#and then i remembered that preseason is so close

[ajournalingtrex]

AND SEVENTEEN DAYS UNTIL PRESEASON OH MY GOD LIFE IS BEAUTIFUL !!!!!!! LIFE MIGHT ACTUALLY REALLY SUCK AND I MIGHT WANT TO D1E A BIT ALL THE TIME BUT PRESEASON IS BEAUTIFUL !!!!!!! I!!!! LOVE!!!!! PRESEASON!!!!!

preseason is a gift. proof that there may be a god and that life may be okay. those invited (our student leaders, our graying athletes, the freshmen who have no idea what they’re getting into—trust me i was one of those kids—on campus faculty, and the football team. ), god what an incredible mix it is. an amalgamation of wonderful delightful people every time. it’s such a quiet campus but you know you’re not alone and 70-80 people are in just the same boat as you and it’s comforting.

((most of them are just starting their summer reading just like me, too.))

we throw ourselves at each other and at our rooms and at our teachers that first day, just how it normally is but easier on the social anxiety. we get the afternoon to set up and then we have meetings to go over the rules so that way they wouldn’t have to give it to us again when the rest got here. it felt like we were the guinea pigs, the men at the birth of time. the ones who knew how everything worked before the rest of the world and were—more often than not—the reason that the rules would be changed for the rest of the group. if you’re lucky, you don’t have practice until day 2. i normally don’t possess such fortune.

practice. the only thing any of us have to report for. for my team, that was 10-11:30 conditioning and 3-4:30 field work every day, and twice in that week we had 7-8:30 to continue our progress. it’s exhilarating, the only way to describe it. but maybe that’s because i’m an addict and my drug of choice is the same as it was when i was 10. sprints are no fun but we’re together and we’re laughing, and i get so drunk off the buttercup yellow and fluorescent green swimming through the air around me that i don’t care about how i’m going to puke up a dining hall muffin or how my shirt is an entirely different shade from sweat or how my ankle definitely didn’t hurt like that before.

we indoctrinate the new people with our questions of your favorite smell and then tossing you the unwashed pennies (even though we’re a team that cheers when you make a bad shot because we just can’t get enough of each other), and we reminisce about the games of old and the teams that brought us to tears last year—how 10 called me a bitch for elbowing them and 4 laughed at me getting carded because that’s absolutely something 4 would do god what a prick but it’s okay i think they graduated—and the injuries that took people out and how they’re just not allowed to happen again.

and the playing. holy shiting fuck. being one of the callout defensive players on the team, i take it as the time to introduce myself to everyone and get my bearings of who i’m working with; who’ll listen to advice and who’ll give me that furrowed eyebrow look for daring to question their stance; who’s a baby deer walking on ice for the first time and how can i help make this just a little bit easier for them; who’s getting of play time and where will coach put them; who am i getting paired with a lot and how can i adapt to their play style.

((since being drafted as sweep, this is my goalie. and after one week of hours on end with each other, both of us with the same goal in every drill and joking beside each other when the offense are being run into the ground. last year, she became my son by day three and by day 5 we scrimmaged in matching bathing suits and i turf burned all down my arm, and even though we didn’t win she cites that as the moment i became her person.))

((this year? i’m not allowed to get concussed because she needs me. she needs me out there. i missed her first season and she told me i owed it to her and that we needed to form the same synchronization we barely brushed last year before the accident. for this one green, sky blue, and red-orange week of the year, that kid is my everything. her thoughts are my thoughts, my calls are hers. i promised her we would have it this year, so whatever may happen to me and my destructive tendencies both on and off the field, i’m giving it to her.))

i get pads and pads of paper and i draft roster after roster, trying to get into the head of my former advisor while giving advice she’ll never hear to as many people who will possibly listen to me. i wave my hands around over orange chicken and jasmine rice and blue gatorade and chick fil a milkshakes and talk only of the future, the school year, the season, my family and my team-family and ways that things are green and shiny and bright.

((something a coach said to me last year will always stick with me. when conferencing with me about my role on the team, she said that during the season but especially during preseason, my eyes never sparkle more.))

my favorite day is when it rains. every year there’s always one. the day everyone dreads but i ADORE. last year the power went out, and it got me out of everything but practice. i didn’t mind, though. i never could on rain days.

we’re all outside going through the same downpour and it’s cold and your tank top is sticking to you in the wind, but the air is hot so it’s refreshing. and it sucks to be out there in the rain with your soreness and your slightly off shots and your feet slipping all over the turf (or getting mud in places you’ll talk about only in the locker room) but your heart is absolutely glowing because you’re doing what you love with amazing people in the greatest place you’ve ever been and even if you eat shit 5–10–20 more times, you wouldn’t trade it for the world. because life is good. there’s something in life to look forward to, and it’s you and your team against the elements: training and fucking up and learning from it to grow and to be the best. your eyes are still shiny and you’re alight with heart fire.

because that’s really what preseason is about: heart fire. finding something that makes you feel good about yourself and feel strong and confident and together to just set you ablaze.

#am if you’re reading this #you feel like preseason rain days #i was writing about you and that happened and i couldn’t stop writing #because that’s what your france/germany post reminds me of. you found your heart fire. and your presence reminds me of mine #and then i remembered that preseason is so close #my love for school and field hockey and family and preseason came roaring out of me i guess #rexy wrote a thing #i miss my brother and my younger/older sister and my greg and my son and my older sister and my sunflower #and my twin flame and my snack thief and my dad and my coach and my home and my family and my team and my sport #and the feeling of my heart fire. #dad and i were talking and he was like “i didn’t realize how important field hockey was to you.” and i was like “yeah me neither #“only know you love her when you let her go. that song by passenger?” #and he told me to get out and then got jokingly frazzled when i tried bc we had to talk about a lot more #17. days. 16 now the clock’s struck midnight. #wendy’s coke machine soon <3

[giannaln4]

Away For Valentine's

lando norris x fem reader

summary: McLaren had the fantastic idea to launch their car on Valentine's day, and as much as you reassured Lando he didn't have to worry about it, he still wanted to make it up to you (1k words)

warnings: none, just fluff

a/n: heyy everyone! so this is the very first fic i'm posting so please let me know what you think! i'm honestly pretty excited to get started with this blog so hopefully you guys like what i write. anyway please send some ideas my way!

↺ back to navigation — send me a request!

Valentine’s Day was off the table this year, and so was everything you had planned for you and your boyfriend.

You were disappointed when he shared the news with you, but you couldn’t be mad at him, not when it wasn’t his fault.

He saw the disappointment in your face, and how much you were trying to hide it by just smiling and nodding, your head finding a spot on his shoulder to avoid eye contact. He appreciated you understanding the situation, like you always did, but that didn’t mean he didn’t feel guilty.

“I know we had plans-”

“Lan, don’t worry about it” You took a deep breath before looking at him again, trying to get rid of the sadness in your face “I mean it, we can do that some other time”

He was about to say something but a quick kiss on the lips stopped him. You proceeded to look at him, offering him a small smile and a glance that he knew meant ‘I don’t wanna talk about it’, so just nodded as he smiled back.

A few weeks go by and his winter break was coming to an end, meaning soon he’d have to leave the comfort of your shared home and go get started with his preseason duties. That’s something you were used to, having to see him leave for long periods of times but it barely ever affected your relationship. He always made sure he made enough time for you, even when the time difference was huge and he was feeling tired most of the time, he needed to make time for you. Your love for each other was so strong that, at the end of the day, you were just relieved you still had each other even if all you had was a five minute call every day.

But still, sometimes it was hard to see him go, and this time was one of those times.

The night you knew would be your last one with him before he left he decided to take you out on a date. Fancy clothes and an even fancier restaurant were your plans for the evening, and you knew he was trying to make up for Valentine's Day. It wasn’t the same, of course it wasn’t, but you still enjoyed every second of it.

