoodie, revealing the expanse of soft, smooth skin and muscles that is matt rempe's torso.

you grin happily, squeezing his biceps and then his shoulders. you take your lip into your mouth, shamelessly letting your eyes wander his body. it's makes matt chuckle lowly, "forgot what I looked like?" he teases, brushing your wild hair away from your face and tucking it behind your ears.

you shake your head. "mhmm, could never forget." you lick your bottom lip, meeting matt's eyes. "was just admiring."

matt's pupils dilate and then his gaze turns dark. he leans into you, kissing you roughly, one of his large hands sprawled across your neck. you didn't think that any kiss would ever beat the ones matt gave you in that broken down elevator, but here he is now, outdoing himself.

"what do you want?" matt asks you, licking into your mouth once more before you can answer.

"what do you want?" you parrot, pushing your needy core down against his.

he groans loudly, slapping your ass quickly—so quickly you don't even have time to react properly before he's speaking again. "no, it doesn't matter what I want right now. i've been replaying everything you said in that elevator for a month. every. single. thing. fuck, you've been making me hard for a damn month without even being here. I've been dreaming of pleasing you...touching you. so once again, what do you want, y/n?"

your heart jumps, and your hips still against his momentarily. you think matt must be trying to kill you with words, because it feels like you're about to die. he says your name again, spoke quietly into your neck as he licks a strip up your skin. you gasp, hands flying to matt's hair.

you're breathless and fidgety, but still you manage to say — "I want to ride you." he curses shakily, and he thrusts his hips upwards, sending you crashing into his chest. you laugh, wrapping around matt like its second nature as he uses the leverage to pull his sweats and boxers down to rest just above his knees.

as soon as matt sits back down against the cushions, you're moving, reaching behind yourself and sliding your hand down matt's hard, warm length. you feel the two prominent veins against your palm, teasing you more than they have in the past month. you both sigh at the feeling of you slowly jerking his cock in your hand, teasing his throbbing slit with a swipe of your thumb.

matt tugs your bra down, revealing your heavy chest. "missed these." he says, already fondling your boobs with his hands, attaching his mouth to one puffy nipple. your body rolls instinctively, and matt's cock nestles hot and heavy between your ass cheeks.

"yeah?" you question knowingly—teasingly—lifting your hips just enough to guide the head of matt's cock close to your entrance. you're dripping again, so wet that it feels impossible to even breathe.

matter releases your nipple with one more sloppy kiss. "fuck yeah." his hands find your hips, lifting you higher to allow his dick to perfectly prod your hole. your breath hitches, hands falling to matt's broad shoulders to steady your legs—which have already started to tremble.

the head of his tip slips inside you comfortably, and your walls begin clamping in an attempt to suck him in deeper. you whine, trying to grind down, but matt's hands tighten on your hips—stopping you. "go slow, baby. you're shaking."

"shaking with need." you retort playfully. yet you're out of breath, small hands digging into matt’s trapezius muscle as you attempt to calm your eager, adrenaline filled body.

he gives you a teasing but knowing glance before he's helping you onto his length. slowly and inch by inch he fills your needy pussy, stretching you like putty. he's more endowed than you remember—thicker and longer. you gasp, stilling halfway down his length. "you're so big. I don't know if it'll fit."

matt pouts, although you're pretty sure it's condescending. his hands squeeze the meat of your hips again, a momentary distraction from the fullness between your legs. "it fit before baby, you can do it."

you mewl like a cat at his words. this time matt lets you sink down the rest of the way, going at your own pace as you take the rest of his length. he shutters, "that's my girl." then presses a kiss to your shoulder.

you've completely taken him, clit hitting matt's pelvic bone as your walls reach the base of his cock. matt's balls twitch against you, and you've never felt more stuffed in your life. "oh my god I think I can feel you in my stomach."

matt moans, fingers flexing on your body. "yeah? shit baby."

you sigh dreamily, and slowly begin lifting back off his member, rising only half way before sinking back down. matt curses, hands firmly sliding down to your ass and giving it one quick smack. you whine, picking up the speed of your movements just enough to have your toes clenching.

"just like that." he mutters, leaning in and sucking the pulse point on your neck. his nose nudges your skin, and he inhales, moaning at your sickly sweet scent. "you smell so good." matt grunts, nipping your skin—it stings but it's also delicious.

"today, before I even saw you, I knew you were there. I could smell your fucking perfume—that floral scent i've been longing for."

you moan, picking up your speed further. "oh my god!" your legs are starting to burn, and they've begun to shake more intensely. it has your movements faltering slightly, quick bursts of air leaving you as you try and control your breathing.

you go for another minute, desperate to try and reach your climax. your fingers dig into matt's chest and arms hard, leaving small crescent moon indents along his skin. your pout comes in full force, a tired and disappointed cry leaving your parted lips. “I can't-ugh, I can't do it."

matt knew it was only a matter of time before you became exhausted, and he's honestly surprised you lasted the 5 minutes you did. he can feel your walls squeezing and fluttering around his painfully hard cock—a sign that you're close.

he coos, scooping around the backs of your thighs so you're completely held up by his hands. "you tired baby?"

"mhmm." you whine, tears beginning to prick the edges of your eyes. you're so frustrated and horny, and all you've been thinking about for the past month is jumping on matt rempe's cock, and you're too fucking weak to do it.

reassuringly, matt kisses you—firm and sweet. "that's okay, baby. I'll help you." with that, he begins moving you on his cock, slowly at first. "you've been such a good girl, y/n—fuck." soon enough you're back at the perfect rhythm, matt's cock hitting the spongy spot inside you that makes your eyes roll back.

the springs in the couch are squeaking relentlessly as matt thrusts up into you, making everything feel that much more erotic and satisfying. you slump against matt's chest, "oh my—yes." the coil in your stomach is on the verge of snapping, and matt can feel it. the way you're nothing but a whining, borderline sobbing mess—walls squeezing him rhythmically.

"you feel so fucking perfect." he grunts, thrusts increasing to an unfathomable speed as his own release approaches. one of his hands leaves your leg and comes around to your front, swiping along your neglected clit. "my little slut to ruin."

"oh shit." you shout, body freezing as your orgasm hits you at full force. the feeling of your body cumming around matt's length as him reaching his own peak, and he pulls from your warm, gooey walls. he pumps his dick three times before his load spews over your stomach, painting your skin with his cum—all while his other hand rubs your clit softly as you come down from your high.

matt's moans are like music to your ears—little breathless gasps and deep rumbling groans in his chest.your take your bottom lip between your teeth, looking down at the mess sprayed over your belly. before you can decide against it, two of your small fingers swipe over the cum, collecting it on your digits before bringing them up to your mouth and sucking it clean off.

matt watches the entire thing, breathless and jaw slack. you smirk around your fingers as his lip begins quirking up, and before you can blink, matt pulls your hand away from your mouth and kisses you.

you giggle into it, wrapping your arms around matt's neck as his lips caress yours. his hands slide up your back tenderly, pressing against your spine firmly and rhythmically—hitting your pressure points and making you melt.

his fingers slide up the base of your neck and into your hair, threading your locks through his fingers and giving them a firm tug. for a moment you're back in the elevator, matt untangling rings from your messy hair. who would've thought it would've lead to the best sex of your life.

matt smiles against your mouth before pulling away. "i'm getting your number this time." his voice and face is full of determination and love. he grabs your hand and kisses the back of it, eyes never leaving yours.

"I'd hope so." you grin.

and when matt guides you into the shower, where you blow him and then he takes you from behind—treating you to another orgasm, you don't think you ever want to leave.

[pricegotmedickmatized]

taking a break from the sticky icky verse to talk about hybrid shifters and the 141. let’s do price first

bear!price who’s quiet and looming, and big, you can see that he’s big of course he is he’s a bear hybrid, but you don’t realize that that’s him not even standing at full height, not even standing with his tired shoulders straight and broad, and when he does, when he unfolds into his true height and breadth, he’s so fucking big

bear!price who by far prefers nature to the city, solitude to crowds, and takes every opportunity he can on leave to go camping somewhere, his favorite places are far flung and often cold, and he finally decides to pull the trigger, buys a patch of land in the middle of nowhere, builds himself a self sustaining cabin (all the necessary luxuries like hot water, old man like him needs it, and it’ll serve as a good safe house if he or the team ever need it so it’s a good investment)

bear!price who prefers to hunt his own food when he can do so, rather than just go to the supermarket or a restaurant like other hybrids nowadays, he likes the hunt, likes to be responsible for his own meals, and one day at that Alaskan cabin he’s out by the river for salmon, and when he reaches in for a fish what he hauls out is an otter, which quickly shifts in his heavy hand into a woman, soaked and shivering in the chill air, her little round ears flat to her head and thick, furry tail wrapped around her long legs

bear!price who brings her into his house, sets her in front of the roaring fire with a plateful of salmon and gently pulls her story out of her: she’s not wild, not feral, she just got lost on a hike a few days ago and as an otter hybrid she’s warmer and safer in freshwater than out in the wild…even if it means she’s floated down the river while she slept and now she doesn’t know WHERE the hell she is

bear!price who feeds her and puts her in his clothes (she lost hers in the first shift poor thing) who has to carry her around the cabin because she’s so clumsy on land, and wraps her in his blankets and can’t stop looking at her. can’t stop rubbing her soft little ears between his thumb and forefinger, making her blush and shudder, can’t stop petting her tail tucked beside her on the one chair in his cabin that he insisted she take

bear!price who, when she says that she’s still cold that night, takes great pleasure in wrapping her in his arms and pressing her down into the bed, who swallows each of the adorable little squeaks she makes as he nuzzles her throat, forces her thighs wide to fit his hips, and forces his cock inside

bear!price who’s too big for a pretty little otter like her but makes her take it anyway, crooning that she can take it she’s doing so good just hold out a little longer he just needs to fuck his scent into her so she smells right and he can sleep, licks her tears off her cheeks when she cums as his cockhead rams up against her womb, little claws raking ineffectively at his skin never able to break through

bear!price who decides mid fuck that she’s the softest, sweetest thing he’s ever felt and a pussy that tight can’t walk away from him. he deserves something soft to come home to, something to take his cock and cry about how big it is and just be so fucking sweet and soft for him. decides he’ll keep the little stray after all, now aren’t you grateful sweetheart? he’s gonna be so good to you, why don’t you thank him by taking his load?

[jburrgf]

CRAVE, MATT REMPE.

pairing: !ny rangers¡matt rempe x !pr girl¡reader

summary: +18 smut, p on v, oral, forced proximity, coworker paring, fake dating.

description: you’re a personal assistant working behind the scenes in the NHL world — organized, focused, and determined to keep things strictly professional. But when you cross paths with Matt Rempe, everything starts to unravel. What begins as tension and irritation slowly turns into something far more complicated: stolen glances, blurred boundaries, and a possessiveness that neither of you are ready to face.

word count: 7.4k

You meet Matt Rempe for the first time on a Tuesday.

It's raining — not enough to be romantic, just enough to ruin your hair and smear your eyeliner in the reflection of your cracked phone screen. You're fifteen minutes late to the morning media meeting because the subway stalled, your umbrella flipped inside out, and someone spilled iced coffee on your blazer. It's one of those days where everything feels like a dare from the universe.

You burst into the media room at Madison Square Garden with damp shoes and an apology on your lips, and that's when you see him.

Him.

Six-foot-seven. Hockey gear is halfway off. Hair curled damply at the nape of his neck. Legs stretched so long that you're almost offended by them. And his most irritatingly amused expression as he watches you stumble through the door, breathless.

"Oh," he says, eyebrows lifting. "You must be the new PR girl."

You blink—PR girl.

"I'm the media relations coordinator," you correct flatly, trying to shrug off your coat with what's left of your dignity.

He grins, slow and lazy like he's already won something. "That's cute."

Cute.

You seriously consider quitting right then and there.

You don't get far.

Before you can even find a seat, your boss, Richard — salt-and-pepper hair, tired eyes, Mets mug always in hand — waves you over from the head of the table.

"Good, you're here," he says, flipping through a packet of printed media notes. "I need you to focus on Rempe this week."

You blink. "Me?"

Richard nods. "He's a walking headline lately. Fights, interviews, that whole clip of him saying he wants to 'punch the moon' or whatever? It went viral again last night. We need to soften his image. You're going to shadow him for content and prep him for interviews."

You glance over.

Rempe's now poking the sharp end of a pen into a Gatorade bottle. For fun.

You turn back to Richard. "I'm sorry. You want me to clean that up?"

Richard sighs. "He's not as dumb as he looks. But he is chaotic. You'll figure it out. Get him to post something sweet. Please give him a dog, or a grandma, or something. Make him charming."

"Can't we just… let him talk less?"

"Too late," Richard says, flipping the page. "He talks. Make it work."

The next few days are… not smooth. Matt was making everything more challenging for you. First, you try to get him to film a "Day in the Life" TikTok. Second, he misses his Lyft, saying that he got a stained sweater. And then he shows up twenty minutes late, unshaven, wearing mismatched socks and a Shrek hoodie.

"Are you seriously wearing that?" you ask.

He glances down. "What? Shrek's a style icon."

You pinch the bridge of your nose. "You're ruining my life."

He smiles, teeth flashing. "C'mon, PR girl. Admit it. You love the chaos."

You do not. Except maybe — just maybe — you do.

Later, when you finally get him to sit down for a short interview clip, he leans forward and goes: "Hi, I'm Matt Rempe, and my favorite pregame ritual is headbutting a locker until I see stars."

You stare at him. He smirks. And then, you roll your eyes for the 60th time just that day.

"I'm kidding," he says, eyes sparkling. "Mostly."

You and Matt don't go very far with the content. You record half of a video with the camera, and as you walk down to your car, you find weird selfies from Rempe on your phone. And on that afternoon, you badge in Richard's office—hair a mess, zero patience.

"I can't do this," you say.

He doesn't look up from his computer. "What happened now?"

"He called me PR Girl again. He refused to stop juggling pucks while I was trying to interview him. He ate two protein bars at once and choked mid-sentence. I had to edit out a Heimlich maneuver."

"Sounds like a productive day."

You glare.

Richard sighs. "Look, I know he's a lot. But he likes you."

You scoff. You cannot believe in that. "He does not."

"He does. I've never seen him listen to anyone, Y/N. And you got him to show up to something that wasn't optional andstay the whole time. That's a miracle in itself."

"He licked the mic, Richard."

"Baby steps."

[...] 

On Friday, after practice, you catch him stretching near the edge of the rink. He's sweaty, flushed, laughing at something Trocheck said, and you hate that he still manages to look stupidly good even when he smells like a locker room. That was almost impossible. But there was him.

Strangely handsome.

You approach with your phone already recording.

"Okay, last try," you say, holding it up. "Three questions. Answer them like a professional, and I'll buy you lunch."

His head tilts. "You're bribing me?"

"I'm desperate." You have to say. 

He grins. "I'm in."

You hit record.

"What's one thing fans don't know about you?"

He pauses, thoughtful. Then: "I can play the piano. Badly."

You raise an eyebrow. "Seriously?" That could never be serious. He was… Matt Rempe! Matt didn't do cute things. Right?

He shrugs. "A couple of years of lessons when I was a kid. I learned the Titanic song for a girl once. It didn't work."

You laugh — genuinely — and his eyes flicker like he wasn't expecting that sound from you.

"Next question," you say, voice a little softer. "What's something you'd be doing if you weren't playing hockey?"

He hums. "Probably teaching gym class in Saskatoon."

"Saskatoon?"

"Big dreams."

You smile. "Last one. What's your favorite thing about game day?"

There's no pause this time. "The crowd," he says, voice lower now. "It's loud. Messy. Feels like everything matters."

You stop recording—something in the air shifts. You clear your throat. "That was… good. Thank you."

"No problem," he says, and for once, there's no teasing in his tone.

