#mt19

june 24 2024 - stanley cup final

if it weren’t for the combination of alcohol and adrenaline in your system, the pounding bass of the music blaring through the club probably would’ve hurt your ears. the ensuing headache would be a problem for tomorrow - tonight was for celebrating. you looked at the miniature plastic rat you had gripped in your hands, a souvenir you’d saved from the game, before you looked around the room.

your eyes scanned the neon lit crowd, and you separated from the other girls as your eyes landed on a familiar head of honey coloured curls.

you were bumped and hugged by the sweaty bodies of many of your friends as you walked across the miami nightclub, swiping a bottle of something expensive looking off the bar (it was on the leagues tab you hoped) on your way by until you stood in front of matthew.

“you fucking did it!” you yelled over the music, a drunken grin stretched over his face as he beamed up at you.

“we fucking did it!” he yelled back, his arms circling around your hips and pulling you into a hug, your body positioned between his legs as he sat on a chair - probably the first time he’d sat down all night. you and the rest of the panthers, as well as most of the wags and close friends, had been at the club for hours, celebrating the panthers winning the stanley cup.

he was sitting with a few of the guys, but he had tuned out their conversation the second he laid eyes on you walking over.

you and matthew had been best friends for most of your lives, and you had watched him move from calgary to florida, where he now thrived as one of the teams star players.

you’d barely seen matthew all night, letting him celebrate with his teammates while you enjoyed dancing and drinking with the other girls; you had become close with them through your affiliation with matthew and his teammate sam bennett, who you also knew from his time in calgary.

you were having almost as much fun as you imagined matthew was, finally watching him live out his dream after so many years.

“come dance with me,” you offered, pulling him by his hand with the one that wasn’t wrapped around the neck of the bottle.

“what did you find?” he asked. you held up the plastic rodent, touching it to the end of his nose as if it was kissing him.

“a rat-“

“no dumbass, that,” he laughed with a roll of his eyes, pointing to the alcohol.

“i have no idea - wanna try it?” you giggled, passing him the bottle. he removed the cap, taking a long swig from it before shrugging.

“didn’t think you were a vodka girl,” he teased, taking another sip, letting you know it couldn’t be that bad. you put the rat in the pocket of your jeans, tired of carrying it, and grabbed his arm again, your fingers wrapping around his bicep.

you pulled him away from his teammates, who didn’t seem to notice his departure, and into the mass of people dancing to the blaring music.

you danced together for a little while, slowly getting lost in the sea of people and further away from your friends.

“it’s supposed to rain tomorrow during the parade,” you said as you bounced side to side to the beat of whatever song was playing.

“it could fucking snow for all i care,” he laughed with a toothy smile. “nothing gonna stop the parade.”

“i’ll drink to that,” you agreed, and he lifted the bottle in his hand, tilting you chin up with his index finger and thumb. your eyes met his glossy ones as you let him pour the liquid into your mouth, before swallowing the liquid, the burning sensation almost unnoticeable at this point of the night.

you felt like you were floating, and before you could blink his lips were on yours. your feet moved backwards as he steered the two of you away from the crowd, and if you weren’t so wrapped up in the moment you would have been shocked that there was a remotely quiet corner of the club tonight. you were lucky he was keeping you stable with his hands on your hips or you surely would’ve tripped walking backwards this intoxicated - where he set the bottle down you weren’t sure and didn’t care.

your hands reached up and slid his hat off his head, placing it on your own before tangling your fingers in his curls, messing them up in the process.

you parted to catch your breath, the wave of dizziness in your head a reminder that you did in fact need oxygen. you blinked up at him, your face hot as you looked over his expression, perhaps for any sign of regret. he was freshly shaven, gone was the playoff beard that you secretly loved - although you hated how much older it made him look. without it he looked more like the boy you had grown up with; the boy dragged you too all his games and practices throughout highschool; who took you to prom when your date had dumped you at the last minute.

he smiled at you, adjusting his hat atop your head (like he wasn’t the one who had knocked it crooked).

“i’m so proud of you, matty,” you blurted, as if you didn’t tell him all the time.

he didn’t reply, but smiled and leaned down to kiss you again, and you pulled his body closer by the belt loops on his jeans. his fingertips dug into your hips, while your lips stumbled together drunkenly - the kiss was messy and rushed but it didn’t matter.

you broke apart at the sound of someone calling his name, and the realization that you were still in a public place full of people crashed over you like a tidal wave. oops.

“chucky, have you seen…. y/n,” carter asked, trailing of when he realized he had found you; and the situation he’d found you in.

before he could reply, matthew was dragged away by bennett and ekblad, a drink shoved in his hand before they pulled him back over to the party.