The food, the small talk, the jokes, the stupid stories, the shy glances, the small touches, everything was perfect, almost making you forget he was getting on a plane in a matter of hours, but your smile slowly faded as soon as you remembered.

The ride back home was quieter than he would’ve liked, but he knew exactly what was going through your mind, and honestly he couldn’t blame you cause his mind was flooded with the same thoughts.

As soon as you got home he ran around the car and opened the door for you, offering his hand and kissing yours as soon as he took it. You smiled softly at him and you made your way to the door. Once you were inside, you dropped his hand to take off your shoes and tossed them somewhere close to the door, sighing in relief as you started walking towards your room.

“Mhm, come back here” He whispered as he grabbed your hand and pulled you back into him

“There you are” Lando smiled softly at you as his lips found yours. After a moment he broke the kiss, and both of his hands found a better spot on your waist as he started to move along the off-tune song he started to hum. You couldn’t contain your smile, quickly trying to keep up with him. You moved together in a slow dance, it was like your bodies were in perfect harmony. 

Lando was looking down at you in pure admiration, almost as if he was trying to memorize every centimeter of your face so he wouldn't forget it while he was away, but you didn’t dare to look up, scared you would make eye contact with Lando and you wouldn’t be able to take it, so you safe option was to rest your head on his chest and pray you didn’t mess up. Although it wouldn’t matter if you did, you were just in the comfort of your living room anyway. But you didn’t wanna mess up.

He eventually stopped humming, hoping the silence would encourage you to look at him, but when you didn’t he moved one of his hands to cup your check, making you look at him. For a moment your eyes lock, making the silence feel very loud and Lando couldn’t help but smile at you, and you immediately blushed, but tried to play it off. 

“You’re a terrible dancer” He laughed and you narrowed your eyes playfully and softly hit his shoulder.

“You’re one to talk” You joked, locking your fingers behind his neck and giggling when Lando scoffed.

“Maybe we should go out to dance and I could show you all of my moves” He started to move again, bringing you closer to him.

“I thought you didn’t like slow dancing”

“I do if I get to hold you this close to me” He replied, once again finding your lips.

This time the kiss was longer, both of them savoring each other’s lips while they still had the chance “I’m sorry about Valentine’s” He whispered once he pulled away, your forehead resting on his.

You giggled at this. You had assured him a million times he didn’t have to worry about that, and he still apologized every time he remembered “You need to stop apologizing”

“But I am sorry”

“I know, but it’s not your fault” You hand fell on his hair, slowly stroking his soft curls “And I had a great time tonight, so I’d say love is not dead”

He laughed at his, dimples appearing as his eyes vanish for a moment “I still wanna make it up to you”

“You will” You replied as your head fell back on his chest “But for now I just wanna enjoy this” You closed your eyes and inhaled his scent, and after a moment of complete silence you can feel him start moving again, his soft hums interrupting the peace his heartbeat was giving you.

#giannaln4 writes #lando norris #ln4 #lando norris x reader #lando norris x you #lando norris x y/n #lando norris imagine #lando norris fanfic #lando norris one shot #lando norris fluff #lando norris smut #f1 #formula 1 #f1 x reader

[patriwoso]

A betrayal • Alexia Putellas

If someone asked from the outside, you'd say Barca was like a family.

Claudia was your sister, a twin. You were double trouble.

Patri was the older sister.

Alexia was the mom. Soccer mom. She made sure you and Claudia kept in line.

You teased Ana and said she was the grandmother, eventually agreeing to be the Aunt though.

Mapi and Ingrid were like Soccer moms too, although sometimes you'd argue Mapi was too childish and she was the baby of the family.

The family was tight. You had your groups within the team and they were close.

When Alexia and Aitana went to the World Cup, you felt betrayed. Confused and upset why they would go against what they'd said the whole time.

You lost some of your family for a few months. You didn't want to talk to them, acknowledge them.

Going to a senior world cup had been yours and Claudia's dream. Mapi and Patri had experienced it before but you were yet to reach that stage of your career.

The first few days were spent crying in Mapi's arms. You felt overwhelmed and upset that this was happening, it wasn't fair.

Alexia had tried to reach out to you but you chose not to reply. Watching the calls on the screen until they rang out. Her messages appearing amongst other notifications.

Hey small stuff. Miss you x

Y/N I'm sorry, I love you ❤️

Please call me. I want to talk to you Y/N/N.

You spent a few weeks with Patri and Pina on holiday in Mallorca, boat trips and tanning on the beach.

The nights were spent cuddled up together watching films, sharing popcorn and toffees.

"Claudi stop wriggling." You'd tug on the blanket, pulling back what she had taken away from you.

"I'm not!"

"That pair of you... your children!" Patri sighs.

And then preseason training started again.

You were with the Barca B team like usual, some of the internationals joining back once their time in Australia and New Zealand had come to an end.

August 20th came around too fast.

You had stayed at Pina's place that night, sharing a bed like you would in the youth age groups on away camps.

"You know whatever happens today we were right for staying home. We stuck by our morals and what we believe P." You tell her, laying in bed.

She didn't reply but let out a giggle when your stomach rumbled loud.

"Let's go out for breakfast."

-

The next morning wasn't quite the same. You lay in Mapi's arms crying. Ingrid rubbing your back softly.

"It's not fair" You sobbed, rubbing your teary eyes on you sleeve.

"I know, mi amor." She kissed the top of your head.

"She messaged me again yesterday." You whispered, pulling out your phone and showing her.

"Y/N! You haven't replied to her messages since July 2nd!" Mapi slaps your arm.

"And?!" You cry, keeping tucked under her arm, watching as she scrolls through the phone.

"Mi querida, you can't just shut her out completely." Ingrid tells you, tucking some hair behind you ear.

"You have to remember that this was also best for Alexia's rehab and injury... As much as we both hate her being there." Mapi tells you, a bit reluctantly. "Message her."

You snatch you phone back, hovering over the keyboard before typing out 'I love you Alexia. I'm sorry'.

The blue button is hit and you chuck you phone on the end of the sofa, not wanting to do anything more.

"Baby steps I suppose." Mapi sighs.

-

You stayed off of social media for a while, not replying to anymore of Alexia's messages. You decided the one reply was enough for now.

Seeing Spain win was hard. You knew the preseason tour was coming up so you had something to keep your mind off of it.

You hadn't expected Alexia to come to Mexico with the team, it being just a week after the world cup final.

You’d spoken to Claudia and Patri one night after training. They didn’t know how to act, you all loved Alexia but the betrayal hurt a lot.

-

“Just smile.” Ingrid’s arm wrapped around you. keeping you close by her side.

Alexia and Mapi had turned up to the preseason tour camp a day after the rest of the team.

“I don’t want to see her, Ingrid.” You drop your head to the side to lean on her, the taller women’s arm pulling you closer into her.

“You can’t avoid her forever. She’s Alexia, and your her favourite on this team. She’ll want to see you.”

“I am not her favourite…”

Ingrid chuckles. “You so are, the favouritism is ridiculous y/n/n. She’s a football mom to you and your her favourite football daughter.”

You keep yourself in Ingrid’s arms, she’s a good hugger and radiates a lot of comfort for you.

“Alexia and María have arrived, they’ll join us in a few moments.” Jona announces to you all as your stood around on the training field.

You start picking at your fingers, a nervous habit of yours.

Your mucking around with Jana and Claudia when you see Alexia and Mapi jogging around the pitch.

The coaching staff split you up into groups of 8, yourself ending up with 6 Barca B players and Marta.

“You alright, grandma?” You smile cheekily and Marta slaps you on the arm.

“Hey Alexia!” You head one of the younger girls say.

You spin around on your heels and see Alexia approach the group.