You turn to walk away, grabbing your bag on the floor and ready to go.

"Hey," he calls after you.

You glance back.

He's still sitting, lacing up his shoes now, but his gaze is steady. "You're good at this. The media stuff. The wrangling thing."

You blink. "Thanks."

He grins. "Still gonna call you PR girl, though."

You roll your eyes. But you're smiling as you walk away.

Later that night, Richard texts you.

"Great clip, Y/N! You're onto something. Keep pushing him. Let's make this work.

You stare at your phone, thumb hovering over the keyboard, and then tuck it away without replying. Because for the first time since you took this job, you're not just thinking about how to manage Matt Rempe's image.

You're thinking about him.

The fact that he didn't seem to be the monster that he looked like.

And that? That might be the real problem.

[...]

You don't hear from him for three days.

This is annoying because, technically, you're the one who's supposed to reach out first. You're the one scheduling clips, organizing posts, coordinating with digital, and trying to make the Rangers' wildest rookie seem less like a cryptid who wandered onto the ice by accident and more like an actual human being. But for some reason, ever since that final clip on the edge of the rink — the piano thing, the Saskatoon thing, the look — you've hesitated to press send.

And, of course, that's when your boss decides to show up at your desk.

"Big idea," Richard says, clapping his hands together like you're not drinking coffee out of a chipped Stanley cup and scrolling through Matt's Instagram to see if he's posted another blurry picture of his feet.

You blink. "That's terrifying."

"You and Rempe," he says, ignoring you, "are going off-site."

You stare. "I'm sorry?"

"Media day. But casual. The internet loves authenticity. We're setting up a video shoot in Brooklyn — an ice cream truck, a dog rescue, and a couple of kids from the youth hockey league. You'll be shadowing."

You narrow your eyes. "You want me on camera?"

"No," he says with a dismissive wave. "But you'll be there. And people will see you. Which, frankly, isn't the worst thing. You're sharp. You're organized. You're good with him. I wouldn't mind the internet knowing who's behind his PR glow-up."

You hesitate.

Because it's one thing to be near Matt, it's another to be next to him — under the same lens, the same spotlight, the same curated chaos.

"I'm not trying to be a face of anything," you say carefully.

Richard shrugs. "You're not. But proximity sells. Especially when he looks at you the way he does."

You freeze. "Excuse me?" What was he even talking about?

He arches a brow. "You haven't noticed? He does everything you say to him to do it."

You have. And you don't want to talk about it.

"I'll book the car," you say, standing too fast. "If I'm going to survive a dog shoot with that man, I need caffeine and a sedative."

[...] 

The shoot is set on a quiet block in Williamsburg, just off the water. The ice cream truck is painted pale pink. The dogs are chaotic and too cute to be real. And Rempe — God help you — shows up in a navy blue beanie and a soft-looking hoodie that makes him look like the hot guy in a Hallmark movie who fixes antique clocks and only cries once.

You hate him.

"PR girl," he says as he approaches, a dog already climbing up his leg. "Didn't know you were making a cameo."

"It's not a cameo," you say, gently tugging the leash. "It's supervision."

He smirks. "You love babysitting me."

You give him a flat look. "You ate chalk last week because you thought it was candy."

"It was pastel!" he protests. "Who makes candy that isn't edible?"

You open your mouth. Close it again.

"Point is," he adds, smiling widely, "I missed you."

Your stomach does a thing. It's a stupid, fluttery, PR-inappropriate thing.

"Try not to lick anything this time," you mutter.

The cameras start rolling.

It's chaos — but good chaos. Matt holds a Chihuahua in one hand and a vanilla cone in the other. The kids from the hockey league swarm him like he's a giant jungle gym. At one point, someone throws a tennis ball, and four dogs and Matt all chase after it.

You stay off to the side, managing the handlers, the photographer, the digital team — but you notice the way he keeps glancing over at you between takes like he's checking if you're still there.

Like you matter.

And that's… dangerous.

Because this isn't a friendship.

This isn't flirting.

This is work.

And getting close to a player — even Rempe, who seems incapable of subtlety — is not part of your job description.

But then it happens.

You're crouching to help one of the kids tie a skate when someone calls Matt's name, and he turns too fast, tripping over a leash, a cone, and his own ridiculously long legs.

You don't see it coming until he crashes into you.

You land on the sidewalk hard.

And he lands on you.

Full body. Heavy. Hands braced on either side of your head, face inches from yours, chest rising and falling like he just ran a marathon.

You blink up at him.

He doesn't move.

And neither do you.

Somewhere, a camera clicks.

You hear laughter. Whistles. Someone yells, "GET A ROOM!"

And suddenly — so suddenly — it's not funny at all.

Because his eyes are on yours.

And nothing is teasing in them this time.

"Sorry," he breathes, voice rough.

You shake your head, barely. "It's… okay."

He doesn't move.

You don't ask him to.

[...] 

The clip goes viral within three hours.

You're not even back in Manhattan when your phone starts vibrating like it's possessed. The Rangers account posts it with the caption: "Just two people, falling for each other." You want to scream. Or throw up—or both.

By the time you return to your desk, the clip has garnered 2.1 million views, and you are trending.

Not him.

You.

"I'm going to die," you whisper, staring at the screen.

Richard walks by and casually says, "You're welcome."

You turn to him, horrified. "You planned this?"

He shrugs. "Not the fall. But I'm not mad at the result."

"It's inappropriate," you snap. "He's a player. I'm staff."

"You're not kissing him," he says, then pauses. "Yet."

You shoot to your feet. "Richard—"

"Relax," he says, raising both hands. "Just keep it clean. And keep it going. The internet's obsessed. He's finally marketable."

You open your mouth.

Close it again.

Because you know he's right.

And that's what terrifies you most.

That night, your phone buzzes with a message.

Matt Rempe: Still thinking about the fall?

You stare at it.

Please ignore it.

Try to sleep.

Fail.

Because you are thinking about it.

And the worst part?

You don't want to stop.

[...]

You're barely through the doors when you feel him watching you.

The charity gala is precisely the kind of thing you dread — overly formal, stuffed with people who care more about who'sseen supporting the youth hockey program than actually donating to it. You've been prepping for weeks, building storyboards, syncing schedules, and coordinating influencer coverage. But nothing prepared you for what Matt Rempe looks like in a suit.

Or, more specifically, what it feels like when he sees you in a dress.

Because the second your heels hit the marble floor, his eyes find you. And they don't leave.

Not when he's talking to the GM. Not when the team photographer calls for group shots. Not even when one of the donors pats him on the back and says something about "rising stars" and "young blood."

You try to pretend you don't notice.

You fail.

"What are you even doing here?" he murmurs when he finally sidles up next to you at the champagne bar, voice low enough that it makes you shiver. "I thought PR types hated events like this."

"I do," you reply coolly, adjusting your badge. "But someone has to make sure you don't go viral for eating all the hors d'oeuvres."

He grins. "I only did that once."

You arch a brow. "You stole a shrimp tower."

"I rescued it."

"From a child."

"She didn't even like seafood!"

You roll your eyes and sip your champagne.

"You look nice," he adds after a beat. It's casual, almost throwaway — but the way he says it makes something hot bloom low in your stomach.

You glance over at him. "Thanks."

"Like, really nice."

You narrow your eyes. "Are you flirting with me at a team-sponsored event?"

He shrugs. "I flirt with you everywhere."

You nearly choked on your drink.

The situation worsens when the press arrives.

There's a freelance reporter — tall, polished, confident — who sidles up to you near the silent auction table and immediately starts laying it on thick.

"You handle the Rangers' social?" he asks, leaning a little too close. "That explains the tone shift. It's gotten sharper. Funnier."

You shrug modestly. "We're trying new things."

"Like the Rempe stuff," he says, smirking. "Smart angle. He's the goofy rookie with a PR handler who dislikes him. It's got tension."

You blink. "Excuse me?"

He grins. "It's obvious. You're always trying not to smile in the videos. Feels kind of charged."

You step back, heart racing. "We're professionals."

"Sure," he says, clearly not buying it. "But the internet's rooting for you. I mean, the fall? The way he looks at you? Come on."

You're about to snap when a hand lands on your waist.

And not just any hand.

Matt.

"You okay?" he says, looking only at you. His voice is low. Firm. Different.

You nod.

The reporter raises an eyebrow, amused. "Speak of the devil."

"Funny," Matt says, not smiling. "Didn't realize this was an interrogation."

"Just a conversation," the guy replies, unbothered. "But maybe I'll circle back."

He walks away. You exhale.

Matt doesn't move his hand.

"You didn't have to do that," you say, avoiding his gaze.

"I know," he says softly. "But I wanted to."

You finally look at him, and what you see makes your stomach flip.

Because for the first time, it feels like the flirting isn't a joke.

It's something else.

Something real.

You don't leave together. You don't even talk much after that. But when the storm hits Manhattan just past midnight and all the bridges close, you realize two things.

One: You're stuck in the gala hotel.

And two: so is Matt.

You find him in the lobby, hair damp, jacket slung over one shoulder.

"We're snowed in," you announce, stating the obvious.

He looks up. "Yeah."

"We're not allowed to leave."

"I noticed."

You hesitate. Then: "Do you have a room?"

He nods slowly. "Do you?"

You do. But it's a double. And it's cold. And you're too wired to sleep.

So when he says, "Wanna hang out until the power comes back?" — you nod.

And follow him upstairs.

His room is dim, lit only by the warm yellow glow of a desk lamp. He pulls off his jacket and throws it on the bed. You hover awkwardly by the window, watching the snow swirl.

"I can sleep on the chair," he says.

You turn. "What?"

He nods toward the armchair by the TV. "If it comes to that."

"I'm not staying the night."

He grins. "Sure you're not."

You scowl, but your cheeks go warm.

He crosses the room and sits on the edge of the bed. For a moment, the only sound is the wind outside and your heartbeat inside your ears.

"I meant it, by the way," he says quietly. "What I said earlier."

You blink. "Which part?"

"You look nice. And that I missed you."

Something in your chest tightens.

"You don't even know me," you whisper.

He stands.

Steps closer.

"I know you don't let people in easily," he says. "I know you're too smart for half the idiots in this building. I know you roll your eyes when you're flustered. And I know the only reason you're pretending not to like me is because you think it's safer that way."

Your breath catches.

"I'm not trying to make this complicated," he adds. "But it already is. So, if you want me to back off, say the word. But if you don't…"

He doesn't finish, and you don't need him to. Because you're already stepping forward, and for one heartbeat, neither of you moves.

Then, suddenly — finally — he does.

And the distance between you disappears.

[...]

You wake to the sound of silence.

Not the sterile kind that fills your apartment after a long day. This is something softer. Sleep-heavy. Still. The type of quiet you don't notice until you've been wrapped in it for a while.

Your eyes blink open slowly. The room is pale, with morning light filtering through thick snow-draped curtains. For a second, you're disoriented. This isn't your bed. This isn't even your hotel room. It's—

Your head turns.

Matt.

He's on the other side of the bed, turned slightly toward you, one arm bent beneath the pillow, lashes casting faint shadows on his cheek. His mouth is parted just a little. His hair's a mess — flattened on one side, ruffled on the other — and his long legs are tangled in the comforter.

He looks peaceful.

You don't.

Because the second your brain catches up, everything from last night crashes over you like a wave.

The gala. The flirting. The hand on your waist. The room. The way he looked at you like you were the only person on the planet.

You didn't sleep together — not in that way.

But you'd shared a bed.

And the intimacy of it somehow feels more dangerous than anything physical ever could.

You sit up slowly, carefully, trying not to disturb him. Your feet hit the carpet. You tiptoe to the window, and the snow hasn't let up. Manhattan is a postcard in grayscale — all blurred edges and icy stillness. You let your forehead rest against the cold glass.

You should leave. You should go back to your room, drink the bad hotel coffee, and put all of this into a box labeled 'mistake.' But then you hear the sheets shift.

You turn.

"Hey."

Matt's voice is low and rough from sleep. He squints at you, then rubs a hand over his face. "You okay?"

You nod. "Yeah. I just… woke up early."

He sits up, the blanket pooling at his waist. His bare chest is broad and freckled and unfairly distracting. He stretches his arms over his head with a groan.

"Sorry," he says. "Didn't mean to take over the whole bed."

"You didn't."

He looks at you for a moment.

And just like last night — and the night before that, and every time he's gotten too close — it feels like the air shifts.

He runs a hand through his hair. "You sure you're okay?"

"I'm fine."

"You're lying."

You roll your eyes, but you're too tired to fight him. "I just… don't know what this is."

His expression softens. "It doesn't have to be anything. Not yet."

You stare at him. "But it feels like something."

"Yeah," he says. "It does."

There's a long pause.

And then, quietly: "I'm not gonna push you. I know this is complicated. Work, and optics, and… us. But I meant what I said last night."

You feel your heart climb slowly into your throat.

"I like you," he says.

And somehow, that's the most terrifying thing of all.

Later that day, the snow starts to melt, but your sense of control doesn't.

You'd made it back to your room. Showered. Dressed and gathered yourself like armor. You even slipped Matt a sheepish "thanks for not kicking me out" text before heading back to the arena.

By the time you're at your desk, you've almost convinced yourself that maybe—maybe—no one will find out.

And then it happens. You're staring at your inbox when your phone buzzes once.

Tracy (Social team)

— omg, have you seen this???

Attached is a video. Shaky, dimly lit. Filmed from across the hotel lobby.

You hit play.

And freeze.

It's you and Matt from last night. You're standing too close. He's got his hand on your lower back. You're laughing—not professionally, not distantly. Softly. Like you're used to him touching you like that.

Which you're not.

But the video doesn't care about the truth.

It ends with the two of you stepping into the elevator. Alone.

Tracy

— girl, it's going viral on hockey Twitter

— "Enemies to lovers, snowed-in edition" LMAO

Your blood turns to ice. Seconds later, your office door opens.

Your boss steps in — tablet in hand, expression unreadable.

"We need to talk," she says.

[...] 

The meeting isn't a disaster. But it's close.

They don't accuse you of anything directly. Just ask a lot of questions — about professionalism, boundaries, and player access. You answer carefully, voice even, nails digging crescents into your palm under the table.

You explain that nothing inappropriate happened. You explain that you were snowed in. You explain that, yes, maybe there's chemistry, but you've done nothing to compromise the integrity of your role.

They don't say you're fired. But they do say this:

"We need to get ahead of it."

This is how you end up in Matt's apartment that evening, pacing in front of his kitchen island while he watches you like you're about to detonate.

"So let me get this straight," he says. "They want us to pretend we're dating. To explain the video."

You nod. "Just for a few weeks. Until the story cools down."

He blinks. "But we're not dating."

"Obviously."

"Yet," he mutters.

You pretend not to hear him.

He leans against the counter. "So what's the plan? Just hold hands at games and pretend we're each other's favorite people?"

You give him a look. "You already are my least favorite person. That part will be easy."

He grins. "You sure about that?"

You don't answer.

Because you're no longer sure about anything.

Except for this: the more time you spend with Matt Rempe, the harder it's getting to remember what you're supposed to be pretending.

[...]

It starts with your hand in his.

Not for any real reason — not at first. Just that you're getting out of the Uber together, and there are photographers outside the foundation gala venue, and Matt turns to you with a look like Ready? And you, despite every nerve screaming otherwise, nod back.

And then he takes your hand.

And doesn't let go.

The sidewalk is slick with leftover snowmelt. The cameras start flashing as soon as the two of you step into the light. You know, the moment the shutter clicks that, it'll be everywhere by morning.

Rempe. And the team's media manager. Hand in hand.

You tell yourself it's a strategy. Optics. It's a clean narrative.

But that doesn't explain the warmth of his palm against yours. Or the way his thumb brushes yours when he thinks no one's looking.

It doesn't explain why your heart stutters when he leans in to whisper in your ear.