“what did you need?” you asked, suddenly feeling a lot less drunk as what had just happened sunk in.

“zoe was looking for you - she said girl emergency in the bathroom,” carter explained, scratching the back of his neck, a small smile on his face. “casey sent me to find you - they looked everywhere except the obvious place.”

with matthew.

“on it - thanks carter.” you walked off towards the ladies room before he could say anything more, pushing through the clusters of people on the dance floor until you found the rest of the girls.

“where have you been?” zoe asked as she grasped your hands in hers.

“guess,” nina laughed, pointing to the hat atop your head, a telling number 19 embroidered onto the side of it.

•

you groaned as the light streamed in through the curtains. you didn’t remember what time you’d gotten back home, in fact you didn’t remember much from last night.

well, there was a few things you couldn’t forget.

the florida panthers won the stanley cup.

and you’d sloppily made out with your best friend.

as you rolled over, trying to shield you eyes from the sunlight with your pillow, your phone began blaring the sound of your alarm.

your head pounded, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to be annoyed - it was parade day.

fighting off the exhaustion that begged you to stay in bed, you got up and took a quick shower, which helped to wake you up only slightly.

coffee and advil would be carrying you through the day you decided; and the joy of celebrating with your friends would help a bit surely.

your phone went off again, this time with a call from matthew, his picture popping up on the screen.

“hey stanley cup champion,” you answered, a smile on your face.

“i’ll never get sick of hearing that,” he replied. “where are you right now?”

“at home, where are you?” you asked, assuming correctly that he had never gone home last night.

“i’m still out with the guys, i don’t think i could sleep even if i tried,” he laughed. “i just wanted to check in since you disappeared last night. i’ll see you at the parade?” he asked.

“i wouldn’t miss it for the world,” you promised, and you meant it.

“i’ll catch you later.”

he hung up, and you dropped your phone on the bed, the lockscreen displaying a photo of matthew holding the stanley cup - you must have changed it last night. you smiled to yourself, before looking for something to wear to the parade, your eyes landing on matthew’s hat on your dresser.

•

matthew had been right, despite the literal rain on the parade, it had been a blast celebrating with the team and the fans. by evening, the partying had caught up to you, and you were starting to feel the exhaustion creeping over you.

you were sitting at a restaurant for dinner and drinks with some of the team and friends when you leaned your head on matthew’s shoulder.

“tired?” he asked softly, the other conversations almost drowning it out, and you nodded.

“come on, i’ll take you home.”

“no it’s okay, stay and celebrate, i’ll get an uber.”

“i’m ready to call it a night too, come on.”

the two of you slid out of the booth, and matthew said goodbye to a few people before leaving some cash on the table to cover both of your bills.

“thank you,” you said, grabbing his hand and walking out to his car. the drinking had slowed down enough by this point that matthew was okay to drive, and you weren’t awake enough to notice that you had passed the turn to go to your house until you felt the car stop in matthew’s driveway.

“come on sleepyhead,” he shook you gently and you blinked, getting your bearings as you recognized the familiar sight of his home.

no stranger to spending the night at each others houses, you didn’t bat an eye as you followed him inside, following him upstairs towards his room to steal clothes to wear to bed; another common occurrence.

“are we gonna talk about it?” he asked suddenly, and you paused as you dug through his dresser, finding your favourite t-shirt of his.

“you winning the cup?” you replied, not sure what else there was to say about it; it was all anyone had talked about for the last 36 hours or so; nor that you were complaining.

“the other thing,” he rolled his eyes playfully, though you couldn’t see him with your back turned.

“what other thing?” you knew damn well what he was talking about, but honestly with how much you’d both had to drink, if he didn’t remember the kiss, you wouldn’t have been surprised. maybe secretly you didn’t want to talk about it, because you didn’t know how he felt about it.

“you don’t remember?” he asked, sounding slightly hurt, and you turned to face him. you hated when he sounded upset like that.

“i remember matty. i wasn’t sure if you did, and honestly i don’t really know what to say about it,” you looked down at your feet.

“i’m sorry if i-“

“matthew, you don’t have to apologize. that’s not what i meant - “ you assured him.

“so you don’t regret it?” he said hesitantly, as if asking for clarification.

“i don’t regret it, i just…” you sat down on the end of his bed as you tried to wrap your head around things. you loved matthew, but things had never been more than platonic between you. at least you thought they had. maybe he felt more than that. maybe you did too. “do you regret it?”