“Jona said to join you guys.” She smiles, making eye contact with you before you look away.

You look at the floor, the ball bag, anything except Alexia, hoping she’ll leave you alone.

Truth is that you miss her, the 2 and a half months away from her has been a torture as your so used to being with her all the time.

“Hey.” You see her boots appear in front of you.

You turn around and head to the water cooler, getting a bottle out and drinking from it, anything to keep away from Alexia.

You didn’t want to do this, but you didn’t want to face her either.

You’d managed the whole training session without direct conversation, you ignored her stares across the field and worked your way to Claudia and Patri when she approached you.

-

That evening, you gathered in the hotel lobby. A group of fans asking Alexia for pictures and autographs.

You felt uncomfortable watching it, standing besides Mapi and Ingrid again.

“I miss her.” You sigh, whispering softly under your breath.

“Talk to her.” Ingrid whispers back. “She’ll want you too.”

Alexia works herself away from the fans, trying to get back into the group.

She pushes in between you and Caroline, listening to Jona talk before he dismisses you all.

Before she can say anything, or walk away, you through your arms around her shoulders and bury your head into her neck.

Neither of you say anything, you don’t have to.

She rubs your back softly, holding you tight in her arms as if she was afraid you would run off and ignore her again.

“I’m sorry.” She mumbles.

“I missed you.” A few tears spill from your eyes, soaking her training top a little.

“I missed you too, small stuff. You’ve gotten taller.” She smiles, kissing your forehead and wiping your teary eyes.

“Ale I hate you so much right now” You shake you head, moving back away from her. “But i love you and I’ve missed you and I don’t want you to do that ever again please.” You tear up some more.

She nods, pulling you back into her arms again. “I love you.”

#woso #woso x reader #fcb femení #espwnt #fcb femeni #woso x imagine #woso fic #woso imagine #woso one shot #alexia putellas #alexia putellas x imagine #alexia putellas fic #alexia putellas x reader #ingrid engen #maria leon #mapi leon #claudia pina #patri guijarro #woso fanfics #woso masterlist #woso soccer #woso twitter #incorrect woso quotes #woso icons #wosoedit

[mendeshoney]

take me back to eden (part 1/2)

A/N: well I had an idea about andrei and as per usual @pyotrkochetkov​ @smileysvech​ bullied supported me until it was finished. as you can see, this story is going to be posted in two parts, so keep your eyes peeled! title is from “take me back to eden” by sleep token

Summary: Andrei’s retired, Assistant GM of the Carolina Hurricanes, and a little lonely, so he decides to be a little like Edward Lewis. 

Pairing: andrei svechnikov x f!reader

Part 1 Word Count: 22,144

Warnings: nine year age gap, older man x younger woman, basically “pretty woman” with andrei, love at first sight(Ish), he falls first, she falls too, he falls harder, sugar daddy vibes, angst, fluff, smut, penetration, finish inside, unprotected sex

September

The Premiere Suite at The Mark Hotel.

So…this was it. 

Immediately after swiping the key card and letting himself into the suite, he goes about unpacking. Quickly, he puts his belongings away in the bedroom of the suite, before moving back into the living area, heart pounding with every step.

He’d bought a bouquet of red roses along with a crimson red vase, and he stores the vase in a cabinet in the little kitchen first. He moves further into the room, setting the roses on the coffee table before grabbing the ice bucket and heading down the hall to fill it. When he gets back, he places a bottle of champagne in the ice bucket, and rests it beside the roses, accompanying it by placing two champagne glasses down next to the bucket. 

He heads back into his room, pulling out the little blue box from Tiffany’s in his leather duffle bag, tucking the box into the pockets of his pants, then heads back into the living area, examining the space.

This was enough, right?

Enough to prove that either he wasn’t new to this (which he was) or that he was capable of being a gentleman (jury’s still out), he wasn’t sure.

He’d never done this before, never had to, never needed to, and never thought to.

At thirty two, officially retired from hockey and now serving as Assistant General Manager of the Carolina Hurricanes, Andrei had his fair share of ex girlfriends, previous one night stands, former friends with benefits, and the like in his youth. He’d thought he’d been close to true love once before, but that crashed and burned in flames before he even realized he was standing in the ashes of the aftermath.

Too focused, he’d been told. He was too focused on hockey, on this sport, and it wasn’t enough, so she left. And now, he couldn’t exactly deny that she had been wrong.

Lately, he was far too busy and much less interested in anything other than working to even consider the possibility of anything more. Working for the team that had given him the chance to live out his childhood dreams was where his heart, mind, body, and soul were focused, and he poured his all into it every day.

But sometimes, some days, he could admit to himself that as much as he liked being alone, he did feel lonely in the quiet corners of his office and in the solitude of his bedroom. 

“You need a Pretty Woman,” his brother had told him almost a month ago.

“A what?” He remembers saying, balancing his phone between his shoulder and ear as he typed out an email.

“You know the movie? With Julia Roberts?” Evgeny said, as if that was supposed to mean something to Andrei. “The one mom used to watch all of the time.”

“The prostitution one?” He said, vaguely recalling it now. He mainly remembers trying to make as much noise as possible with Evgeny so his mother would relent and allow them to change the channel to watch cartoons or hockey.

“Da,” his brother had said, “It could be discreet, maybe a little more your pace.”

Andrei had all but rolled his eyes and shot it down, calling his brother an idiot before confirming that he’d be home for the holidays and hanging up.

Then two days later, he was out to dinner with a few of the players on the roster during a preseason dinner, and overheard a couple of veteran players on the team chatting with a newer player about helping him find a date to their eventual Canes Bash, the renamed organizational casino night. 

“It’s worth a shot,” one of the veterans, Mason, had said. “You said you’re out of options, that’s an option.”

The newcomer, Eli, looked extremely skeptical. “But isn’t that like…illegal? It’s basically prostitution.”

The veteran players had shushed him, leaning in closer and lowering their voices even though Andrei could still hear them. 

Eli was sitting to his immediate right, for fuck’s sake.

“It’s an escort service.” The other veteran, Olly said from his spot across from Eli. “They’re based out of Manhattan but have employees all over the country. They serve high profiled clients and work with the utmost scrutiny. You have to submit pay stubs to even prove you can afford one of their employees and both parties are required to sign an NDA.”

“Why does it sound like you’ve ripped that right from their website?” The rookie questioned, skepticism still present in his tone.

“Because maybe we’ve used it once or twice,” Mason shrugged. 

“You have?” Eli asked, and Andrei could tell he was starting to slowly lean into the idea.

“It’s simple,” Olly assured him. “When you register yourself on the website, you fill out an application and basically create an account with them. You have to sign the NDA before your account can be official. Then you submit your pay stubs and a copy of your ID or passport. If those clear, then they do a thorough background check on you, more thorough than a government job, even, and if you pass the background check, they send you a questionnaire to fill out that helps them understand what you’re looking for, but it also lets them know if they’re the service you’re looking for, or if you should take your interests elsewhere.”

“Yeah,” Mason chimed in. “If they believe they can help you, they ask for your availability where you’d like to meet, and then once you pick a city, day, and time, they set up a meeting place, all expenses paid by the service. It’s like a consultation.”

“What about the girl?” Eli asked. “Do I get to pick her?”

“They select them for you based on your questionnaire answers.” Mason said, “But they’ve never set us up with a bad pick.”

“Yeah,” Olly chimed in, smirking. “Remember the blonde bombshell I brought to the team Christmas party last year?”

Eli’s eyes nearly bugged out of his head. “She was an escort?!”

Olly and Mason shushed Eli once more, though no one else at the dinner table seemed to have been paying any attention to them.

Hockey players have certainly heard, and discussed, far weirder and far worse.