"You okay?"

You glance up. He's in a suit. Navy. Perfectly fitted. A tie that matches your dress — coordinated because the PR team insisted you look "believably coupled." He smells like cedarwood and sharp winter air and something distinctly Matt.

"Yeah," you breathe. "Just a little overwhelmed."

He squeezes your hand gently. "You look beautiful."

You blink. That wasn't part of the script.

"Thanks," you say because it's the only thing you can think of that won't give you away completely.

The event itself is a blur.

There are sponsors and speeches and passed hors d'oeuvres, and every time you drift more than a foot from Matt, someone catches your eye with a knowing look. You're suddenly no longer the quiet girl behind the camera or the press release. You're his date.

You.

The most frustrating man you've ever met is now holding open doors for you, getting you champagne, and resting his hand on the small of your back like it's always belonged there.

You're too busy pretending to be in love to realize how natural it feels.

Until the photo.

It's taken near the end of the night against a branded backdrop. One of the foundation's social team members calls you both over.

"You two look amazing," she says. "Give us something sweet. Come on — just one for the team!"

You freeze.

Matt doesn't.

Without hesitation, he steps behind you, hands resting lightly on your waist. You tense as he leans in, but instead of kissing your cheek like you expect, he whispers into your hair.

"This okay?"

Your throat is dry. "Yeah."

You don't look at the camera. You feel him smile against your temple.

Later, you see the photo.

It's devastating.

You're tucked into his chest, both of you slightly out of focus behind a shimmer of falling snow. He's looking at you like you hung the stars. You're looking at nothing — stunned, maybe, by how easy it is to forget what's real.

Or by how badly you want it to be.

Later in his apartment, you're barefoot in his kitchen, holding a glass of water as if it might anchor you. The dress is off. His tie is draped on the couch. And neither of you has said a word in fifteen minutes.

It's not awkward. It's not quite comfortable, either. It's something else — the space between rehearsed affection and something you can't name yet.

Matt breaks the silence first.

"You were amazing tonight."

You glance over your shoulder. "So were you."

He leans against the doorframe. "I didn't hate pretending."

You look away. "Don't."

"Don't what?"

"Say things like that. It's not fair."

He doesn't move. "It's not pretend for me."

Your breath catches.

"Matt…"

He steps closer, slowly, as if you're something fragile. "I don't care about the cameras. Or the stories. Or what anyone thinks. I just… I like being with you even when we're arguing. Even when you glare at me like I'm the worst person alive."

"You are," you whisper, but your voice is trembling.

He smiles. "Then I guess I'm your problem."

His hand brushes your arm. You close your eyes. "Say something," he says.

You turn to face him. And for once, you don't have anything to say.

So you kiss him.

It's not fireworks or slow-motion magic. It's messy, honest, and a little desperate. It's like you've been holding it back for too long and finally let it slip through the cracks. He kisses you back like he's been waiting. One hand at your waist. The other is in your hair. He kisses you like he's not acting anymore.

Because he isn't.

Neither are you.

When you break apart, he doesn't say anything. 

You don't know how long you stand there, forehead to forehead, letting the silence hum between you like it's trying to say something neither of you can.

Your lips still tingle. Your heart won't settle. Matt's breath ghosts across your skin, and suddenly, the space between pretending and something real disappears completely.

He's the one who leans in again, and this time, you don't hesitate.

You kiss him like you mean it now. No script. No audience. Just you and him in his dimly lit kitchen, your dress hanging off a chair, his tie forgotten, and the tension that's been building for weeks finally breaking open.

His mouth is soft but hungry like he's trying to memorize every part of this. Of you.

You drop the water glass on the counter without looking. It lands with a soft clink that neither of you notices. All you feel are his hands — one curling around your waist, the other sliding up your back, fingers splaying across your spine like he needs to keep you close or he might lose you.

You press into him without thinking.

Your body fits against his like it's meant to. He's tall — too tall — and you're always a little aware of it, but here, now, it doesn't matter. You like the way you have to tiptoe to meet his mouth. You want him to bend to reach you as if it's second nature.

His hands skim the edge of your ribs.

You gasp — barely — and feel him pause.

You pull back just enough to look at him. His eyes are heavy, his jaw clenched, and he's breathing like it's taking everything in him to stay in place.

"Is this okay?" he asks, voice low, rough around the edges.

You nod.

Then, because you want to be sure he knows, you say, "Yeah. It's more than okay."

The smile that pulls at his mouth is crooked and boyish, a little stunned as if he can't believe this is happening. You can't, either.

His lips find yours again, more deliberate now. He kisses like he thinks this might be the last time — like he doesn't want to waste a second of it. The kitchen counter digs into your hip. Your hands slip under the hem of his button-down. His skin is warm and solid, and he shudders when your fingertips drag across his stomach.

You feel him tense.

Then he pulls away, just barely, and looks at you. Not down at your mouth or your body, at you.

"Do you wanna go to my room?"

It's not rushed. Not cocky. Just quiet. Honest.

You could say no. You know he'd back off in an instant. But you also know this isn't just about tonight. Not really. It's about all the almosts. All the things you haven't let yourself want until now. 

You reach up, slide your hand into his hair, and whisper, "Yeah."

He kisses you like thank you.

He doesn't rush.

That's the first thing that surprises you.

For a guy who usually barrels into everything like he's too big for the world — too loud, too impulsive, too much — Matt is soft here. Careful. Patient.

He shoves you backward until your spine hits the door, and you don't even flinch — your fingers already tugging at the collar of his shirt, frantic to get him bare. But he's faster.

Matt grabs your wrists with one hand and pins them over your head, holding them there like it's nothing. You gasp, breath catching in your throat.

You step into his room and barely have time to take in the simple, masculine chaos of it — dark sheets, one lamp on, a worn Rangers hoodie on the back of the chair — before he turns to face you.

And then you're kissing again. But this time, it's deeper. Messier.

His mouth slants over yours with a hunger that's been simmering for weeks. You feel it in the way he breathes, in the way he fists the back of your dress and pulls you in like he's starving.

Your hands go to his chest, then lower, fumbling with the buttons on his shirt, yanking it out of his pants. His skin is warm under your palms, a mix of hard muscle and softness in all the places you had imagined.

He lifts you like you weigh nothing and tosses you on the bed. Your back bounces against the mattress, legs falling open without hesitation. He stares down at you — messy, panting, wet — like he's starving and just found his fucking feast.

You groan against his mouth when he bites your bottom lip.

He pulls back just enough to look at you. His pupils are blown wide, his jaw tight, voice low and wrecked:

"Tell me to stop, and I will."

"I don't want you to," you breathe, and then he's on you again.

You feel it in the way his hands finally touch you, like he means it — one sliding up the back of your thigh, the other gripping your waist tight enough to bruise. And then, he's kissing down your neck, sucking marks into the skin like he's claiming you.

"Fuck," he mutters into your collarbone, voice thick. "You have no idea how long I've wanted this."

You do it because you've wanted it, too.

You moan when his hands tug at the zipper on your dress, and he pauses, just for a second, to look at you again.

"You sure?"

Your answer is a breathless "Yes. Matt. Please."

He swears under his breath as the dress hits the floor. And when his eyes rake over you — bare skin, underwear, all of you laid out and open in front of him — his breath catches like he's never seen anything so fucking perfect in his life.

"Jesus," he says, stepping closer. "You're gonna ruin me."

You tug him toward you by the waistband of his pants.

"Then let me."

His kiss is punishing. Teeth. Tongue. Possession.

"Fuck, I knew you'd be like this," he growls, mouth dragging down your neck. "All bratty and loud until I get my hands on you."

"Matt—" you whimper.

He smirks darkly. "Still got something to say, baby?"

He lifts you like you weigh nothing and tosses you on the bed. Your back bounces against the mattress, legs falling open without hesitation. He stares down at you — messy, panting, wet — like he's starving and just found his fucking feast.

"Take that shit off," he says, voice low. "Now."

You scramble to obey, peeling off your top. You're left in nothing but your panties — soaked through — and he groans when he sees the wet spot.

"Look at you," he mutters, dropping his jeans. His cock springs out, thick and hard and already leaking. "You're fuckin' dripping for me, and I haven't even touched you yet."

Your mouth goes dry.

He kneels between your legs and drags your panties down with one hand, the other already sliding up your inner thigh. His fingers brush over your slit, and his grin turns cruel.

"This wet for me already?" he says, pushing two fingers in without warning.

You cry out, hips jerking — but he doesn't slow down.

Matt pumps them hard, deep, curling them inside you like he's trying to make you scream. Your hands fist the sheets. He watches every twitch of your body like a man possessed.

"Fuckin' knew it," he mutters. "Knew you'd take my fingers so pretty. Bet your pussy's even better."

You're already spiraling, moaning, back-arching. But right before you come, he pulls his fingers out.

"No—Matt—!"

He grabs your jaw with his wet hand, squeezing your cheeks until your lips part.

"Open."

You do without thinking, and he shoves his fingers into your mouth.

"Taste yourself."

You moan around him, licking eagerly, and his eyes roll back like he's losing it.

"Jesus Christ."

He jerks your legs wider and lines up his cock without warning — not even grabbing a condom. And for a second, you blink.

"Wait—Matt—"

He pauses, eyes flashing. "You on the pill?"

You nod, barely able to breathe. "Yes."

"Good," he mutters. "Because I'm not fucking pulling out."

And then he slams into you.

You scream — not from pain, but from the stretch, the force, the overwhelming fullness. He's big, but more than that, he's brutal. He doesn't give you time to adjust. Don't ask if you're okay. He just fucks into you like he owns you.

"God, yes—fuck—Matt—"

"You like that?" he pants, one hand grabbing your hip so tight you'll feel it tomorrow. "Like getting your cunt ruined by me?"

You can't even speak. You nod, crying out with every thrust.

He fucks you hard and fast, grinding so deep your legs go numb. His hips smack into yours, the headboard slamming the wall in rhythm. Your nails rake down his back, your moans getting louder, rougher.

He growls, low and primal.

"Say it," he snaps. "Say whose pussy this is."

"Yours," you whimper. "Yours, Matt—!"

"Say my fucking name when I fuck you."

"Matt—fuck—Matt—please—!"

You're seconds from falling apart when—

Your phone rings.

Shrill. Loud. The vibration buzzed across the nightstand. You freeze. Matt doesn't stop. He grins and leans down, biting your lip as he grinds in deeper.

"Answer it."

"What—?"

He thrusts again, harder.

"Fucking answer it."

You fumble for the phone with shaking hands, your vision going blurry from pleasure. The screen flashes:

"Richard (Office)"

Your boss.  You look at Matt, panic rising.

He slows but stays deep inside you, not backing off an inch. "Put it on speaker," he orders.

"Matt—"

"You wanna come, baby?" he breathes against your neck. "Then you're gonna answer it. While I fuck you."

You're soaked, trembling, lightheaded from the way he fills you — and you know you'll say yes to anything he says—your thumb slides over the screen.

"Hello?"

Richard's voice comes through, sharp and tired. "I've been trying to reach you for the past hour. We have a problem with the roster for tomorrow—"

Matt thrusts deep. You gasp.

Frank pauses. "Are you—okay?"

You force a breath. "Yeah. Yeah. Sorry. I—uh—was asleep."

Matt fucks into you again — hard — and you bite your lip so hard you taste blood.

Frank sighs. "We need you to resend the updated sponsor deck tonight. Can you handle that or not?"

Matt grabs your throat, not choking, just holding you there, and you can barely think.

"I—yes," you stammer, breath hitching. "I'll send it in twenty."

"Good."

He hangs up.

Matt doesn't even let the call finish clicking off before he pulls out and flips you over like you're nothing, dragging your hips back until your face is pressed into the sheets and your ass is in the air.

"Twenty minutes," he growls, lining up again. "Guess I better make this quick."

He slams into you from behind, and you swear you see stars.

You can't even breathe. He's fucking you like an animal now, grip bruising, pace vicious, filthy praise spilling from his mouth.

"Such a fuckin' good girl," he pants. "Letting me use you while your boss is on the phone. Letting me ruin your fucking cunt. You love it, don't you?"

"Yes—Matt—fuck yes—!"

Your orgasm hits so hard that your vision goes black.

You scream his name, your whole body shaking, and he doesn't stop — he keeps going until you're sobbing, overstimulating, and twitching. And then he comes.

With a growl, Matt slams into you and stills, cock pulsing deep inside, filling you up. He stays there, breath heavy on your neck, hands gripping your hips like he never wants to let go.

Neither do you.

You don't rush out of Matt's room. You don't bolt for the door like you're trying to escape some mistake because this wasn't a mistake. Not even close.

Instead, you lie there for a long moment, your chest rising and falling in rhythm with his steady breaths. The bed dips where he's still half on top of you, warm and heavy, his fingers tracing lazy, featherlight patterns along your spine as if memorizing every inch of your skin.

The silence between you feels like an electric current — thick, potent, and humming louder than any words could be. It's not awkward. It's not uncertain. It's just this — two people tangled in a moment that's theirs and theirs alone.

You lift your head to look at him, the way the soft light casts shadows over his jaw, the slight curl of his mouth when he catches your gaze. His eyes—dark, raw, unguarded—hold a kind of fire that makes your stomach flutter and ache all at once.

"Not running," he says quietly, his voice low and rough from what you just did to each other.

You smile, breathless. "No. Not running."

He presses a kiss to your temple, his hand sliding up to cup your cheek, thumb stroking gently. It's a touch so different from the roughness before, soft and careful, like he's holding something precious — you.

You close your eyes and lean into it.

For a while, you stay there, wrapped up in the aftershocks of everything that happened. The way his skin feels against yours, the lingering heat in your veins, the slow fade of that wild, rough hunger giving way to a quiet, intimate calm.

Matt's lips find yours again, softer now, almost hesitant, like he's discovering a new language. You melt against him, your fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him closer until there's no space left between you.

"You good?" he asks after a moment, voice barely above a whisper.

You nod. "Yeah. Better than good."

He grins that crooked, dangerous grin that made your knees weak earlier. "Good. 'Cause this?" He gestures between the two of you, the messy sheets, the way your bodies fit together like puzzle pieces, finally found. "This isn't a one-time thing."

You laugh softly, breath hitching. "I was hoping you'd say that."

He sits back just enough to look at you properly, eyes sharp but warm. "I mean it. You're not just some girl I fucked and forgot about. You're mine"

You feel that. The weight of it. The promise wrapped in those words.

"Neither are you," you admit, heart pounding with how real it all feels.

Matt reaches over to the bedside table, grabs his shirt, and starts pulling it on without a word. You follow suit, slowly slipping back into your clothes, still savoring the lingering heat between your legs, the ache that's both delicious and familiar now.

As you stand to leave, Matt catches your wrist, tugging you back down beside him.

"Wait," he says, voice low and serious.

You look at him, curious. He leans in close, so close you can feel his breath against your skin.

"I want you. Not just tonight." His hand tightens slightly on your wrist. "More. You get that? I want you since the first time I saw you."

You nod again, the words caught in your throat.

"Good."

And with that, he presses a rough kiss to your neck, then lets you go. You step out into the hallway, the cool air hitting your skin like a shock after the heat of his room. You don't look back.

Because you don't have to, Matt Rempe just made it very clear — you're exactly where you're supposed to be.

[sweetdispatch]

Going to bed angry at each other

masterlist summary: how certain players would solve the argument you had

Cole Caufield

When you told Cole that you’re sleeping in the guest room, he tried to shrug it off. He acted like he’s unbothered and that you’re acting like a child but deep down, he was mad at himself. He was mad that the argument went so far that you can’t even sleep in the same bed as him. He tried to fall asleep but the bed was cold without you next to him. After an hour of trying to get some sleep, he went to the guest room for you. “You can be mad at me as much as you want but please come back to bed”. You didn’t say a word to him but followed him to the bedroom. As much as you wanted to stay away from him, you missed him. 