“not in a million years,” he smiled with a chuckle “this doesn’t have to change anything unless you want it to.”

you thought about it again - the way he looked at you, the way his hands felt roaming your body, the feeling of his lips on yours. the way carter hadn’t looked at all surprised when he found the two of you making out.

“do you… want it to change anything?”

“are you asking if i want to kiss you again?” he asked, stepping closer so he was standing in front of you.

“i guess i am, yeah,” you decided. you had never felt nervous around matthew before, and you took a deep breath, realizing that you didn’t need to feel nervous around him now either.

“do you want-“

“you can’t answer my question with a question!” you laughed, pushing his arm gently.

“you answered mine with a question first!” he pushed you back, and you fell backwards onto the bed softly, both of you laughing as he jumped onto the bed next to you.

“i don’t want things to be weird between us,” you have a half answer, turning your head to the side to meet his eyes.

“do you really think anything could make things weird between us?” he said, his eyebrows scrunching together sceptically, a playful tone in his voice.

“no,” you smiled. he would always be your best friend, nothing could change that.

“good,” he nodded, before closing the gap between you and kissing you softly, a stark contrast to the frenzied kisses of the night before.

you kissed him back, your hand cradling his jaw softly, before separating. you smiled as you admired just how beautiful he was, your fingers tracing across the freckles along his cheekbones.

“i love you,” he whispered, the words heavier this time, like there was a new layer to them.

“i love you too, mister stanley cup champion.”

❤️🐀✨🤍

disclaimer: this is a work of fiction. while some aspects are based on real events, i have no affiliation with any of the people mentioned in this story

his rough hands are gripping your hips, hard enough to leave bruises, but you don't care. you're wet, so fucking wet, and he knows it. he's pumping into you, each thrust a reminder of how completely he owns you in this moment. you gasp, a desperate little sound that he seems to find endlessly amusing, his own guttural noises rumbling up from his chest, the low growl turning to a nasty chuckle as you cry out his name.

you can feel every thick ridge of his cock rubbing against the walls of you, stretching you to the limit. he slows down, just for a moment, only to slam back in harder than before, making your cunt throb with a delicious ache. you arch into him, begging with your body for him to fill you up completely. “you’re a dirty thing, aren’t you, huh? a little whore for me” he grunts, voice hot against your ear, the bite of his words turning you on so, so much, his fingers squeezing, kneading the soft meat of your ass.

his teeth scrape your skin as he nibbles up the length of your neck, finding that sweet spot just behind your ear where he loves to linger, sucking and biting until the skin blooms red. “i need you so bad, baby,” he rasps, voice thick with lust. his hand travels down your stomach, finding the heat between your legs once more. he slides his thumb up your slick clit, bringing you closer to the edge with each teasing touch.

you grind your hips against him, trying to get more, desperate for more of the pleasure he's offering. "fucking tell me how much you need it." his voice is low and demanding, each word sending shivers through your body. your response is a moan, a plea as he increases the pace once more, each thrust deeper, more forceful. you try to tell him how you need it, how much, how goddamn bad you need him in your guts, but all that comes out is a strangled cry.

he’s running his rough calloused hands up and down your back, leaving little scratches in his wake, but it's all part of the pleasure. you're almost there, you can feel it, that tight, pulsing heat building inside you. "look at you, begging for me, my little cum dump," he whispers as he moves his hand down and wraps around the swell of your clit, and you’re almost in hysterics at the term, but it’s so good, so filthy, that you arch up against him, your hands clenching at the bedsheets, nails digging into the cheap fabric.

his lips leave the delicate skin of your neck and latch onto yours instead, a bruising kiss that makes your head spin, tongues tangling in a desperate frenzy. he’s deep, so unbelievably deep inside you, every part of you flooded by his cock. he slams into you, hard and fast, making you cry out his name once again. your inner muscles clench around him, and that’s when it hits.

your orgasm shatters through you like a lightning bolt, every nerve ending on fire, your pussy contracting like you have no control. you barely notice him when he roars, his load pulsing into you. his grip on your hips remains tight, body slick with sweat as he slowly pulls back, leaving you filled and buzzing. "you're fucking amazing," he breathes, pulling back from your lips to kiss you in a thousand tiny bites along your jaw.

he’s kissing every part of your body, the rough skin of his face scratchy against your stomach and thighs, as if trying to savor every inch of you, making you hum low in your throat. the wet sounds of his kisses only serve to make the ache you feel in your cunt intensify, a pleasant sort of pain now, the knowledge that he’s used you so thoroughly lingering heavy in your bones. you trace his spine with your fingers, marveling at the feel of his body against yours, each little ridge of muscle.