“Did you just watch ‘Pretty Woman,’?” Andrei had teased, and laughed at the stricken expressions on Mason, Olly, and Eli’s faces.

“Uh yeah,” Mason had said nervously. “It’s a classic.” 

Andrei nodded, “It is, it’s a great movie.” Then turned his body as if he was tuning into the conversation the head office was having to his left.

To be fair, he should technically be involved in this conversation anyway, since it is his job, but instead, for some reason, he keeps an ear trained on the rest of what the boys to his right are saying.

“Look, do you wanna go for it or not?” Mason asked, “If you do, I can send you a referral link, or you can just use my name when you apply. It speeds up the time between application and your first meeting.”

Eli made a hesitant noise. “I don’t know. What if I don’t like the girl they picked? I can’t bring a weirdo to the Canes Bash.” 

“That’s what the initial meeting is for.” Olly explained. “The consultation, remember? First visit is free, and then the only payments you have to worry about are for bookings once you get to the first date and beyond. If you like the girl, you tell her what you need her for, and if she agrees to work with you, you book everything moving forward through the website. That way you’re not spending money up front.”

“It’s no strings attached before you even solidify anything.” Mason said, then nudged Eli. “So what do you think? Are you in or what?”

There was a pause, and Andrei sensed Eli’s lingering hesitation, but still, the rookie persisted and said, “Yeah, why not? Fuck it. I’ll do it. What’s this thing called again?”

“Daughters of Aphrodite,” Olly said with a dreamy air to his tone. “Unofficially, that is. Aptly named, but it would obviously raise some eyebrows. So officially, their business name is Eden.”

That night, after Andrei went home, he found himself opening up his laptop as he lounged in bed, looking up “Daughters of Aphrodite” online. He’d found nothing but tellings and retellings of the goddess of love, so he took a chance and searched up “Eden” instead.

Sure enough, there it was. He hesitated all of two seconds before clicking into the website, and didn’t think twice about filling out the application. True to Mason and Olly’s word, he had to sign an NDA before his account could be created, and submit a copy of six months worth of paystubs, his identification, fill out paperwork to commit to and then actually go for STD testing, and when they asked if he’d been referred to the service by anyone to expedite his application process, he listed Olly’s name, figuring Mason probably would’ve lent his referral to Eli instead.

And now, three weeks later, here he was.

In Manhattan, at one of the most expensive hotels in the city, moving into a suite for the weekend.

About to have a consultation…with an escort.

If the consultation went well, his plan was to take this person to a nice dinner, and maybe go out for drinks afterward. Eden had footed the bill and booked the suite for the weekend in case they decided on other activities, but Andrei wasn’t going to hold his breath.

He still wasn’t sure if he was going to stick around, let alone if this other person would be interested.

As he looked around at his little set up, part of him felt like maybe this was too much, but he couldn’t just show up here with nothing. They had his pay stubs, knew his income, knew he was a high profile client using their services for a reason.

Sugar daddy. 

That was one of the things on his questionnaire, asking if that’s what he was looking to be. 

He hadn’t said yes, but surely it wouldn’t be inappropriate to provide his incoming date with…well, some sugar.

Besides, it was just roses, champagne, and the diamond tennis bracelet from Tiffany’s sitting in his pocket. 

Before he could start pacing, Andrei removed his tie and his blazer, resting it over the back of the chair at the desk in the room before loosening the top few buttons on his dress shirt, then unbuttoning and rolling the sleeves up to his elbows. He raided the mini bar, pouring himself a shot of vodka, downing it, then pouring another larger serving, one he could sip at to calm his nerves.

He sat in the lounge chair, scrolling through his email to re-read the instructions one more time.

“...after checking into your hotel and arriving at your room, feel free to take your time settling in and getting comfortable. Once you’re ready, please text the code “5683” to the following number, and we will notify your date for the evening that you’re ready for them. They should arrive no later than twenty minutes after you send the directed code.”

Andrei felt a sweat start to break out on his back.

He texted the code not long after he finished unpacking, which was about ten minutes ago.

She could get here at any time, and it wasn’t until Andrei realized that, that he began to panic a little.

He had no idea what this woman would look like, no idea how old she was. He said he wouldn’t agree to anything more than a couple years older than him, and nothing more than ten years younger than him, so he knew she was somewhere in that range. 

But what if she wasn’t his type? What if he wasn’t her type? Even if he was a client, Eden made it clear that the girls were in control, that they had the agency, so what if she decided to break it off the second she saw his face? What if there was no chemistry? What if -

A soft pattern of three knocks on the door broke him from his thoughts, and he cursed to himself. 

She’s here.

Resting his glass on the side table near his chair, he gets up, strolling to the door and checking his appearance in the mirror before answering.

Not his best, but not his worst.

It’s a consult. He reminds himself. Doesn’t have to be anything more.

He takes a deep breath, flipping the deadbolt and twisting the handle, breath caught in his lungs as he opens the door and -

And…

And…

Fuck.

Oh fuck.

This…this is…

It has to be a joke.

There’s no way a woman this beautiful, a woman this perfect, is working for a service like this.

Now he understood why Olly got so dreamy when he said the service was called “Daughters of Aphrodite.” 

Because if this woman were anything other than a demi-god, daughter to the most beautiful creature in the world, he would surely think he was living in an alternate reality.

Fuck, the woman in front of him could be Aphrodite for all he cared.

God damn, ona krasivaya. She is beautiful. 

She should be on a throne somewhere, modeling on a beach, walking a runway, hell, in a house baking cookies for her husband and children because…because…

This woman should be someone’s wife. Someone’s girlfriend. Someone’s partner. 

Not an escort here in a ritzy hotel suite with him.

“Um…hi. Andrei, right?” 

He blinks.

God and her voice.

Your voice.

You.

Your…everything. 

No, it’s you’re, definitely you’re, because you are everything. 

“Shit,” Andrei hears you curse under your breath. “Um, ty Andrei Svechnikov? Vy govorite po-angliyski?”

He blinks again, like an idiot, because wow he was not expecting that, and now he’s harder than a rock in his dress pants. Granted, your pronunciation isn’t the best, but it’s damn near perfect, and he crumbles. 

“Yeah,” he hears himself say, mentally patting himself on the back for not letting his voice crack, “It’s me. I’m Andrei.”

You smile softly at him and he feels like his heart just jumps right out of his chest and lands at your feet, screaming “take me love me accept me please.”

“Hi,” you say. “It’s nice to meet you. Is now still a good time?”

He nods, too dumbstruck to say anything else. His whole body buzzes in response the more you speak to him, and he swears any second now a flying baby in a diaper is going to swoop in and stab him in the butt.

“Yeah,” he says after a second. “Now is still good.”

“Oh okay,” you say, nodding slightly. Then, when he doesn’t move, a soft laugh leaves your lips, a laugh that he swears sounds like little bells, and you tilt your head to the side. “May I come in?”

Idiot.

He laughs too, hoping it doesn’t sound too nervous, and nods, stepping to the side. “Yes yes, I’m sorry, please come in.”

You cross the threshold, passing by him and he gets a whiff of your perfume, the breeze left in your wake chilling him to the bone.

“Almaznyy,” he hears himself whisper, watching you wander further into the suite. 

Diamond. 

A living and breathing diamond.

He swears a string of curses to himself as he shuts the door behind him and flips the deadbolt, then thinks better of it and flips it back. No one else but him has the key to this room, and he doesn’t want you to think by flipping the deadbolt that you’re trapped here.

Although, he wouldn’t mind if you trapped him in here.

He follows after you, finds you staring at a photograph blown onto canvas on the wall just shy of the coffee table.

The coffee table currently holding your roses. 

Shit.

He rushes to the table, grabbing the bouquet and turning towards you. He catches the way your eyes roam over the canvas, over the flowers and shadows, and he smiles a little.