Adam Fantilli

When you left the room in the middle of the argument, Adam knew this won’t end well but he was too stubborn. You went back to the bedroom after an hour but didn’t say a word. You just laid in the bed and tried to get some sleep. Your back was facing him because you didn’t want to see him. He tried to hug you but every time you threw his hand from your waist. He sighed and started apologising to you. The last thing he wanted was going to sleep when you two are mad at each other. You still didn’t say a word but this time, you let him keep his hand on your waist. 

Nico Hischier

When you stormed out of the bedroom, Nico was even more mad at you. He hates that you’re ignoring the problem and acts like a kid by leaving him in the middle of the argument. He tried to go on with his day but when the evening came and you went to the guest room instead of his bedroom, he was hurt. The argument never went this far that you were sleeping mad at each other. That’s why he went to apologize to you. You two had a proper conversation about what happened earlier. 

Jack Hughes

You and Jack rarely argue but when this happened it was always a rough one. You slammed the door and left the apartment. You couldn’t stand him being there so you went to sleep at your friend's place. At first he wasn’t bothered by your outburst but when the clock showed 1am and you still weren’t home, he started calling you. He wanted to apologize, he wanted you to return home. None of you could sleep that night, all the time playing this argument in each other's head. You got back home the next morning and he jumped straight into apologising. 

Luke Hughes

You two had an argument in the morning. You were mad at him for being ignorant and he was mad that you’re overreacting. You were giving him silent treatment and like never, he wasn’t talking to you. You were trying not to get into each other's way for the whole day. You grabbed your pillow and went to the guest room to stay away from him. What you didn’t expect was a text message from him saying “I love you”. You went to ask him about it and he explained to you that no matter how mad you’re at each other, he won’t fall asleep without telling you those words. You smiled and laid next to him trying to find a solution in this argument. 

Quinn Hughes

For the whole day the negative emotions were bubbling in you and Quinn. Instead of talking, you were just throwing rude comments at each other. When you two were getting to bed, none of you said a word. You were mad at him for acting like a child and he was mad at you for being so stubborn. You couldn’t get any sleep just like him. In the middle of the night, you started talking to him and you tried to sort things out. He was more than willing to talk with you because this whole citation showed him that it’s not worth it to stay mad. 

Clayton Keller

When Clayton slammed the door of the bedroom you just sighed. You knew that both of you were wrong in this argument but none of you wanted to admit to this. You just laid in bed hoping that he would come back but this didn’t happen. You two slept in different beds but under the same roof for the first time and it was horrible. Both of you had a lack of sleep, overthinking the whole argument. The next morning you jumped into each other's arms apologising for the last night. 

John Marino

None of you wanted to give up during the argument. You two said a lot of hurtful words until something broke in you. You left the room and locked yourself in the guest bedroom. John only sighed and let you be by yourself. When he was laying in bed trying to fall asleep, he heard you crying in the other room. In no time, he ran to you and pulled you close to his body. He was whispering you sweet words to help you calm down. He took you to the bedroom and hugged you for the whole night knowing that tomorrow you two have a lot to talk about. 

Matt Rempe

When you laid in the bed, mad after an earlier argument, Matt tried to apologise. He didn't fight to take the sleep from you. You weren’t listening to him, still furious about what happened that day. He didn’t give up and was talking to you no matter if you’re listening or not. He wanted to explain his point of view. When he finished and you still didn’t say a word, he turned around to give you space. You tried to stay mad at him but you couldn’t. You hugged him and also apologised. 

Juraj Slafkovsky

When you left the bedroom, Juraj thought you needed a couple of minutes to calm down and you’ll be back. After thirty minutes, he realised that you just left him there. That’s why he went to the living room and saw you laying under the blanket trying to get some sleep. He laughed quietly. This brought up your attention and you looked at him. He apologised to you and asked you to return to bed. Without a word, you followed him and hugged him while laying in bed.

[onlyquinns]

haircuts and other cuts, m. rempe

pairing: matt rempe x fem!cosmotologystudent!reader, fluffy mostly!

content: you cut matt’s hair and there’s a little tension, sister’s best friend trope, reader isn’t too good with communication, mentions of blood (it’s matt what did you expect)

a/n: i think this is my longest fic yet!! idk if id consider it an entire oneshot tho but im still v pleased :) i hope u guys like it!!

matt sits deathly still, you standing behind him. the faint hum of clippers fills the bathroom, the little device buzzing in your hand as you bring it closer to matt’s left ear.

“you sure you know what you’re doing?” he asks you, watching the guard inch closer and closer in the bathroom mirror.

you huff and pull your hand away, barely nicking his hair, and matt somehow freezes even more.

the two of you are crammed inside of quickie’s bathroom, matt sitting on top of a small stool left in the bathroom for jonathan’s kids. he’s shirtless, back turned to you as you stand behind him in a tank top and a pair of jean shorts. he’d asked you to come over—with jonathan and jaclyn’s permission—to give him a trim, fully thinking you’d laugh it off and refuse to. unfortunately for him, you’d taken him up on the offer and showed up with a set of clippers and varying guards—something you’d nabbed from your brother back in calgary when you’d started cosmetology school.

“you asked me to do this, matty!” you cry out, waving the clippers through the air haphazardly.

matt throws his arms up, making eye contact with you through the mirror. “i didn’t think you’d say yes!” he cries out, ducking when you arc the clippers his way with a pointed glare.

“i’m literally going to school for this, dude,” you tell him, free hand on your hip. “i know what i’m doing—just trust me.”

matt gulps, his adam’s apple bobbing visibly. “okay,” he relents. “but if mom and alley make fun of me, i’m blaming you.”

you roll your eyes and line your clippers back up against his ear, folding the skin down with your free hand. “you’d deserve it,” you tell him, taking your clippers up and pulling them toward you in a quick motion before he can stop you again. “i see what you comment on your poor sister’s insta, y’know,” you say, referencing the weird little-brother-energy chirps he leaves on your friend’s posts.

matt’s barely listening to your words, instead watching wide-eyed as his brown hair flutters down onto the bathroom tiling. you work quickly, cutting down the length of hair around his ears on both sides before stepping back.

“what have you done?” matt whispers, scared. he brings two fingers up against the scratchy side of his head, feeling the blunt tips of hair brush against his finger pads.

“oh, my god,” you tease, “you’re soo dramatic, matthew! i’m not done yet!” you pull the 8mm guard free from your clippers, replacing them with a smaller one with a satisfying click. “now, move your fingers and let me work my magic,” you say, knocking the plastic against his knuckles.

matt pulls his hand away with hesitation, back rigid as the clippers come back to life and press flush against his skin. you blend the bottom half of the area you’d just shaved, moving from side to side to make sure they’re even. you round matt and grin, crouching down in front of him and grasping his chin between your forefinger and thumb. he looks at you with scared eyes, a look that’s nothing like the usual cocky and smug expression he normally sports.

“so pretty,” you hum, turning his face side to side in your hold. “told you that bringing back the mullet was a smart idea.” you pull away and step aside, letting matt look at himself in the bathroom mirror.

he doesn’t need to stand, torso long enough that he can easily see himself in the mirror while sitting. he turns his head slightly, analyzing your work. a crooked grin pools at his lips, his confidence seeping back into his chest.

“okay,” he practically purrs, suddenly feeling himself. “looks good.”

you smirk, tapping your guards against the ledge of the sink to free the trapped hair caught between the prongs. “told you i know what i’m doing, matty,” you say, smug with yourself.

he wraps an arm around your hips and gives you a squeeze, the action sudden and enough to make your fingers falter slightly as you pack up your things.

never in your life did you imagine that matt rempe—your best friend’s younger brother—would hold you so casually around the hips. he’d hugged you hundreds of times growing up, always settling for a quick side hug to show his gratitude, but never had he been so… cavalier with his affection.

matt notices your reluctance and drops his arm, suddenly awkward and red in the face. “uh, sorry,” he says, scratching at the back of his neck. “got carried away with myself.”

you let out a stilted laugh, turning on the sink to wash the strands of loose hair down the drain. “no worries,” you tell him, refusing to look at him through the mirror. “lemme know when you need a trim, yeah? i’ll drop by and fix you up.”

matt nods dumbly, letting you inch past him with your set of clippers tucked under your arms. you wave your fingers in goodbye and slink out the door, leaving it cracked just slightly. from where he sits atop the little bathroom stool, matt hears you wish jonathan and jaclyn a quick goodbye, letting them both know that they’re free to call you up for a haircut whenever as well, before you vanish out the front door.

a few weeks later, you’re tucked inside your apartment. every light inside your flat is turned off, the only thing providing any source of brightness your tv as it reruns highlights from the ranger’s home game.

you lay on your stomach, body flat against your couch and your chink tucked into a shoddy star-shaped pillow you’d made in your free time. alley talks animatedly to you through your phone, her smiley face filling a small corner of your phone screen as you absentmindedly scroll through your instagram feed.

your entire feed is filled with hockey—old and new clips alike. you pass through posts about trades and players play fighting with toddlers in skates, leaving a like and silly comment when you stumble across a ranger’s meme. your thumb hesitates over a reel of matt, a fifteen second long video of him skating to the penalty box with a bloodied nose from tonight’s game. you hadn’t messaged him since you’d cut his hair, dropping off his radar and getting swept up into your work.

“hey, alley,” you interrupt you friend, watching the reel loop over and over, eyes drawn to the way matt’s face is nothing but seriousness and boiled down anger.

“yeah?” she asks, leaning closer to her camera to catch a glimpse of you. a silly facetime effect takes over your screen, blocking matt’s bloodied face with a poorly timed stream of confetti.

“did you watch tonight’s game?” you click through your phone, finding other angles of matt’s fight, watching as his body hits the ice. “the ranger’s one; the one with matt.”

alley scrunches her eyebrows together, “uh, yeah, with mom. why?” she combs her fingers through her hair, pulling free any tangles and knots. “did you get a clip of matt’s fight, or something?”

you nod slowly, “yeah…” you tell her, “uh, a lot of clips, actually.” you turn to your tv just in time to catch a slow motion video of matt dropping his gloves and throwing punches at one of his opponents. “is he, like, okay?”

alley nods, “yeah, of course he is—it’s matty we’re talking about, he loves a fight.” she huffs out a laugh but stops when you don’t laugh with her, eyes instead glued to your tv as the announcer ooh’s and ah’s the sight of matt licking up his own bloodied lip. “hey,” alley calls, “he’s okay. my brother’s tougher than you think. we’re no longer those little kids that used to stick up for each other,” she reminds you, drawing your attention from your tv. she smiles at you as you nod.

“yeah,” you breathe, “you’re right.” but the image of matt’s bloody nose and lip fills the back of your eyelids as you blink, drilling into the forefront of your mind. “hey, alley, i’m gonna call it a night, yeah? it was good talking to you.” you smile weakly and alley says her goodbyes, blowing you a kiss that you easily reciprocate before hanging up.

you flop onto your back, arm and phone dangling off the edge of your couch. your tv still plays highlights of the game, the announcer’s grating voice and the crowds loud cheering filling the silence of your dark living room.

a soft knock echoes through your apartment, pulling you from overthinking. you pull yourself up, checking the time. another knock echoes through the flat, less softer than before.

“coming,” you call, pulling a hoodie over your shoulders. you don’t check the peephole, instead pulling the door open wide without thinking. “how can i help you—?” your voice trails off when you find matt standing in front of you, hands tucked into a pair of dark sweats.

“hey,” he says casually, “s’alright if i come in?”

you look up at him, hand still wrapped around the door knob. there’s a purple bruise forming on his cheekbone, nearly dark enough to match the grape-colored tee he’s wearing.

you blink quickly, the image of his fight flashing in your mind’s eye as you move out of his way. “yeah, yeah,” you say far too quickly, “of course—lemme just turn the lights back on and, uh, yeah.”

matt’s lips quirk into an amused smirk as he saunters in, bare forearm brushing against you briefly. he whistles low as he takes in your apartment as if he’s never seen it before.

“nice place,” he teases, placing his keys in a heap onto the small kitchen island. “you redecorate lately? move some stuff around?”

you shut your front door, making sure it’s locked before turning to matt. you watch him toe off his sneakers, leaving them tucked against the island, before he makes his way to your couch. his amused expression grows at the sight of your tv proudly displaying the ranger’s game, watching his own jersey number move across the ice.

“yeah,” you say slowly, walking closer to matt. “i moved some things around to open it up a little. felt too crowded, y’know.”

matt nods along to your words. “looks good,” he tells you, glancing down at you in your oversized hoodie and tiny sleep shorts. “alley texted me a few minutes ago, told me you were facetiming.” he takes a seat on your couch, letting out a deep groan that rattles your entire body.

“are you hurt?” you ask him, ignoring his question. you’re fluttering around him, easily taking hold of his face like you’d done to cut his hair. “your cheek’s swelling up really bad, matty, do you want some ice? i have tylenol, too.” you brush your thumb over a cut along the bridge of his nose, the area where his helmet’s visor ends. the plastic must’ve cut along his face during his fight.

matt hisses and grasps your wrists, “‘s fine, promise,” he tells you, “just wanted to see you, that’s all.” he gives you a cheeky smile, lips pursed in his classic close-lipped smile.

he pulls you into his lap, easily situating you so you’re pressed into his chest with your thighs bracketing either side of him. his warm palms spread over your back, drawing soothing circles into your frozen form.

“what’re you doing?” you whisper, hands frozen in the air and unsure of where to put them.

“jus’ relax,” matt mumbles, pressing his hurt face into the soft fabric of your hoodie. “i just missed you. it’s not cool that you ghosted me, y’know. especially since you’ve been talking with alley and steph.”

your chest squeezes at his words and you hesitantly place your hands around his shoulders, fingers pressing into the tight muscles there. “‘m sorry,” you tell him, “i was just scared.”

you can tell matt grins, feel the way the fabric at your shoulder shifts. he props his chin against it, tilting his head into your neck. his eyes focus on the screen in front of him, watching as it lets him know that it’s on auto play.

“of what?” he asks.

you swallow thickly. “this,” you say vaguely. “i’m your sister’s best friend, matt, i don’t think that you and i should be doing whatever this is; i don’t think i should feel like this for you.” your fingers wrap tighter into his back, nails digging into worn purple fabric and his skin. matt grumbles, the sound rumbling through his chest and your body.

“‘ve always felt like this,” he whispers to you, head titled so his lips brush against your ear. your stomach jumps at his proximity, at the simple words that he shares with you. “and i think you have, too.”

and, fuck, it scared you but he’s right.

ever since you’d moved in across the street from him and his family in calgary, getting easily swept up into their hockey lifestyle and playing street hockey with them—remembering the way the little green biscuit felt against your shins when he and alley would shoot too high at you and steph.

you liked matt ever since he’d replaced your crappy date who’d stood you up on prom night, leaving you in a deep blue dress on the front steps with that shitty flickering light that your parents refused to replace. matt had rummaged through his dad’s entire closet to find the perfect tie to match your dress, just to make sure you wouldn’t be left out on your prom night. it didn’t matter that he was a sophomore at the time and you were a senior; he wasn’t going to let you miss out just because some dumb guy thought it’d be funny to no call and no show.

“yeah,” you whisper and matt’s wolfish grin grows. “you’re right.”

matt pulls away from you and cups your face, rough fingers soothing over your cheekbones and bottom lip. his eyes glimmer at he takes you in, the tv light behind you casting a halo over your body. without another thought, you lean forward and crash your lips to kiss, drawing a broken groan from deep in his throat. one hand draws him closer, pressing into his nape, your mind screaming—begging—for more. your tv starts playing a new video, another ranger’s video. matt tilts his head, deepening the kiss.

and through your hazy mind, you hear the announcer.

matt rempe scores.

all photos from pinterest

[bbittersuite]

But We Dont - Matt Rempe

For my Matt Girls!!! Never posted my writing or anything but thought WHY TF NOT. So fuck it. Here you go sexy ;)

Word Count: 3380

Y/N and Matt. Its causal between them. A situationship I guess. But Matt asks the question—Is there something between us?