“Interested in art?”

You shrug absently with a hum, your eyes still locked on the photograph, a fond and knowing look on your face. “Somewhat. My mom used to paint, and my brother got me into art as well.” Your body turns toward him first, followed by your head as you say “I’m not quite as good, but I dr- oh.”

You pause, smiling widely at the roses in his hand, and Andrei takes a chance, stepping closer and eliminating some of the distance between you two. “These are for you,” he says, “As a thank you.”

“They’re beautiful,” you say with an awestruck smile, taking them and cradling the bouquet in your arms. “Thank you.”

This image of you would be seared into his brain for the rest of his life, he swears. 

“I have a vase for you to put them in, if you’d like.” He offers. 

“How considerate,” you say. It sounds teasing, but the smile on your face is sincere. He holds out his hand, nearly regretting it when you blink at it for a second, before your hand lands in his and - 

The electric bolt that runs up his arm when he finally touches you can’t be a coincidence.

Especially not when he looks at you, wondering if you felt it too, and judging by the shy look that suddenly crosses your features, you definitely did.

Not only that, but fucking hell your skin is soft.

So soft, better than silk or velvet. 

He has to contain his excitement when he laces your fingers together, and you give him a reassuring squeeze as he leads you to the kitchen. He pulls the vase out of the cabinet and starts to fill it with a little water at the sink while you lay the roses down, gently removing the twine and then the brown packaging from around it.

Andrei finds himself quickly reaching for your hands after putting the vase down on the counter, not wanting you to prick yourself on any thorns. 

“Let me please, almaznyy,” he says. You smile, eyebrow raised in confusion at what he’s called you - and god if he was going to survive this night he’d have to work to not make you do that as often - but you don’t move at all when he comes up behind you, keeping an inch between your bodies, arms on either side as he works the roses apart, inspecting the stems for thorns.

He didn’t pay anything astronomical for them, but they were a rare type of crimson red rose, and he paid enough to hope that they didn’t have thorns on them. 

Thankfully, they didn’t. When he raises his hand to lift a couple into the vase, yours move to grab a couple of more. Together, the both of you arrange the two dozen roses into the vase, and almost naturally, you let out a happy little sigh as you relax backward, body gently pressing against his.

It’s a ghost of a touch, but he can tell you fit perfectly against one another.

“They really are beautiful,” you say, then turn your head to look up at him, lips curving into another brilliant smile. “Spasibo.”

His heart spasms. 

That was five.

Five smiles in the span of about five minutes.

He was prouder of that than he was any record he set during his career.

With a smile of his own, he takes a step back, watching you turn and lean against the counter a little, and holds out his hand once more. This time you take it without a second thought, and follow him as he leads you over to the couch.

You both sit next to one another, you sitting a little sideways to face him, and he gestures to the champagne. “Would you like some?”

“Sure,” you say, and now all Andrei wants to do - on top of making you smile - is keep you talking.

He needs to hear more of that pretty voice like it’s the last he’ll ever hear on this earth.

As he expertly pops the top and begins to pour a glass, he asks “How old are you?”

It’s a jump from the first question - or questions -  he wanted to ask, the main one being “What is your name?” which he was told explicitly in his instructions email that he was not allowed to ask. 

The Daughters of Aphrodite could only offer their names to the clients if they decided that they wanted to - or if their clients had earned it - and the clients could not ask under any circumstances. It was part of the point that the women held the agency here. 

His other questions fell along the lines of “Are you married?” and “If you’re not married, are you available for a summer wedding next June?” Both of which he also did not ask.

He’d get the answer to all three eventually…he hoped.

“I’m twenty three,” you respond, accepting the flute of champagne from him. “My birthday was a couple of days ago.”

His heart hammers in his chest. 

Nine years. 

She’s nine years younger than you, his brain screams.

Eden sure cut it close with this one.

“Happy belated birthday,” Andrei says, turning a little in his seat to face you. As he does, the corner of the jewelry box in his pocket pokes his thigh. He reaches into it without a second thought, relieved when he brings it out and sees that the little white bow is still in excellent condition as he holds it out to you. 

“I didn’t know it was your birthday, obviously,” he begins, “But I saw this and wanted to buy it for you, so maybe it was meant to be.”

He winces internally at his choice of words, but then a bashful smile breaks out on your face, and you place your champagne flute down on the coffee table, taking the gift with gentle fingers.

Six smiles! 

Hell yes.

You pause before pulling the bow, looking up at Andrei with a little furrow in your brow.

His heart kicks in his chest, demanding to be let out, demanding to comfort you and ease whatever just made you pull that face. “What is it?”

“This is just awfully nice of you, and I didn’t get you anything.”

Two things run through his mind in that second and he’s blurting them both out before he can stop himself or think of any consequences. “I wanted to, you deserve it. And I don’t need anything in return.” then “Your other clients don’t get you anything?”

You fucking idiot. He curses himself. He didn’t even think of the fact that you’ve probably had other clients, that you’ve been around other men, and his blood starts to simmer, this unexpected feeling of jealousy twisting his stomach uncomfortably. 

But you don’t even blink, just shrug your pretty shoulders and say “Not really, no. Well, not at first maybe, not at the consultation.”

Okay.

He was not going to think about the fact that other men had gotten to have a consultation with you or that some had also made it past the consultation with you. He was not going to picture a beautiful being like you entertaining the likes of fuckers like Mason, or Olly, or Eli.

God.

What if you’d been with them? What if you knew Mason or Olly? What if Eli had already applied and maybe even gotten a consultation before Andrei could have? What if you had a consultation scheduled with Eli next? What if -

“And they usually don’t get me roses,” you add softly, fingers still brushing against the bow. 

“Then they’re idiots.” He deadpans.

You lift your head up at that, blinking at him, and he worries he may have upset you, but then you laugh, a little loud, melodic and sudden, and his heart soars.

“Open it,” he says gently, gesturing to the box with his chin. 

Your fingers finally pull the bow off and gently lift the lid, removing the carefully folded tissue paper to reveal the tennis bracelet nestled inside. 

It’s a platinum bracelet, designed to resemble vines curling around the wrist when fastened. Within the leaves on the vine are round brilliant and marquise diamonds, though he doesn’t think they can hold a candle to you. 

His actual diamond.

Almaznyy.

Almost as if the marquise diamonds can hear him, they twinkle a little in the light in protest at him when you manage to lift the bracelet from its little cushion.

He thought it was fitting - vines, Eden, garden of Eden.

Oh god, now he thought it was stupid.

Why would he think getting you a bracelet reminding you of your employment was a good idea?

“Oh, Andrei,” you coo.

And god if he doesn’t fall in love with you right then just based on the way you say his fucking name.

“Do you like it?” He asks.

You nod emphatically, looking up at him. You look a little dazed, the disbelief present in your eyes. “I love it, it’s beautiful. Would you help me put it on?”

“Of course, almaznyy,” he murmurs, reaching forward to take the jewelry from your hand. You hold your wrist out, and with nimble fingers he secures the bracelet to your wrist. He indulges himself a little by letting his fingers graze along the skin, before grabbing your hand again, lacing your fingers together and resting them on the couch cushion between you. 

“It looks beautiful on you,” he says truthfully, eyeing the way the bracelet sits on your wrist, how it looks so perfect next to his rolex, and how they punctuate your joined hands. 

“It fits like a glove.” You say, voice full of wonder. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything like it in my life.”

The boost to his ego is instantaneous and he can’t help the smirk that crosses his lips before he smothers it with a smile. “I’m glad you like it.”

You smile, seven, eyes looking him over for a second. “Is that what you need me for? Someone to shower with roses and pretty jewelry?” There’s a teasing lilt to your voice, and Andrei feels himself go red.