Warnings: Angst. Making out. Mention of sex and hooking up. Matt being SEXY. Reader being confusing (girl get ur act together) I think thats it???

Kinda editied

“What were you up to last night,” Y/N asked as she finished placing the last of her groceries into the fridge. Matt sat on her sofa like it was his sofa. Back slouched and long legs propped on the coffee table. Finger swiping up on his phone.

“Just went out with some of the guys.”

She nodded disappointingly. He didn't want to hang out with her on Valentines afterall. She couldn't be upset though. She was the one who said she didn't want a relationship. A relationship with Matt specifically. “Oh. On Valentines?”

His eyes squint under the bright white light of his phone screen before he places it face down next to him on the sofa and looks over to the kitchen. 

“Yeah?” he questions, eyes watching Y/N as she crosses her arms over her chest. Something she does when she's trying to not seem upset. Like her own shield. “I didn't think you’d want to do anything after your long shift.”

“I didn't work last night.”

“You didn't tell me.”

Y/N shrugs, feigning indifference. “Didn’t think I needed to.”

Matt watches her for a second too long, like he’s debating what to say. “You usually tell me what nights you work.”

“So?” she challenges, hating that her voice wavers. “Not like you needed to know. You had plans, right?”

Matt leans back, studying her. “Would you have wanted to do something?”

She scoffs. “Of course not”

A moment passes. “I wasn’t doing anything last night,” she admits, quieter.

His smile fades just a little. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

For a second, neither of them says anything. Then Matt picks up his phone and unlocks it. “I mean, I could take you out now. There’s gotta be some half-off Valentine’s Day chocolate left at CVS. Pick up some pizza?”

Y/N rolled her eyes. A smile formed despite the jealousy looming through her. It wasn't that he was with his friends last night or that he didn't ask her to do something on Valentines Day. 

Though that did sting a little.

It was because he was out at the bars on Valentines where only singles looking to forget their lying cheating ex or to score lucky. Either way the night would end with strangers in one of their overly priced New york apartments. 

Matt watched her, phone still in his hand but attention fully on her now. His gaze lingered, like he was waiting for her to say something else. Call him out. Ask him the question she was biting back.

She wouldn’t.

“I mean,” he continued, voice lighter now, like he was testing the waters, “If you wanted to go out so bad, you could’ve just said something. You know I would’ve taken you somewhere.”

“I didn't want to go anywhere,” she added, grabbing a glass from the cabinet to occupy her hands, despite the freshly poured water glass on the counter already. 

Matt let out a short laugh, and she heard the creak of the couch as he leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “Right.”

That one word made her freeze for half a second. It was the kind of right that meant he knew she was full of shit. The kind that sat between them like an open secret neither of them wanted to admit.

She turned, glass in hand, and shot him a look. “What?”

He smirked, slow and knowing. “Nothing.”

“Then stop looking at me like that.”

“Like what?”

Her fingers tightened around the glass. “Like—fuck, I don’t know. Just don’t.”

Matt’s smirk widened like he’d just won something. “Touchy.” He leaned back against the couch, arms stretching over the backrest, making himself comfortable—too comfortable, like he belonged there. Like this was his place, not hers. “It’s cute, though.”

Y/N scoffed, filling the glass under the tap. “Nothing about this is cute.” 

Matt hummed like he disagreed, his gaze dragging over her slowly before settling back on her face. “You sure? Because, I don’t know, you getting all worked up about where I was last night feels kinda…” He tilted his head, pretending to think. “Like a girlfriend thing.”

Y/N’s head snapped toward him. “I’m not your girlfriend.”

He grinned. “Yeah, yeah, I know.” He tapped his fingers on the couch cushion beside him. “But you sound like one.”

She wanted to move on from this conversation. Matt was already seeing her as some jealous freak when she had no reason to be jealous.

She should let it go. Change the subject. Pretend it didn’t matter.

But the image of him at some shitty bar, surrounded by girls looking for something, still clung to her like cigarette smoke.

Before she could talk herself out of it, she walked over and plopped down next to him on the couch, turning her body toward him. Her water glass was forgotten in the kitchen. “You really expect me to believe you just hung out with the guys?”

Matt raised an eyebrow, clearly amused by the sudden shift. He tilted toward her, closing the small space between them. “I don’t expect you to believe anything, sweetheart. You already made up your mind.”

God, she hated when he called her that. Hated even more that it made her stomach flip.

She rolled her eyes. “You were at a bar on Valentine’s Day, Matt.”

“So?”

“So…” she hesitated, trying to find a way to phrase it without sounding as jealous as she felt. “You weren’t exactly playing poker in someone’s basement. The only reason to be at a bar on that night is—”

“—to get laid?” Matt finished for her, lips twitching upward.

Y/N swallowed, suddenly hyper aware of how close they were sitting. On the way his arm still stretched along the back of the couch, his fingers barely brushing her shoulder.

Matt clicked his tongue, leaning in just enough that she could feel his breath against her cheek. “You really think I’d do that?”

“I don’t know.” The words came out quieter than she meant them to.

Matt exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. “That’s cute,” he murmured. “If I was looking to get laid, I wouldn’t have been at some bar.”

Y/N swallowed, pulse kicking up.

He smirked, eyes dragging over her face, slow and deliberate. “I would’ve just showed up here.”

Her breath caught in her throat.

And Matt must have noticed, because his grin turned downright dangerous. “You know,” he mused, fingers brushing against her shoulder now, light and deliberate. “If you wanted me to spend the night with you, all you had to do was ask.”

Y/N clenched her jaw, ignoring the heat creeping up her neck. “That’s not what this is about.”

“No?” He tilted his head, eyes flicking down to her lips. “Then what is it about?”

Y/N stared at him, pulse drumming in her ears.

Say it. Say it, and this whole thing changes. 

he pulled back first, standing abruptly. “I’m taking you up on that pizza.”

Matt let out a low chuckle, watching her. Not pushing. Not calling her out. He knew she didn't want to be with him like that. Anything more than what they were right now. At least that's what she told him and with each day he believed it a little less. 

He stood up, stretching lazily before grabbing his keys. “Cool,” he said, voice light again. “But just so you know—” He leaned in one last time, voice dropping to something just above a whisper. “You are cute when you’re jealous.”

And before she could try and shove his 6’7, pure musclar body. He was already heading for the door, grinning.

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

After the Rangers game and the boys taking home the win Y/n was getting into Matt’s SUV back to his apartment. 

Matt threw his hockey bag in the closet as they entered his apartment and flicked on the lights as he vanished down the hall to his room to change out of his tailored suit that made Y/N mind go crazy. 

Y/n sank down into the black sofa and turned on the tv, scrolling through netflix to find something for the two of them to watch. 

When he returned his hair was still damp from his post game shower. His black hoodie was loose around his shoulders, and his sweats hung low on his hips. He looked comfortable—too comfortable, like he hadn’t just spent the last two hours throwing himself into other people for sport.

What are we watching?” he asked, dropping onto the couch beside her, way closer than necessary. His thigh brushed against hers, the heat from his skin seeping through her tight denim.

“Dunno,” she muttered, still flipping through options. “Nothing good.”

Matt hummed, peering over her shoulder. “I say we put on something terrible, then. More fun to make fun of.”

“Like what?”

“Some shitty rom-com where the guy messes up, but the girl takes him back anyway.” He smirked, tapping a finger against her knee. “You seem like the type to eat that shit up.”

Y/N shot him a look. “Are you saying I have bad taste?”

“I’m saying you like a good redemption arc.” His voice was teasing, but something flickered in his expression—something unreadable. “Just look at me.”

She rolled her eyes and clicked on the first movie that looked decent, ignoring the way her stomach flipped at his words. Matt shifted, draping an arm over the back of the couch behind her. His fingers barely grazed the back of her shoulder, and she could feel the warmth of his touch even through the fabric of her sweatshirt.

They settled into the movie, but Y/N could barely focus. Matt was too close, and he was making no effort to keep his hands to himself. Y/N tried to ignore it, tried to focus on the screen, but then he shifted again—this time turning his head toward her, his lips just inches from her temple. “You smell good.”

She exhaled sharply. “Matt.”

“What?” He grinned, eyes dark with amusement. “Can’t give you a compliment?”

His knuckles brushed against her thigh.

Matt grinned, tilting his head slightly. “You always get this quiet when we’re sitting this close?”

Y/N scoffed. “No.”

He hummed again, fingers lightly trailing up the back of her arm. “You sure?”

She swallowed, suddenly hyper-aware of how little space there was between them. “Positive.”

Matt leaned in, his nose barely brushing against her temple. “Then why do you look nervous?”

“I’m not—” Her breath hitched as he shifted again, his arm pressing more firmly against her back.

“Good,” he murmured. “Because we’ve done this plenty of times before.”

Y/N barely had time to process his words before his hand slid to her jaw, tilting her face toward him. His lips were on hers a second later—slow at first, testing, teasing, before he deepened the kiss.

It wasn't new but it burned through her each time like it was.

Matt’s hands found her waist, pulling her onto his lap without hesitation. Y/N let out a quiet gasp against his lips, her hands bracing against his shoulders. His fingers curled into her sweatshirt, bunching the fabric slightly as his grip tightened.

“Been waiting for you to do that all night,” Matt murmured against her lips, his voice low and rough.

Y/N let out a breathy laugh, fingers sliding into his damp hair. “You could’ve done it sooner.”

Matt smirked, his hands tracing slow, deliberate circles over her hips. “Yeah, but this is more fun.”

His lips brushed against hers again, lingering, before trailing down her jaw, then lower, grazing against the sensitive skin just beneath her ear. A slow, satisfied hum vibrated from his chest when she exhaled a little too sharply.

Y/N’s hands gripped the front of his hoodie, tugging him back up to face her. “You’re in a mood tonight,” she muttered, amusement laced in her voice.

Matt leaned back against the couch, pulling her closer, forcing her to settle against him. “Can you blame me?” he murmured. “Big win tonight. Feeling good.”

“Mm,” she mused, fingertips tracing absentmindedly along the side of his neck. “So you just want a victory hookup?”

He grinned, tilting his head slightly. “Nah, I just want you.”

Y/N felt her stomach flip—an involuntary, stupid reaction she immediately pushed down. This wasn’t anything new. This wasn’t different.

But the way Matt was looking at her…

She ignored the thought, pulling him into another kiss before she could think about it too much.

His hands roamed her back, dragging slow and deliberate, fingers teasing under the hem of her sweatshirt. The movie played on, long forgotten, the distant sound of some rom-com couple arguing barely registering as Matt kissed her deeper, pressing her against him like he wasn’t planning on letting her go anytime soon.

Her hands slid under his hoodie, palms grazing over the hard ridges of his stomach, still warm from his post-game shower. Matt let out a quiet groan against her lips, one of his hands tangling in her hair as he tilted her head to kiss her harder.

Y/N barely noticed when he shifted, pressing her back against the couch cushions, hovering over her now. Matt’s fingers traced slow patterns along her back. His other hand lifted, thumb brushing against her bottom lip, pressing down just slightly.

Y/N’s breath hitched. Her lips parted instinctively, and Matt’s gaze flickered down, eyes dark. Hungry. 

“You’re staring,” she muttered, trying to sound unaffected, but the way her voice wavered completely betrayed her.

Matt smirked. “Yeah?”

With that Y/n leaded back in. The moment her lips met his again, Matt groaned softly, his grip tightening at her waist like he needed her closer. His fingers stayed under her sweatshirt, tracing over the bare skin of her lower back, slow and deliberate, like he wanted to take his time, like he was enjoying the way she melted into him.

Y/N’s hands slid into his hair, nails scratching lightly against his scalp, and Matt’s response was immediate. His body pressing into hers in a way that made it impossible to ignore just how much he wanted this.

She gasped against his lips, and Matt chuckled, low and satisfied. “You always get this needy when I touch you?”

Y/N scowled, shoving at his chest—not enough to push him off, just enough to prove a point. “You always talk this much when we’re making out?”

His lips moved to her jaw, down her neck, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses against her skin. She could feel him smirking against her when she tipped her head back slightly, giving him more access.

Y/N exhaled sharply, nails digging into his shoulders. The warmth of his hands, the weight of him against her—it was all too much and not enough at the same time.

“Matt.” Her voice came out breathless, almost desperate, and when she met his gaze again, the cocky glint in his eyes told her he knew exactly what he was doing to her.

He raised a brow, fingers tracing down her side, slow and teasing. “Yeah?”

“Take me to your room.”

Then, in one fluid motion, he scooped her up from the couch, making her squeal as he carried her down the hall, his lips already on hers before they even reached the door.

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

Come over. I’ll make dinner.

When she gets to his place, Matt’s already in the kitchen, moving around like he actually knows what he’s doing. There’s a pan sizzling on the stove, the scent of garlic and butter filling the air.

She leans against the counter, watching him. “Since when do you cook?”

He glances over his shoulder, smirking. “I can make, like, three things. You’re getting one of them.”

They eat at the small kitchen table. Like friends. It's normal. Its always been easy for Matt and Y/n.

After, They curl up on the couch, a blanket draped over them, his arm resting around her shoulders. The movie is something they’ve both seen a hundred times, but neither of them is really watching. They've never made it through a movie without getting tangled up in one another. 

His fingers trace lazy circles on her shoulder, absentminded, like he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it.

She does.

Her head rests against his chest, listening to his heartbeat, steady and slow. She could fall asleep like this.

“Can I ask you something?” he says breaking the sound in the room.

Y/n shifts away from his chest, sitting up to be at eye height with him. 

His hand slides from her shoulder, falling to her waist, his fingers dragging against the fabric of her shirt.

The air between them stretches, thick and weighted.

Neither of them speak.

They just look at each other.

His gaze flickers between her eyes and her lips, something hesitant, something aching.

Her fingers twitch against the couch, resisting the urge to reach for him. To pull him back in. To press her mouth against his.

He doesn’t laugh. Doesn't tease. Just watches her, the weight of his hand still resting against her hip. “Is there something between us?”

Her eyes grow. “What do you mean Matt?” Asking like she didn't know what he meant. Y/N didn't need more clarification.

Matt exhales through his nose, his jaw tightening. “You know what I mean.”

His fingers press slightly into her waist, grounding himself, waiting. His eyes search hers, looking for something—anything—that tells him he’s not crazy for feeling the way he does.

She can feel her pulse in her throat, in her wrists, in every place he’s touching her.

But she doesn’t answer.

Matt’s hand twitches against her hip, his patience thinning. “Y/N/N.” His voice is softer this time, but no less certain. “Just tell me the truth.”

The truth.

She knows it. She feels it.

But the weight of admitting it—of owning it—lodges in her chest, heavy and suffocating.

So she lies.

“There’s nothing.”

His expression flickers, something breaking just beneath the surface.

His hand slips from her waist, resting on his lap as he nods slowly. Like he’s letting the words settle, like he’s accepting them.

Like he’s letting her go.

Y/N swallows against the tightness in her throat. “Matt, I—”

But he doesn’t let her finish. Instead, he leans in, capturing her mouth in his.

It’s not gentle. It’s not slow. It’s desperate, almost punishing, his hands finding her waist again, gripping harder this time.

She lets herself fall into it. Forgets the words that just left her mouth. Forgets why she said them at all. Because she didn't mean them. Not even deep down. She knew she was lying to Matt. Lying to herself. 

His hands slide up her sides, his lips moving against hers with a kind of urgency she’s never felt from him before.

She should stop.

She should fix this.

But she doesn’t. Because this is easier.

It’s easier to let him kiss her like this, to let him touch her, to let him pull her back into the only version of them that’s ever made sense. It’s easier than telling the truth.

But then—Matt pulls away.

Y/N blinks, dazed, breathing uneven. “What—”

His hands drop from her waist, running through his hair. He exhales sharply, his chest rising and falling.

“I can’t do this anymore.”

Her stomach twists. “Matt—”

He shakes his head. “I mean it, Y/N/N. I can’t.”

She stares at him, waiting for him to take it back. But he doesn’t.

Instead, he stands, running a hand down his face before nodding toward the door. “You should go.”

It’s a command, but his voice is quiet. Worn.

Y/N swallows, waiting for him to stop her, to say anything that would make this feel less final. But he doesn’t.

So she grabs her bag, moving toward the door, fingers trembling as she wraps them around the handle.

She hesitates. Turning back, just once.

Matt is still sitting there, eyes drilling holes into his hands as they stay in his lap. He doesn't stop her. He doesn't take back what he said. She doesn't tell him how she really feels. That there is something between them. That she loves him. But she doesn't.

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

Thanks for Reading!!!!!

[leaentries]

WORLD OF FIRSTS - MATT REMPE

SYNOPSIS: matt wants his girls first time to be perfect

WARNINGS: swearing, sexual content, fingering, p in v, unprotected sex (pulling out), taking virginity, incredibly sappy matt, he’s just a big ball of love, not proofread

WORDCOUNT: 2.96k+

You took a deep breath, staring at your reflection in the mirror. Eyes alighted with fresh mascara and cheeks adorned with blush; you were ready for the night. You knew what was coming, yet the nerves still boiled inside your belly. Matt was nothing but courteous toward you, never pressuring you into anything. He promised he wouldn’t ask until you brought it up.

What is “it” one may ask? Sex.

You had never planned to end up a twenty-old-virgin, yet here you are.

It’s not for the lack of opportunities, not in the slightest. Sure, you’ve had the offers of hookups or one night stands with random men from the bar, but that just wasn’t your style. You weren’t holding out for marriage, per se, but you did prefer to wait until you felt it was the right time. In all honestly, it started to feel like that day would never come. At least, until you met Matt.

You had met Matt after securing a position on the Ranger’s media team, inevitably catching the eye of the 6’8 hockey player. His once confident demeanor was dwindled down to a blubbering mess the second you talked to him. Poor boy, don’t judge his size and skill on the ice, he was still just a kid who was head over heels for a girl.

Once he finally mustered up the courage to ask you out, it only progressed from there. You could hardly keep your hands off each other, taking to exploring other aspects of one another’s bodies. The first time things got a little too heated, you managed to break away and explain things to Matt. He clung to your every word, noticing the way you anxiously fiddled with your fingers.

Being the respectful guy that he is, he nodded understandingly, reassuring you that it was okay. He even pinky promised you that whenever you decided to go all the way, he would make it the most romantic experience you could dream of. And, he definitely tried his best.

You walked into his apartment on that clear Thursday night, only to be met with candles, all of your favorite scent, lit around almost every room in the place. Your eyes widened at the effort he clearly put in for tonight, not truly expecting it.

You turned to face your boyfriend, who stood biting his lip nervously, “Matty..” You cooed.

He walked up to you, wrapping his arms around your waist, “I promised you I’d make it special.” He quirked his head to side amusingly, “You know I can’t break a pinky promise.”

You smiled up at him, finally being able to take in his attire. His soft grey hoodie hung loosely over the black sweatpants that adorned his muscular legs. Matt’s hair was tousled, clear evidence of his hands carding through the brunette locks in his worried state. You could practically feel your heat melting with the warm drips of love that filled every fiber of your being.

His eyes raked down your body, adam’s apple bobbing roughly as his gaze lingered on your breasts a tad longer than considered polite. The rise and fall of your chest began to increase as his hands trailed under your shirt. Matt’s thumbs rubbed soothing circles against your bare sides.

“We don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to, baby.”

His reassurance brought an extra blanket of comfort, but also even more solidity that he was the right one.

You shook your head lightly, “No, I want to. I want to do this with you.” You tilted your head up more, now fully looking him in the eyes, “I trust you, Matty.”

He leaned down, taking your lips into a soft kiss. Although it was gentle and sweet, it conveyed how much care Matt had for you. All of the unspeakable things and unsaid words were passed through this simple kiss.

Your hands moved to grip his biceps as his tongue slipped delicately into your mouth. His hands pulled your hips closer to his, a small gasp leaving your mouth as his hardening bulge pressed into your soft tummy. He took the opportunity to lick at your teeth, a low groan leaving his chest. Matt finally pulled away, eliciting a whine of protest on your end.

He chuckled lovingly, “Don’t worry, baby. Just wanna take you to the bedroom first.”

You nodded, swallowing nervously. Matt intertwined your hand with his, leading you through the apartment to the main bedroom. Upon entering, you felt your breath hitch in your throat. There were more candles, except this time they were accompanied by slightly crumpled rose petals that had been haphazardly thrown about the bed and hardwood around it.

It rendered you speechless.

Matt’s eyes scanned your face, still not fully convinced everything was good enough for you, “I’m sorry.”

Your eyes darted towards him.

“I-it’s not how I envisioned everything, the roses weren’t in season apparently, and the vanilla candles were all I could find at the store to match. I should have tried harder or-”

You cut him off, “It’s perfect.” You reached for his fingers, pulling his body into yours, “It couldn’t be more perfect.”

A conflicted sigh left his mouth, his bottom lip swollen from the anxious biting. You lifted your arm up to cradle his face, “I promise,” You forced him to lock pinkies with your other hand, “I pinky promise.” You reiterated.

His eyes searched yours for any discomfort or hesitation. You gently pulled his face down into a confirming kiss. You let your hand fall from his face, fingers cascading down the tense muscles of his chest and abdomen. You tugged on the bottom of his hoodie, signaling that you wanted it off.

Matt smirked as he pulled away, “I figured I’d be the one undressing you first.”

You smiled, kicking his foot lightly in retaliation, “Well, since somebody won’t take charge, clearly I’m gonna have to.”

With this, something darkened in Matt’s eyes, his smirk only growing. He quickly discarded the unwanted material, revealing his toned torso. You immediately reached out to run your fingers through the dips and divots of his stomach. His skin was warm against your fingertips, the muscle smooth under your touch. He watched your hands move, stomach tensing as you brushed over sensitive areas.

He grabbed your hand softly, just as you reached the waistband of his sweats. He brought your hand to his lips, placing a kiss on each fingertip, “So” on your thumb, “eager,” on your index finger, then following with the last three, leaving a lingering kiss on your pinky. Your breath picked up as he trailed his kisses down your palm, sucking gently on the pulse point in your wrist.

“Matt,” You sighed, the pressure building between your thighs becoming overbearing. The room’s temperature seemed to rise with each kiss he laid upon your skin, igniting tiny fires in every vein. You could practically feel the desire pounding in your ears.

Matt leaned down further as he stuck his nose into your neck and jaw, burying his face there for a moment. You brought a hand up, tangling it in the hair at the nape of his neck. The locks were soft between your fingers and you tugged lightly. His mouth started to suck teasing kisses and red blotches into the supple skin causing you to deliver a harder tug on his hair. Matt let out a loud groan, and with panic, you let go.

“I’m sorry, Matty,” You brought his head up, “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

He just laughed, “Hurt me? Baby, you couldn’t hurt me if you tried.” He took your hand, placing it back in its previous position, “And, for the record, I was into it.”

Your cheeks burned at his confession, but you believed him, especially with the evidence straining against the material of his pants. Matt resumed his attack on your neck, only this time he worked his way down until he was met with the collar of your shirt.

His hands hesitated for a moment at hem, his eyes looked to yours before moving forward. You nodded, giving him the consent. He gently pulled the shirt over your head, tossing it somewhere on the floor. His eyes immediately drifted to your breasts, his tongue darting out to wet his lips.

"Go lay on the bed," Matt rasped.

Not wasting time, you quickly crawled on the bed, leaning against the soft pillows. Matt kneeled down on the mattress, body coming to slot in between your legs. His calloused hands rested on your thighs, running seductive patterns into the plushy skin.

"So pretty like this," He panted through his need, "All laid out just f'me."

You whined, hips bucking with a mind of their own. The deep carnal desire was becoming too much, the new ache of want echoed through your bones. You shook with anticipation.

"Please, Matty," You begged, "Need you so bad."

"Use your words, pretty girl," He encouraged, "Tell me what you want."

You huffed with embarrassment, not yet used to having to voice your needs. Matt watched you closely, enjoying the flustered look on your face.

"I need you," You managed.

He tsked, "Gotta tell me exactly what you need, baby. Wanna give you what you want."

You swallowed the whine that bubbled in your throat, barely managing out your words, “Need you to touch me.” You grabbed his hand and placed it between your legs, “Need you to touch me here.”

“Fuck,” Matt mumbled under his breath. The feeling of your wet cunt through the fabric of your leggings was enough to have his cock weeping. He leaned down to kiss up your stomach, making sure to give the tops of your breasts attention. By the time he reached your lips, you practically inhaled him. You were desperate for him, and your body’s response betrayed any attempt to cover it up.

Matt’s hand snaked behind your back, fumbling with your bra clasp, his brows furrowed as he tried to focus on kissing you and unhooking it at the same time. Not breaking the kiss, you sit up slightly, reaching behind you to help him out. The second the hook popped off, Matt eagerly discarded the item. His breath stopped as he took in your breasts. Even though this wasn’t the first time he’d seen them, they never failed to make his stomach swirl and his cock throb.

His head dipped down to take a nipple into his mouth, tongue circling the peaked bud. Your head fell back against the pillow as you arched your back, pushing your tits further into his mouth. A load moan escaped your throat as he bit down gently.

“Fuck,” You panted, “Matty, need more.”

He smirked against you, fingers treading down to hook themselves on the waistband of your leggings. He sat up on his knees, before looking to you for permission. You nodded eagerly, the fiery desperation for him greater than anything you had ever felt. He slowly pulled them down, tapping your thigh lightly in order for you to lift your hips. Matt helped thread your ankles through, tossing the material with the rest of your discarded clothes.

Your legs instinctively fell apart, putting your glistening cunt on display for him. Matt could have sworn he’d cum in his pants right then and there. He sat for a moment, taking in your body. He took note of every curve, mark, and scar that littered your skin. He wanted to remember them forever.

Becoming impatient, you tugged at his drawstrings, “Don’t just stare. Want you inside of me.”

His body immediately fell to trap yours, his lips so close you could feel them as he spoke, “Can’t say things like that, baby. Or else this gonna be over far sooner than we’d like.”

He pressed one more searing kiss to your lips before dropping a hand between your bodies.

“Gotta stretch you out, okay?”

You nodded, wanting nothing more than for him to touch you where you needed him most.

His hand brushed against your clit, making you jolt with pleasure. Matt prodded at your entrance with his middle finger, before slowly slipping the digit into your slick walls. He quickly found a steady rhythm, your arousal seeping onto the bed sheets.

You bucked your hips as the pleasure coursed through your body. Matt took this as a sign to add another finger. He continued to work you up, gently adding a third. As soon as he sped up his fingers, you ground yourself down against the heel of his palm, the stimulation almost sending you over the edge.

"Matty," You cooed, "M' gonna cum."

And just as you began to ride to that peak, Matt removed his fingers. You almost let out a whine of protest, but the sight of him sucking your essence off his fingers had your soaked pussy clenching around nothing. Matt lifted himself above you once more, holding up his weight.

"You ready, pretty girl?" He asked, "We can always stop and watch a movie if you'd rather do that. I won't care, I promise."

You looked him dead in the eyes, "Matthew, I mean this in the most loving way, but please just shut up and fuck me."

He laughed as he took your lips into a hot fight of tongues and teeth, he mumbled against your lips, "I love you, woman." With that, he sat up and quickly threw off his sweats and boxers in one go. His cock slapped proudly against his abdomen, drops of pre-cum already seeping from his swollen tip.

He aligned himself, before slowly starting to inch his way in. Matt watched your face intensely, watching for any signs of you wanting to stop. You let out a gasp, the initial pain catching you off guard.

Matt leaned down to plant kisses all over your face as he eased himself in further, "I know, I know, baby. You're doing so good f'me." He hushed out, "Taking my cock so well."

You both let out moans as he sunk in the final couple of inches. You panted, overwhelmed by the way he split you open.

"You doin' okay?" He managed through gritted teeth. The tight grip your cunt had around his cock was almost too much for him to deal with.

You nodded, the dull pain finally fading away into need, "You can move."

He swallowed harshly, before pulling out gently and sheathing himself back in fully. Matt did this a few more times, or at least until he had a reign on his hormones. The feeling of being buried inside of you had his mind in a frenzy, wanting nothing more than to fuck you until you couldn't remember your own name. But he knew there would be time for that later, right now was all about you.

Matt reached up to intertwine your hands, his thrusts slowly getting faster and harder. You moaned loudly as the tip of his cock nestled so deliciously against your g-spot. Waves of pleasure surged through every sense you had, until all you could focus on was him. He intoxicated everything. There was only him.

Low groans left Matt’s mouth, his heavy breathing picking up as he tilted his hips in order to reach deeper into you. Your jaw fell slack, your grip on his hand tightening with the intense pressure in your lower belly. It spread from the tips of toes all the way to the tops of your ears, consuming you completely until the only thing still holding you to earth was Matt. His groans turned into breathy whines as he neared his peak, but he was determined to have you finish first.

Matt snaked a hand down your body, to rub sloppy circles on your clit. The added stimulation had your eyes rolling back and a loud cry leaving your mouth.

“Come on, pretty girl. That’s it, cum all over my cock.”

The sounds of his hips slapping against yours, paired with his encouragement finally broke the knot that had been tightening in your gut. Your moan fell silent as the force of your orgasm hit you like a truck. Blinding white pleasure danced through your body, your pussy spasming rapidly around Matt’s cock. Just your facial expressions alone were enough to send him toppling over that edge as well, his cock twitching as he quickly pulled out. He stroked his cock until ropes of white painted your stomach and chest, the warm liquid dripping down your tits.

Matt’s chest heaved as he fell beside you, rubbing soothing patterns into your hair. He whispers sweet nothings to you as you slowly came back to reality. You tilted your head to look up at him, smiling softly.

He placed a sweet kiss on your head, “There’s those beautiful eyes,” Matt cradled your face with one of his large hands, “You feeling okay? I wasn’t too rough was I?”

You shook your head, “No, everything was perfect. You were perfect, Matty.”

He smiled lovingly at you, eyes looking at you as if you’d hung the moon. He placed another kiss on your temple, before getting up and grabbing a towel to clean you off. Once his spent had been wiped off of you completely, you grabbed his wrist, tugging him back down to lay with you.

“Baby,” He laughed, “We gotta get you in the shower so I can clean you off.”

You groaned in displeasure, “In a minute, just wanna cuddle with you first. Want you to hold me.”

He fell into place behind you, pulling your body snugly against his, “If I ever say no to holding you, you have my full permission to kill me on the spot.”

You just grinned, burying yourself further into his warm body.

[ilovemilestellersmoustache]

The Party Planner

Matt Rempe x Reader

Summary: Trevor, Jack, and Luke learn they probably should knock before surprising people for their birthday…

Word Count: 2K

A/N: Gonna make this a series abt her being a lowk nepo baby

Y/N’s life had always revolved around hockey. As the daughter of a star defenseman from the ’90s, her childhood was filled with rink-side memories, locker room laughs, and endless conversations about the game. Her dad had gone to university with Ellen and even played on the Mens National Team when Ellen played for the womens. With that remaining close especially when she married Jim. They all remained close with him. Because of that, Y/N grew up with the Hughes brothers—Jack, Quinn, and Luke—feeling more like family than friends.