For a second he managed to forget about the circumstances surrounding your presence. For a second, he managed to convince himself this was your third date. For a second, he managed to convince himself you already belonged to him.

Not in a nefarious way. People never belonged to other people, he always believed that. 

But god dammit if he didn’t already belong to you. 

“I um,” he fumbles, doesn’t really know what to say.

You scoot closer, unlacing your fingers and resting your hand on his arm in a comforting gesture. “It’s okay, Andrei. I’m here for a reason, aren’t I? I just want to help.”

Well fuck.

Now he doesn’t want to tell you. How can he possibly tell you he overheard players on a team he’s supposed to be helping to manage talk about your company? And how could he say that he figured it would be a good quick fix to ease the loneliness he felt some days? 

Especially on the days when he realized most of his friends and former teammates were either getting married, already married, some with kids, and he still felt like he was lost in the ocean, treading water for some unknown reason, and that as much as he wanted that all for himself, he just didn’t have the time?

“If it helps,” you offer, “I can kind of guess.”

Andrei blinks. “You can?”

You nod, suddenly growing a little shy as you admit “I kind of Googled you?”

He laughs then, the small tension that had built in the room starting to break. “Oh? Find anything interesting?”

You smirk, dragging your hand down his arm and lacing your fingers back together. “I did. Admittedly I don’t do it with all of my clients, but your name sounded familiar, so I looked you up.”

“And?” He teases, leaning in a little. “Do I live up to Google’s expectations?”

You snort a little - so fucking cute - and a small smile graces your lips again as you try to find the right words to say.

Eight. Fuck yeah.

“You’re a busy man,” you begin, looking down at your joined hands. “You’ve got a lot on your plate. You might not be the general manager, but you’re someone that your organization trusts, and that puts you in a precarious position. Because you can speak to and for the team, and be the middleman between them and your administration in a way that hasn’t been there for them before. The team is your life, you spent your whole career there, so it’s understandable, but that doesn’t leave you much room for anything else. That must be pretty lonely for you.”

Andrei’s dazed, and a little fucking pissed that the most he’s heard you talk this evening is because you’re talking about him, and he makes a mental note with himself to change that as soon as possible. 

“You need company.” You finish, rubbing your thumb in comforting circles on the back of his hand, and Andrei feels the anxiety begin to seep out of his body. “I’m happy to give that to you, Andrei. Whatever that may look like.”

His eyes coast up to your face, skepticism in his gut, but your face is completely sincere, not a sliver of doubt or humor. He swallows, nodding. Instead of confirming your suspicions, he turns your hands around, rubbing his thumb on the back of your hand now. “And you? What do you need?”

You blink at him. “Me?”

He nods again, “Yeah you, almaznyy. What made you want to do this?”

“Eden?” You clarify, and Andrei nods again, squeezing your hand gently. “Well, as you can probably imagine, it’s good money. It helped put me through college, since I was putting myself through school. I actually stopped once I graduated. I put most of what I earned into savings, and thought that would be enough to live a normal life while I worked a normal job. And I had that for a few months. But then I…” your voice trails off and your brow furrows again, like you’re trying to figure out how much to say.

You can tell me everything. He wants to tell you. I won’t judge, I just want to know. 

“I decided I wanted something different,” you finally say. “Something more, so I came back to Eden. They welcomed me back, and now they’re helping me make sure I get what I want.” 

“What is it that you want?” He asks.

You shrug. “What does anyone want these days?”

It’s cryptic, and Andrei doesn’t pry any further, no matter how badly he may want to. Instead, he squeezes your hand and asks “Well, what do you need from me?”

You raise a brow, surprised by his question. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, how can I help you? To get your something different?”

You smile a little, but it’s not like the others, so he doesn’t add it to the count. This one is more…considering. Like you’re assessing if the sincerity in his voice is actually there, or if he’s just playing his part. “You already are,” you eventually say. 

He watches as your eyes continue to examine his face, looking for…well, he doesn’t know exactly. But he’s content to sit there and let you do whatever you want. As far as he’s concerned, you can do whatever you want. And he also uses the opportunity to etch you into his memory, every inch of you, just in case. 

“But this is for me,” he says after a moment.

“I know,” you murmur with a smile before casting your eyes down to your joined hands. “And it helps.”

Nine. 

He swallows. “Are you lonely too?”

You purse your lips, shrugging. “Isn’t everyone?”

Cryptic again, but then you’re looking up at him, and there’s this…it sounds cliché, but there’s this twinkle in your eye, and he feels his pulse skyrocket in his veins. 

“Why the gifts, Andrei?” 

He feels his heart sigh dreamily when you say his name. “What?”

You gesture down to the bracelet on your wrist with your eyes, before flicking them back up to his face. “The bracelet, the roses. I love them, don’t get me wrong. But…why?”

Andrei shrugs. “It felt…” he searches for the right words. “Appropriate. I don’t know.”

There’s a look of consideration on your face. “You’ve never done this before, have you?”

He shakes his head, suddenly…shy. He’s immediately transported back to his first year as a rookie, how uncertain everything seemed, and how lost he felt more often than not. He remembers stumbling through English, feeling awkward trying to get to know his teammates and make friends, to get people to like him.

He wants you to like him. 

He knows in his gut he’s pretty much got a crush on you at this point, which is insane, considering you met…maybe twenty minutes ago? Thirty?

And he doesn’t really know how these things are supposed to go…at all. When he tells you as much, you giggle a little, squeezing his hand. “That’s okay, we can take this slow.”

He nods. “Slow is good.” Then, “How about dinner? Would you like to have dinner with me?”

A dazzling smile crosses your features before you say “I’d love to go to dinner with you,” and he beams. 

Ten. Ten smiles and dinner. Hell yeah.

~

October

Andrei glances down at his phone, smiling at yet another picture of Luka, Evgeny’s newborn baby boy and his second child. He was born a few days ago, but given Andrei’s duties with the team, he couldn’t be there for Evgeny and Sara. 

He’d sent presents of course, and his mother had taken the liberty of sending Andrei hundreds of photos so far, and Evgeny clearly felt comfortable following in their mother’s footsteps, sending Andrei at least twenty pictures a day. 

Evgeny was just as bad when Mila, his two year old daughter, was born. Photos every day that eventually dwindled down to weekly, then monthly as she got older.

In the photo Evgeny had just sent, Luka’s chubby newborn body was swaddled in a blanket and donning the light yellow baby hat Andrei had sent them. 

Andrei: Milyy i tolstyy

Cute and fat.

Evegeny sends back an angry face emoji.

Evgeny: Ne nazyvay moyego rebenka tolstym

Don’t call my baby fat

Evgeny: pridurok

Dickhead.

He chuckles to himself before pocketing his phone, casting his eyes back up. 

He watches from the stands as the players skate down the ice, running through drills in preparation for the first home game of the season later this week. Right after that, they were immediately on the road, heading to play the Rangers over the weekend.

A weekend where he’d get to see you.

He grabs his coffee cup from the holder in front of him, taking a large sip as he catalogs every player, assessing for strengths, weaknesses, who needs help, who can work on what. He looks for the holes in their plays, looks for the ways they can improve, looks for anything and everything that the team needs.

“Skyler’s looking good,” Andrei notes. “Role of ‘Captain’ suits him.”

From beside him, sipping on his own coffee, Coach Brind’Amour nods. “Yeah, he’s enjoying it.”

Technically, he’s not Coach Brind’Amour anymore.

These days, he’s the General Manager, but Andrei’s known him too long and respects him too much to call him anything but ‘Coach.’

Skyler, Coach’s son, is about the same age as Andrei, but started with the Canes a few years into Andrei’s career. The two of them became quite close, but whereas Skyler’s career continued, Andrei’s had to stop. 

There wasn’t anything he could do about it now.

“What are you seeing?” Coach asks him, gesturing to the ice.