As she got older, Y/N’s life diverged from the rink. She found fame as an actress, rising through the ranks to become a household name in Hollywood. Still, no matter how bright the spotlight got, she stayed close to her roots. Her friendships with the Hughes brothers expanded to include other NHL players like Trevor Zegras and Cole Caufield. Whether it was hanging out in the off-season or cheering them on from the stands, she was the unofficial sibling of hockey’s rising stars.

But her personal life was a little more complicated.

For the past few months, Y/N had been dating Matt Rempe, a towering enforcer with a reputation for physical play and an even bigger temper. The hockey world knew him as the guy who spent more time in the penalty box than on the ice. His aggressive playing style and frequent fights had earned him a demotion to the AHL—a fact her father and friends couldn’t overlook.

“Are you sure about him?” her dad had asked more than once, skepticism clear in his voice.

Even Jack, Luke, and Trevor had their doubts. “I mean, he’s a good guy, right?” Jack had said cautiously. “But, uh…maybe not your guy.”

Yeah, like someone who doesn’t punch people for fun,” Trevor added.

Y/N brushed off their concerns. They didn’t know Matt like she did. Sure, he had a reputation, but beneath the rough exterior was a man who was kind, funny, and fiercely protective. He treated her like gold, and that was all that mattered. Winning over her friends and family would take time, but she was willing to wait.

As her birthday approached, Y/N opted for a quiet celebration. Between work and travel, she wanted nothing more than a simple dinner with close friends. What she didn’t know was that Luke, Jack, and Trevor had cooked up a plan to surprise her.

Trevor stood in the aisle of a party supply store, holding up a pack of balloons. “I’m telling you, this is the move. We sneak into her place, decorate, and when she gets home—bam! Surprise party.”

Luke raised an eyebrow. “How do we know she’s not there?”

“She told me she was filming or something,” Jack said, tossing a bag of confetti into the cart. “We’ll be in and out. Easy.”

An hour later, armed with decorations and a cake, the trio let themselves into Y/N’s apartment. Trevor insisted on carrying the cake, while Jack and Luke carried the rest.

“She’s gonna love this,” Trevor said, plopping the cake box onto the kitchen counter.

Jack grinned. “Yeah, if we don’t screw it up.”

The three quickly got to work. Jack wrestled with an oversized banner that read HAPPY BIRTHDAY, trying to hang it over the living room window. Trevor blew up balloons, complaining about the lack of a helium tank, while Luke meticulously set up confetti-filled balloons around the coffee table.

“This is looking pretty good,” Luke said, stepping back to admire their handiwork.

“Where do you want the cake?” Trevor asked, balancing it precariously on one hand.

“Counter,” Jack mumbled, still wrestling with the banner. “Let’s finish before she gets home.”

“She’s not home,” Trevor said confidently, grabbing a balloon to blow up.

But he was wrong.

Y/N was home, and she wasn’t alone.

In her bedroom, she and Matt had spent the morning together, enjoying a rare, quiet day off. They’d slept in, laughed over shared jokes, and gotten caught up in each other in a way that made the rest of the world fade into the background.

Matt leaned back against the headboard, a lazy grin on his face. “So, part one of your birthday present?”

“Can it be presented with people around? Or is this a private one” Y/N replied, running a hand through his tousled hair.

“Definitely just us, might give your dad a heartattack” Matt teased, pulling her closer. “Come here”

She rolled her eyes but couldn’t help smiling. They leaned in for another kiss creating explicit faint sounds of muffled noises through the apartment.

Out in the living room, Trevor froze mid-step. “Wait. Did you hear that?”

Jack, teetering on a chair, glanced over his shoulder. “Hear what?”

Trevor held up a hand, signaling for silence. All three of them stilled, ears straining. From down the hallway came the faint sound of moans—deep and unmistakably male and female.

Luke’s face turned bright red. “Oh my.”

“No way,” Trevor whispered, a grin spreading across his face.

Jack hopped down from the chair, his expression one of sheer panic. “It’s not what you think. Maybe she left the TV on.”

Another sound—this time softer, followed by an unmistakable thud—left no room for doubt.

“Oh, this is gold,” Trevor whispered, clutching the edge of the couch for support.

Luke groaned, burying his face in his hands. “We have to leave. Right now.”

“Agreed,” Jack said, already gathering their decorations. “Pack it up. Let’s go.”

Trevor, however, lingered. “Guys. We could just—”

“Nope,” Jack snapped, grabbing Trevor by the arm. “We’re leaving. Now.”

As they scrambled for the door, another sound—one that they really didn’t want to identify—echoed from the bedroom.

“Call Quinn,” Luke muttered as they fled into the hallway. “Call Quinn right now.”

Quinn answered on the second ring. “What’s up?”

Trevor’s voice came through in a near-shout. “You’ll never guess what just happened!”

“What did you do now?” Quinn asked, sounding suspicious.

“We didn’t do anything!” Trevor insisted. “But we went to surprise Y/N for her birthday, and, uh…”

Jack snatched the phone. “We heard them! Her and Matt. Going at it like rabbits.”

“What?!” Quinn sounded half-amused, half-horrified.

Luke’s groan was audible in the background. “It was so bad. I don’t think I’ll ever recover.”

Trevor took the phone back, grinning. “Quinn, I’m telling you. I’m traumatized, but it was also hilarious.”

“You guys are idiots,” Quinn said, though there was laughter in his voice. “Please tell me you didn’t say anything.”

“We ran out of there so fast, they probably didn’t even know we were there,” Trevor assured him.

“Good,” Quinn said. “Because if Y/N finds out, she’s going to kill you.”

Later that day, Cole joined the group call, his laugh echoing through the line as they recounted the story.

“She’s going to find out eventually,” Cole said, wiping tears of laughter from his eyes. “You guys are the worst.”

Jack groaned. “Don’t remind me.”

Meanwhile, back in her apartment, Y/N had no idea what had just transpired—or the chaos that her well-meaning friends had unleashed.

Weeks after her birthday, Y/N found herself seated in a sleek studio alongside Jack, Trevor and Jamie Drysdale, appearing on Instagram live. The atmosphere was casual and lighthearted, the kind of energy Trevor thrived on—and the kind that made Y/N suspicious of what he might say.

Jamie leaned forward with a grin. “So, Y/N, how was your birthday? Heard stuff happened but I’ve been so busy can’t believe I missed it.”

Y/N smiled warmly, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “It was great, honestly. Very low-key. Just how I like it.”

Trevor, sitting to her left, suddenly perked up, a mischievous glint in his eye. “Not that low-key,” he muttered, loud enough for everyone to hear.

Jack immediately groaned and slumped in his chair. “Trevor, no.”

“What?” Trevor said innocently, spreading his hands. “It’s a funny story!”

Jamie’s grin widened. “Oh, I need to hear this. What happened?”

Y/N shot Trevor a warning glance, but he was already leaning into the phone, fully committed to his role as the ultimate pot-stirrer.

“So,” Trevor began dramatically, “we thought it would be a good idea to surprise Y/N for her birthday. You know, being the amazing friends we are. Balloons, banners, cake—the works. We figured we’d sneak into her apartment and have it all ready for when she got back.”

Y/N shook her head, already sensing where this was going. “Trevor…”

Trevor ignored her. “The thing is, we didn’t realize she was home—and, uh, she wasn’t alone.”

Jamie burst out laughing. “You’re kidding!”

“Oh, yeah,” Trevor continued, grinning ear to ear. “We’re mid-decorating—Luke’s got balloons, Jack’s fighting with a banner—and then we hear…” He paused for dramatic effect, lowering his voice. “Let’s just say we heard things.”

The studio erupted in laughter. Jack buried his face in his hands, muttering, “I told him not to tell this story.”

Trevor was on a roll now. “We froze, completely starstruck. Like, ‘Is that Matt?’ And sure enough…” He trailed off, smirking at Y/N.

Y/N, her face a mix of embarrassment and exasperation, finally spoke up. “Are you serious right now?” She turned to Jamie. “This is Trevor’s favorite pastime—making up ridiculous stories to embarrass me.”

Trevor looked affronted. “Making up? Oh, no, this is 100% real. Ask Luke!”

Y/N rolled her eyes. “I’m telling you, it’s not true. Matt and I would never—” She gestured sarcastically and vaguely, clearly trying to keep the conversation from getting too graphic. “This is pure fabrication.”

Jamie leaned in, still laughing. “So you’re saying you weren’t home?”

“I was home,” Y/N admitted, her voice calm but firm. “But Trevor has a very active imagination. Matt and I were for sure watching a movie in the bedroom.”

Jack, seeing an opportunity to back her up, jumped in. “Yeah, I mean…we didn’t actually see anything. We just heard…stuff. Could’ve been the TV.”

Trevor groaned. “Don’t cover for her! You know what we heard.”

Y/N crossed her arms, leaning back in her chair. “Oh, please, Trevor. You probably heard muffled sounds and immediately jumped to conclusions. Matt and I were watching a crime thriller.”

Trevor shrugged, clearly enjoying himself. “Hey, if the shoe fits.”

Jamie laughed so hard he had to wipe his eyes. “This might be my favorite story of all time.”

Y/N sighed, half-laughing despite herself. “I can’t believe I’m defending my perfectly pg 13 relationship on live.”

“You’re welcome,” Trevor said smugly.

Jack chimed in, trying to steer the conversation away from further disaster. “Honestly, the best part is how fast we ran out of there. Luke didn’t even look back. We just left everything—balloons, streamers, the whole setup. It’s probably still there.”

Y/N groaned, burying her face in her hands. “You guys are unbelievable.”

Jamie grinned. “Well, whether it’s true or not, it sounds like Y/N’s birthday was very memorable.”

Trevor gave a mock toast to the phone. “To Y/N and Matt—congrats on keeping things…entertaining.”

Y/N gave him a playful shove, laughing despite her embarrassment. “Next time, maybe knock before you decide to play party planner.”

As the live wrapped, Y/N couldn’t help but shake her head. She might never live this down, but at least life with these guys was never boring.

[yeyinde]

nothing will ever top a good bait and switch—especially when it's saviour to abductor.

like getting lost in a national park and getting "saved" by big, burly Park Ranger John Price who got the alert and braved the elements to find you. and you're so happy to see him, stuttering out a hushed thanks as he slips his jacket over your shoulders, and leads you to the safety of his truck. tells you he'll bring you to the police station in town, and you believe him. of course you do. you have no reason to mistrust the ranger who rescued you—even if SARs are usually more involved than a one-man team, but. at least you're not left to the elements, right? and he'll get you home.

only he doesn't stop. he keeps going. all the way to his house where he has everything you'll ever need waiting for you because you had the utter misfortune of catching his eye when you doodled a little smiley face next to your name in the sign-in sheet at the visitors centre.

they always said he needed to retire with a nice family of his own. he figures now is the best time to get on that.

[cuteandhughesy]

Could you do a Matt Rempe fic where the reader basically just climbs him like a tree so she can look him in the eye? Full koala so she can examine his face (maybe he got his tin the face, maybe the reader just wanted to take a closer look at him).

here’s a lil blurb for this bc it’s too cute to not share - xo jules

“matt,” you call your boyfriends name lightly, knife slicing through one of the freshly peeled carrots for some chicken soup—the perfect meal for a cold new york afternoon. “can you come here for a minute?”

soon after you hear matt’s socked feet padding down the small hallway of your apartment, and he rounds into the kitchen knook with a small grin on his face. the rangers have an off day, which means you get the entire day with your boyfriend—between games and him getting sent down to the wolfpack, off days seems like a rarity.

he walks up behind you, wrapping his strong forearm around your waist and tugging you back until you’re flush with his stomach. matt had been thumbing through emails on your bed when you called for him, and spending time with you always beats reading ridiculous bills and sorting through work stuff.

“what’s up?” he questions, fingers flexing on your waist.

you tilt your head back, so far back it feels like your neck is breaking—because even though you’re not that short, matt is that tall. which don’t get me wrong, you love his height. it’s sexy and makes you feel constantly safe and secure, but when it comes to things like looking him in the eye…his height drives you bonkers.

“can you grab the container of seasoning from the top shelf? my brother put it up there when he was here last, and now I can’t reach it.” you ask, looking away from your boyfriend in favour of cubing the carrot sticks. “we can’t have soup without flavour. then it’s just vegetable water.”

the face you pull has matt barking a laugh, already releasing his hold on you to grab the tupperware container you shove full with packets of seasoning. he gently places it beside your cutting board, “you’re right—that’s a disgrace.”

you hum in agreement, scooping the carrots into you palms before adding them to your oversized pot—sitting ready on the stove top. you turn back around and begin stifling through the seasonings. “oregano, coriander, garlic powder, dried parsley…” you trail off, eyes flickering up to matt’s. “what do you want in there?”

he hums in thought, big arms crossing over his insanely broad chest as his head tilts back. you fight the urge to groan, wanting nothing more than to see his face. you drop the packets, and before you can think logically, you begin hiking up your boyfriend.

matt’s eyes widen, shooting down as you wrap your arms around his neck, using the leverage to haul your legs around his hips. instinctively his hands come to rest on your ass, keeping you tight against his torso.

you blink like nothing has changed in the past thirty seconds. you’re so close that your noses brush, and he can smell your floral perfume like you’ve just put it on. matt quirks an eyebrow, a smirk sliding up his mouth. “you okay babe?”

nodding, your thighs clench around his body. “yeah, just wanted to see your face better.”

he nods absentmindedly, eyes flickering down to your soft lips like he can’t help himself—and soon enough he’s leaning in, pressing a gentle kiss to your mouth.

after that day it seems like you’d be climbing hin more often that not—not that matt’s complaining by any means. he can’t help but grow a little giddy when he gets cut in the face or has bags under his eyes, because matt knows you’ll be climbing up his large body to get a closer look…and who is he to deny you of that?

[aviscarrentals]

hughes brothers x sister!reader

<<previous next(coming soon!)>>

tw: luke being smart

lukey

remps

lukey

taglist: @nic0-hischier @paladin--strait @chiblackhawks @ccomandercody @13hischiers @jsjcue @yourmomstinks @unknownlullaby @dancerbailey3 @hufflepanda221b @icarusthefoolish @l3thal-l0lita

[ilyasorokinn]

no matter what , matt rempe

note, the olympics were literally last year, but who cares? I'm finally getting to all my drafts. give me a round of applause. n e ways, we've all seen that video of that pole vaulter from the olympics running into the stands, so this is inspired by that, and also dansby swanson talking about mal pugh being in the olympics. i've officially hopped on the matt rempe train and i kinda like it lol pair, matt rempe x reader summary, matt rempe is just so proud of his girlfriend, the olympic gold medalist. warnings, none word count, 1647 words

(gif not mine)

"I thought it'd be bigger in person."

"Matt." You sighed, looking over at him, raising a brow.

"Seriously!" He insisted, "Didn't you think the Eiffel Tower would be bigger?" He gestured to the giant monument in front of you.

"Whatever." You rolled your eyes, "Let me get my customary Eiffel Tower picture, then I'll take one of you, and both of our mothers will be happy." You handed him your phone.

He returned your phone before standing in front of the tower, as still as a statue, "Matt." You sighed, dropping the phone exasperated, "You look like I'm holding you captive."

"You kind of are." He joked.

"Just smile." You narrowed your eyes at him, smiling when he smiled, albeit a rather forced-looking one, but it was still a smile, "See? That wasn't so hard." You patted him on the shoulder.

-

Regardless of where Matt was in the crowd, you could easily spot him in every race. It could have been the fact that he was loudly and proudly wearing a shirt with your face printed on it, or it could have been the fact that he was a giant.

Before each race, he made you promise to come over to wherever he was sitting so he could give you a little pep talk, the same way you would before each of his games. It was your ritual, and he made sure to keep the tradition alive.

"You got this!" He would tell you, "I'm so proud of you, regardless of the outcome of this game, you're still a gold medalist to me." He reached down, and you did your little handshake.

For the last race, you walked out onto the track and your eyes danced through the crowd. You spotted him easily. He was sporting a shirt with your name and number on it, and also holding a giant cutout of your head.

Your parents and siblings, as well as Matt's mom and sisters, were standing next to him, holding up posters of their own, clapping and cheering when you finally locked eyes with them. You made your way over to them, a smile on your face.

"You guys are hard to miss." You joked, hopping onto the railing that was holding the crowd back from running onto the track.

"We had to show our support." Alley smiled, hugging you and squeezing your hand.

"Thank you for being here." Once you had qualified for the last race, Janice booked flights and was on the first flight to Paris, not wanting to miss anything.

"Of course! We weren't gonna miss seeing this live." Steph hugged you next before you hugged your parents.

"We're so proud of you." Your mom whispered, her eyes getting teary as you pulled away and hugged your dad.

"Thanks, guys." You smiled, before turning to Matt, "Nice head." You joked.

"This is the biggest size they had." He looked almost disappointed.

"I'm sure they thought you were crazy enough." You smiled, pushing up and wrapping your arms around his neck, "I love you." You whispered into his ear.

"I love you, too." He wrapped his arms around your waist and said it into your ear, "Now, can't believe I'm saying this, but go kick some Canada butt." He joked.

"I will." You smiled proudly which made him roll his eyes.

"Never saying that again" He shook his head with a roll of his eyes.

After saying your goodbyes, you were immediately locked in. Everyone and everything around you wasn't there. The chattered of the other athletes, the music, you couldn't even hear Matt and your family cheering.

Your coach came over, grabbing you by the shoulders and looking you in the eyes, "This is your moment, you know that right?" You nodded, "All right, you've got this. I know you do." You nodded again, "Do your thing, superstar." She patted you on the back before making her way off to the side of the track.

You got into your place in your lane, stretching one last time and trying to keep your mind clear of any distractions. You bent down, touched your toes, and waited for the final instructions to get into place.

"Runners, take your mark." The race official stated, and everyone followed his instructions, "Set..." You waited, and when you heard the gunfire, you jumped up and started running as fast as you could.

You ignored every runner around you, only focusing on getting to the other end. The noise and cheers from the crowd sounded distant in your ears as your feet pounded against the ground.

You didn't know how close anyone was behind you, but all you knew and all you cared about was the one runner in front of you. You pushed and pumped your legs fast and faster, as fast as they could go.

You passed the other girl, knowing in the back of your mind that you couldn't stop that pace. You kept going, running, attempting to keep your breathing the same, not wanting to mess anything up.

And after, what felt like a million years, the glorious banner was right there, in front of you. You ran right through it, and instantly, felt a wave of relief and glory fall on your shoulders. Suddenly, you could hear the crowd again as you fell to your knees, covering your face as your shoulders shook with sobs.

Once you gathered yourself a little, you jumped right up, and ran all the way over to the stands, jumping up onto the railing and practically jumping into Matt's open arms.

"You did it!" He cheered, his own shoulders shaking as he cried along with you.

"I did it!" You repeated back. Your family and his family all patted you on the back, cheering and clapping for you.

The entire time you were running, Matt felt like his heart was gonna beat out of his chest. Of course, he was nervous, but he wouldn't admit it to you. You had enough on your shoulders, and he didn't want to add any more pressure. Even if you hadn't won anything, he would still be proud of you.

"That's it, Y/L/N, that's it, Y/L/N!" He was shouting the whole time, cheering even louder when you passed the other girl, "There you go!" He shouted, high-fiving your dad.

When he watched you cross the line and run through the banner, your dad had to physically hold him back from hopping the barrier that was holding spectators and fans back. Other than your parents, he was cheering the loudest for you.

"I'm so proud of you, baby!" He shouted, pulling away so he could look into your eyes. You were both smiling so big, your face started to hurt. He wiped your tears, before pulling you back in for another hug.

During the medal ceremony, Matt shed even more tears, wiping his eyes as they placed the medal around your neck. He cried even harder when the Star Spangled Banner started playing, more than he had ever cried during the song before.

"Y/N..." You felt like you were on cloud 9 and were honestly confused as to how you were still standing up straight, "A bit of a rough start, but what a comeback." The interviewer boasted.

"Thank you." You smiled.

"This is your first gold medal, and I can try to imagine how it feels. Did you ever think you would get here?"

"I did. I knew it." You nodded, "Ever since I was little, you can ask my sister, she would always have to race against me. I knew, since I was a kid, I would be here. I just couldn't have imagined being a gold medalist." It still felt funny coming out of your mouth.

"Well, congratulations, Y/N. What a win!" The interviewer couldn't help but smile along with you.

"Thank you." You couldn't stop smiling

-

Well into October, Matt was still riding the high. Right after the win, there were posts from everyone, from players to wives to coaches to reporters, all of them congratulating you on your win, and posting Matt's reaction.

He wore your shirt every chance he could in media or even walking into the rink. He was so beyond proud of you and wanted everyone to know it.

He, of course, knew the questions he was going to get during media were going to be related to you in some way shape, or form. After all, you were an Olympic Gold Medalist.

"Matt, I think many other people in here are just wondering, what was it like watching Y/N cross that finish line?" At the mention of your name, Matt immediately started smiling, and he couldn't stop.

"The feelings I felt are indescribable. Proud is an understatement. At that moment, I almost felt like I blocked everything else, and just watching her, I can't even tell you how proud I am of her."

"Even if she had lost, it wouldn't have mattered to me because she was always a winner in my eyes. But now the whole world knows it. I'm just honored to have been by her side." The entire time, the smile didn't fall from his face.

Matt got home later that day, announcing himself as he did, "In the living room!" You called back.

He left his stuff in the entryway before making his way into the living room. He smiled when he saw you, bending down and kissing your head, "How was your morning?"

"Not too bad," You shrugged, a smirk on your face.

"What?" He raised a brow.

"Nothing." You shook your head, "Just saw a little interview of you."

"Did you, now?" He questioned, "What was I talking about in this interview?"

"Me." You beamed, reaching over and cupping his cheek, "You kinda love me, don't you?"

"Just a little." He joked.

"I kinda do, too." You smiled, leaning in.

-

my taglist: @lam-ila @criminallysuperhamilfan13 @2manytabsopen @kolsmikaelson @bowen-power @kidlnthedark @boqvistsbabe @sc87 @iwantahockeyhimbo @cixrosie @mitch-slap

add yourself to my taglist!

[sweetdispatch]

That's my baby, she's iconic

masterlist

summary: how certain players would react on a trend to finish the lyrics "that's my baby, she's iconic" about their girlfriend

Ethan Edwards

“There’s a lyric in the new Justin Bieber song” You started. “That’s my baby, she’s iconic, iPhone case, lip gloss on it. What would you say about me?” You asked him.

“I don’t know” Ethan said. “Repeat the lyric” 

“That’s my baby, she’s iconic" You told him again. 

“And she’s an alcoholic” Ethan said and your jaw dropped. 

“Ethan, what the hell” You said a little louder. 

“You’re all the time drinking” Ethan tried to defend himself. 

“It’s summer and I deserve it” You said. “You’re no fun to play” 

“Love you too” Ethan said and kissed your cheek on what you giggled.

Nico Hischier

“There’s a lyric in the new Justin Bieber song” You started. “That’s my baby, she’s iconic, iPhone case, lip gloss on it. What would you say about me?” You asked him.

“Umm…” Nico started. “Give me a couple minutes and I’ll be back with it” 

Almost 30 minutes later, Nico returned to you. 

“I have it” Nico said proudly. “She’s so comic, it’s ironic” 

“Why ironic?” You asked him. 

“Because you’re a definition of irony” Nico said and you rolled your eyes,.

Jack Hughes

“There’s a lyric in the new Justin Bieber song” You started. “That’s my baby, she’s iconic, iPhone case, lip gloss on it. What would you say about me?” You asked him.

“That’s my baby, she’s iconic” Jack repeated. “My mind is empty, I’m passing” 

“Rude” You said and move on with your day. 

When you were laying in your bed, ready to get some sleep, Jack was in the bathroom. He was thinking about the rhymes the whole day until he came up with them. 

“Do you still want me to finish the lyrics?” Jack asked you. 

“Sure” You said. 

“That’s my baby, she’s iconic” Jack said. “She’s harmonic, love her body” Jack finished and kissed your lips. 

Luke Hughes

“There’s a lyric in the new Justin Bieber song” You started. “That’s my baby, she’s iconic, iPhone case, lip gloss on it. What would you say about me?” You asked him.

“I can’t rhyme” Luke said straight away.

“Just try” You begged him. Luke looked at you and saw your glass. 

“Drinks her tonic…” Luke paused and thought for a minute. “Drinks her tonic with a gin, I don’t know” 

“Wow, you're really bad at rhyming” You said with a laugh. Luke only rolled his eyes on you. 

“You try it, smart ass” Luke challenged you. 

“That’s my baby, he’s iconic, he’s so funny like a comic” You told him in a moment. 

“Whatever” Luke said and you laughed at his reaction.

Quinn Hughes

“There’s a lyric in the new Justin Bieber song” You started. “That’s my baby, she’s iconic, iPhone case, lip gloss on it. What would you say about me?” You asked him.

“It’s 9 am, I haven’t had my breakfast yet” Quinn said, 

“Okay mister grumpy” You said and left him alone. 

An hour later, Quinn went to the bedroom where you were getting ready for the day.

“Real love, not platonic” Quinn said. 

“What?” You asked him confused. 

“You asked me about the lyrics so I would say real love, not platonic” Quinn told you and you smiled widely.

Clayton Keller

“There’s a lyric in the new Justin Bieber song” You started. “That’s my baby, she’s iconic, iPhone case, lip gloss on it. What would you say about me?” You asked him.

“How mad are you gonna get if I say something wrong?” Clayton asked you. 

“I won’t be mad at all” You told him. 

“She’s chaotic” You looked at him with wide eyes and Clayton quickly came up with the rest. “But I love it” 

“Much better” You kissed him. 

Victor Mancini

“There’s a lyric in the new Justin Bieber song” You started. “That’s my baby, she’s iconic, iPhone case, lip gloss on it. What would you say about me?” You asked him.

“Yeah, I’ll come back to you with that” Victor said and kissed your cheek. 

As promised, a couple hours later, Victor came back to you. 

“I suck at this but that’s all I have” Victor started. “She’s not blue, like a sonic” 

“But I am blue” You pointed at your blue shirt. 

“I was speaking metaphorically” Victor told you. 

"You’re adorable” You giggled. 

William Nylander

“There’s a lyric in the new Justin Bieber song” You started. “That’s my baby, she’s iconic, iPhone case, lip gloss on it. What would you say about me?” You asked him.

“Can’t move, she’s robotic” Will said proudly. 

“I can move” You fought back. 

“Baby, I saw you dancing, you can’t move. You look like a robot” Will joked.

“You’re jealous of my moves” You told him. 

“Yeah, especially when you move like a granny” Will said and you only scoffed. “Oh, I’m sorry but that’s the truth” 

“I’m not talking with you” You said trying to act like you’re mad.

Matt Rempe

“There’s a lyric in the new Justin Bieber song” You started. “That’s my baby, she’s iconic, iPhone case, lip gloss on it. What would you say about me?” You asked him.

“Oh God, I don’t know” Matt said. 

“C’mon Matt, use your head” You told nicely. Matt was thinking for a minute about it. 

“She’s symphonic like a dolphin” Matt said. 

“What?” You asked confused. 

“You know, like the memes with dolphins and the song Symphony” Matt explained to you. 

“Why?” You asked him, defeated.

“Because you love the memes and the song” Matt shrugged.

“You’re lucky I love you” You told him and heard Matt’ laugh.  

Will Smith

“There’s a lyric in the new Justin Bieber song” You started. “That’s my baby, she’s iconic, iPhone case, lip gloss on it. What would you say about me?” You asked him.

“I know this one” Will said. “I’m prepared” 

“I’m scared” You told him. 

“That’s my baby, she’s iconic, loves her tiktok, she’s so chronic” Will said proudly, like he waited for this moment. 

“I’m not chronically online if that’s what you’re trying to say” You told him. 

“I’m not the one who spends a couple hours every day watching tiktok” Will said and raised his hands in defense. 

“You’re watching the tiktoks with me Will” You told him. 

“Your phone tho” You rolled your eyes at his answer. 

[fangirlmermaid]

So This Is Love

Pairing: Matt Rempe x Fem!reader

Summary: The two of you take a trip to Disneyland, and you overdo it on your first day.

Note: I was on vacation at Disneyland when I got this idea, but I wasn't going to write it. Then I saw that Matt went to Disneyland; it felt like a sign to write it.

Warning: Fluff, lightly proofread, spelling, and punctuation errors.

(I also totally haven't watched this Broadway hat video on a loop. That's crazy.)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Matt knew the two of you went a little crazy on your first day at Disneyland, but he wasn’t sure why. You guys will be here for a week. You made Matt go to the parks as soon as they opened, and you made a schedule for opening to close.

It was an hour before the park closed, and the two of you were sitting on a bench near the Haunted Mansion, resting your aching feet. Matt was on Instagram looking at the comments on the pictures you posted of the two of you. You were tucked into Matt’s side, arms wrapped around his waist, and you buried your face into his chest.

“Baby, did you see what Alley wrote?” Matt chuckled, showing you his phone. You didn’t say anything. Matt's eyebrows knit. “Baby?” Matt called in a hushed tone, looking down so he could see your beautiful face.

Matt couldn’t help to smile, You were fast asleep; you looked so peaceful. Matt’s heart could burst. You trusted him so much that you felt safe enough to fall asleep in a public space. Matt decided that you both had enough for one day. He knew you would be upset that you missed the fireworks, but he knew that you would be too tired to enjoy them.

Matt picked you up like a koala. He threw your arms around his neck and wrapped your legs around his waist; he place one strong hand under your butt and placed his other strong hand on your back to keep you pressed against him.

He felt you stir. “Mattie?” you mumbled, your voice thick with sleep. Matt ran his finger through your hair, knowing that it would soothe you back to sleep. “I’m right here, baby. Go back to sleep,” Matt assured. Your head was buried deep into his neck, your hot breath sending shivers down his spine.

Matt got some weird looks from people as he walked past them, but he didn’t care; getting you back to the hotel room was his main priority. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Matt entered the room, he cursed under his breath that he left the lamp on. he pulled the sheets back and delicately placed you down. Very slowly but quickly removed your bra and shoes, happy that you decided not to wear makeup. He placed a soft kiss on your forehead before tucking you in.

Matt started to get himself ready for bed. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed you trying to find him. You lifted your head. “Mattie?” you voice full of sleep, your eyes squinting, trying to adjust to the light. Matt quickly threw off his shirt and shorts. “I’m right here, baby. I’m right here,” He promised, hopping into bed.

Once he pulled his blanket up, you were tucked back into him. “I’m sorry that we didn’t get to see the fireworks,” you huffed, shoving your face into his chest. Matt's heart ached; it had been a long day. Why are you beating yourself up? Matt grabbed your chin and forced you to look into his eyes; he smiled when he saw you blushing. “It’s okay, baby. There’s always tomorrow,” Matt reassured. Your heart fluttered. “Are you sure?” you wondered. Matt nodded. “I was getting tired anyway,” Matt said. It wasn’t completely true; he still had some energy in him, but he didn’t want you to feel bad.

“Let’s sleep in tomorrow so we can be awake for the fireworks,” Matt suggested. You nodded your head.

You gave Matt a chaste kiss before shoving your face into his chest. “Night, Matt. I love you,” you mumbled, placing a soft kiss onto his pec. Matt turned off the light. “I love you, baby,” Matt smiled. He placed a sweet kiss on the top of your head before drifting off to sleep.