Andrei smiles a little. “Probably the same thing you are.”

“They’re a good team, need a little more work.” Coach confirms.

Andrei hums a little. “They’ll be ready.”

They both eye the banners in the rafters. 

2024 Stanley Cup Champions. 

2027 Stanley Cup Champions. 

2032 Stanley Cup Champions.

The last one makes Andrei feel a little bittersweet, and he tears his eyes away.

“They can do it again,” Andrei confirms. “We made sure the additions to the team would see to that, not prevent it.”

“Now you sound like me,” Coach teases. 

Andrei laughs, and shrugs. “You were right most of the time.”

“Most?!” Coach cries, incredulous. He shoves Andrei playfully, and they share another laugh before directing their eyes back to the ice. 

They watch the rest of practice relatively quietly, a few other people coming to sit with them now and again as practice goes on, talking to them about upcoming meetings, home opener preparations, player contracts, the list goes on.

Andrei contributes his opinion when he can and when asked, still getting used to his new role. A couple of times, Coach shouts something down the stands so the new head coach or the captain can hear, and even encourages - and manages to convince Andrei - to do it once as well, noting a spot that needs work with a couple of the defensive pairs.

After practice, he and Coach head into the locker rooms to talk to the new head coach and give the players some words of encouragement. 

At one point, he notices Olly looking at him from out of the corner of his eye, and when Andrei spares a glance at him, Olly looks away, almost like he didn’t think he’d be caught.

Strange.

On the way out, Andrei tells Coach he’ll catch up in a second before he stops by the player’s stall. “Looking good out there, Oliver.” 

Olly looks up, surprised to see him there. From next to him, Mason giggles, bending down to fiddle with the tape on his socks. “Thanks Svechy, I appreciate that.”

“You two feeling good about the home opener?” He asks, gesturing his chin to Mason and leaning against the wall next to the door.

“Yeah man,” Mason answers, eyes on his skates now. “Feeling great. You think we’re ready?”

“Did it last year,” he answers. “Looked great in pre-season. Who says hurricanes can’t strike twice?”

They both grin at that, and then Andrei nods at them, dismissing himself.

When he steps into the hallway, his phone buzzes with an email notification, and his heart nearly skyrockets out of his chest when he sees the subject line.

“Booking Confirmation Details - Eden Hospitality.”

He curses silently to himself, nearly jumping in the air when there’s a tap on his back.

It’s Coach, who laughs at Andrei’s red face, and Andrei quickly locks and pockets his phone. 

“Sorry Svechy,” he says, “Didn’t mean to scare you. You coming to the meeting upstairs?”

“Yeah,” Andrei says, sighing a little in relief that it was just Coach Brind’Amour. “Yeah, let’s go.”

Another long, nearly painstaking hour later, Andrei’s finally back in his office.

It’s a cozy space, not as large as the General Manager’s office, or the coach’s office, but it’s decent enough. There’s many photos of his journey with the Canes along his wall, and pictures of his family on the wall closest to his desk. His desk is L-Shaped, and it allows him to face his office door, a couch along the wall, two chairs in front of his desk, and a shelf and mini stall for his gear in the corner. 

Checking his schedule on the calendar on his computer, he’s instantly grateful to see he doesn’t have to do anything for another hour and a half, so he pulls out his phone and brings up his email, clicking into the confirmation from Eden.

“Thank you for choosing Eden Hospitality for your booking purposes!

Your reservation beginning this Saturday, October 17th at The Mark Hotel in the Premier Suite is confirmed. Please note that any and all reservation changes must be made within 48 hours of the arranged date. Proof of payment is attached to this email in a reviewable and downloadable PDF. 

We also wanted to confirm we received your latest copy of blood testing for STDs, and thank you for your compliance with our booking policies. As a reminder, this will need to be done prior to every booking request to ensure booking can be completed. Failure to comply will result in termination of your account with Eden Hospitality. Attached is also a copy of your companion’s recent blood testing, for your reference. 

Check in as per usual at the front desk, and feel free to either leave your bags with the front desk, or you can head on up to your room. Please feel free to text your companion to arrange a time and place to meet, should you wish to meet outside of The Mark Hotel.”

His heart catapults out of his chest when his phone buzzes in his hand with a new text message.

“Almaznyy,” the name reads, and a kilowatt smile crosses his features. He opens your text thread with one another, his smile growing impossibly large as his cheeks heat.

Almaznyy: You miss me that much, don’t you?

Andrei: Almost every second since I said goodbye to you last month

The dinner date had gone incredibly. Wonderfully. Stupendously.

(That last word was one Skyler had taught him.)

The chemistry the two of you shared was…literally off the charts. It felt cosmic, fated, almost, just so naturally right that Andrei drove himself paranoid the more he thought about it, because he wanted to know if you felt it too.

You had spent the night, but nothing intimate had happened other than the two of you holding hands as you laid on Andrei’s bed and talked for hours until you both fell asleep. When Andrei woke up, you were in the kitchen, freshly showered and changed and making breakfast on the stove, a fresh pot of coffee already brewed. 

Eden had held your bags at the front desk for you as per consultation protocols, since the Daughters of Aphrodite weren’t required or expected to stay past the initial consultation if they’d made their decision or come to an agreement with their client, but if they chose to stay, their belongings weren’t far away.

The fact that you had chosen to stay made him happier than you’d ever know.

You didn’t unpack like he did, but your things were in a weekender bag in the corner of his bedroom, and though he didn’t want to admit it - mostly because he didn’t want to get ahead of himself - he quite liked seeing your toothbrush next to his on the bathroom counter.

Almaznyy: Well maybe I missed you a little bit as well

Andrei: Really?

Shit shit shit, he didn’t mean to press send on that. He didn’t want to unsend it either, but now that it was out there -

Almaznyy: Yes really, I had a wonderful time with you

You sent a heart emoji with that last message.

A heart.

Alright, now he was just outright blushing, and he folded his arms onto his desk before burying his head in them like a lovesick fool. 

In fairness, he’d had a wonderful time too.

After eating the delicious breakfast you’d made, he took your hand across the kitchen island and offered to take you out to do whatever it was that you wanted. It felt appropriate, felt good, knowing he could do that for you.

You took him by surprise when you asked if you could go to the Bronx Zoo. He half expected something a little more…well, he wasn’t sure exactly, but the zoo hadn’t been it.

He complied, of course, and the two of you got dressed. You in jeans, a light sweater, and sneakers, and him in black jeans, a white long sleeved shirt, sneakers, and your new bracelet that you hadn’t taken off since he put it on. You both took an Uber there, and spent most of the morning and early afternoon wandering around, looking at every single animal exhibit, some of them even twice, and taking pictures along the way.

Andrei took more than a few…hundred…pictures of you on his phone. Most of them were candids, some videos of you looking at the different animals, making faces or cooing at them from the viewing windows, and others of you just…being around him. 

(He locked about ninety five percent of the photos in a private album on his phone, just in case.)

After that, you took him to your favorite lunch spot on the Upper West Side, and then to your favorite book store in the city. 

For dinner, he insisted on cooking for you, so you went to Whole Foods, giggling when he pushed you around on the cart as you grabbed all the necessary items for Beef Stroganoff. 

You helped him while he cooked, though he would’ve been much happier if you had just sat on the stool, looking as pretty as you did, sipping your wine and letting him just…cater to you. 

You praised him over the dish, in which he immediately texted his mother about afterward to thank her for insisting on teaching him at least that, to which she just replied “???”

That night, the two of you fell asleep talking again, your hands linked with one another under the sheets.

The next day, you played tourist. Checking out the Natural History Museum, the Statue of Liberty and Ellis Island, got lunch in Tribeca, and then went to the driving ranges at Chelsea Piers. You had dinner together at Prime Catch in Hell’s Kitchen, and spent the rest of the night talking again, until you both fell asleep, this time, with you in his arms. 

So yeah…it was pretty wonderful. It didn’t even matter that he didn’t get the chance to kiss you, he just had so much fun being with you, being around you, that he didn’t care about what happened next, or what didn’t happen.

It had been tough to say goodbye to you, especially when you left him with a little wave, a kiss on the cheek, and a “see you soon, Andrei,” but he managed to contain his excitement for the next time.

At least, until this very moment.

He composes himself, sitting back up and grabbing his phone.

Andrei: I had a wonderful time too

Andrei: What do you want to do this time?

He feels like a teenager again, waiting as the seconds pass for your response, and when it comes, he’s pretty sure he wants to squeal with excitement.

He doesn’t even know how to squeal.

Almaznyy: I’ll let you choose, where would you like to take me on a date?

~

This was definitely a date. 

Your fourth date, technically. And you said ‘date,’ so he planned for a ‘date’, but as he waited for you as the seconds ticked by, he was worried it wasn’t enough. 

He waited on a bench in front of the Met wearing a dark baseball cap, a gray sweater, bomber jacket, jeans, and sneakers. It was a little chilly out in Manhattan, so he held two of the small, blue signature New York coffee cups in his hands, one with coffee for him, the other with hot chocolate for you.

His knee bounced up and down with nerves, eyes scanning the crowd, looking for any sign of you approaching. 

Eventually he sees you emerge, a large scarf wrapped around your neck, covering up your white knit sweater. You’re wearing black jeans and sneakers, your little black bag on your shoulder and in your hand are…

Two blue signature New York coffee cups.

As you get closer, you spot him on the bench, glance at his hands, and then the both of you are laughing by the time you reach him.

“Great minds think alike.” You tease, sitting next to him. “Is that hot chocolate for me?”

He nods, gesturing with his chin at the cups in your hand. “That coffee for me?” 

You nod too with a smile, and he shakes his head. “That’s some serious telepathy.” 

“I’m pretty sure most people call it chemistry.” You tease, “Here, you drink the coffee I got you, and I’ll drink the hot chocolate you got me.”

You place the excess cups next to you, then exchange the designated cups. He watches as you take a sip of your hot chocolate, smiling when a happy sound crosses your lips. 

“How are you, almaznyy?” He asks, reaching a hand out to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear, his hand dropping to his lap unceremoniously.

“Good,” you say, nudging his shoulder with yours. “And you, Andrei?”

“Good,” he nods, “A bit busy, but good.”

You nod, taking another sip. “You have a game tomorrow night, right?”

“Mhm,” he manages through a sip of his own coffee. “Have you ever been?”

“To Madison Square Garden? Or to a hockey game?”

He shrugs. “Both.” 

“I’ve been to both,” you say honestly. “Couple concerts and I think two games?”

“Would you like to come?” At his question, you turn your head to look at him, surprise lining your features. Andrei just shrugs. “I’d be upstairs working for most of it, but I know a guy, if you want to go. ” He adds with a small smirk.

You hum, tilting your head to the side a little. “If you’d like to have me there, sure.”

“Would you want an extra ticket or two to bring friends?” He offers. 

“If you can swing it, and if it’s not too much trouble,” you say. “I think my roommates know someone on the Rangers, so they’d probably like to come.”

“You just let me know how many people, and I’ll take care of it,” he swears, leaning closer as a breeze comes by. 

You bury your nose in your scarf, shivering a little, and Andrei frowns. Immediately, he’s putting his coffee down beside him and pulling off his jacket, draping it over your shoulders. When the fabric rests on you, you turn to look at him, a warm smile on your face.

“You sure know how to woo a girl, don’t you, hotshot?” You tease, then reach for his hand, squeezing it. “Thank you.”

“Of course, almaznyy.” He says, squeezing your hand in turn, resting your joined hands on the bench between you. You’re both silent as you finish your initial drinks, and now that your other drinks have gone cold, Andrei tosses them both in the trash nearby before standing, tugging on your still joined hands a little to get you to come up with him.

You take him by surprise when you stand, releasing his hand and wrapping your arms around his waist, burying your nose in his chest. His hands are immediately falling on your back, rubbing up and down in a soothing pattern. “What is it?” He murmurs.

“Missed you a little, I guess.” You say honestly, voice slightly muffled by his sweater. “I had a lot of fun last time.”

“So did I,” he admits. “I missed you a lot, too.”

You hum, the noise vibrating against his chest. “What are we doing here?”

Andrei looks up at the Met, then back down at you. “You said your family liked art, and you told me that you liked to draw. I thought…” his voice trails off as he hesitates. 

Was this too personal? 

“Thought what?” You press, gently rubbing his back. 

“Thought you might like to teach me a thing or two. About art.” He eventually says. When you look up at him, there’s an iridescent beam and goofy but excited tilt in your smile, and his heart hammers in his chest.

You gave him that smile a lot last time.

He was more than thrilled to see it again. He didn’t think he should start counting them, not this time, but he definitely would keep this one in his pocket for later.

Gently, he untangles his arms from around you and grabs one of your hands in his, squeezing once. “Ready to go in?”

You nod, still smiling from ear to ear as you trail after him into the museum.

~

Almaznyy: In the lexus level suite with my friends

Accompanied with the text is a selfie of you smiling from ear to ear in a Hurricanes beanie, his bomber jacket, and a Carolina Hurricanes hockey jersey underneath. You’re holding up the peace sign, the bracelet he gave you twinkling in the light.

Andrei: On my way 

He grabs two security guards and an MSG employee, asking if they can escort him down to your suite.

They guide him quickly through back halls and to an elevator, where after a short ride, he arrives at your level and is promptly escorted to your suite, where they fuck off to the other side of the hall so he can have some privacy.

He opens the door to a barrage of giggling that almost immediately ceases when he steps in. 

Your eyes lock on one another almost instantaneously and it’s like his world narrows down to just you.

He’d be embarrassed if it weren’t for the fact you said you wanted to be here, that you were excited to be here and share this with him. 

Your friends are sharing knowing looks with you from where you’re all standing at the buffet spread, but you ignore them, offering Andrei a soft smile and almost immediately going to embrace him, wrapping him in a tight hug as you murmur a “hi” into his chest.

Andrei laughs, dropping a kiss to the top of your head, murmuring his own “hi” into your hair as he wraps his arms around you.

It’s been less than a few hours since he’s seen you last - having left you at The Mark earlier in the day so he could prepare for the game, and you headed into the West Village to join your friends in getting ready for the evening - and he still felt your absence like a gaping wound in his chest.

When you pull away, you take his hand, leading him over to your friends.

“Girls, this is Andrei, my boyfriend. Andrei, these are my friends Tiffany, Katie, Cee, and Maya.” 

His whole world screeches to a halt as one word rings in his ears.

Boyfriend.

Boyfriend.

Boyfriend.

“H-hi,” he stutters, “Nice to meet you.” He holds a hand out as he greets each of your friends, who greet him in turn.

“Thank you for letting us tag along,” Maya says.

Cee tacks on “We really appreciate it.”

“Of course,” he says, brain still playing catch up.

Did he imagine it? Or did you definitely call him your boyfriend?

“It was nice of you to get this suite all for us.” Tiffany adds, eyes darting around the space that’s definitely meant for at least a dozen people.

Katie nods in agreement. “We hope it wasn’t inconvenient.” 

Andrei shakes his head. “No, it was my pleasure. Is everything okay so far?”

“Fantastic,” you assure him, then turn to your friends. “Can you guys give us a minute?” 

They all nod, sharing knowing looks once again before grabbing their plates and drinks, heading toward the front of the suite and out to the seats, getting ready to watch warm ups.

You turn to Andrei then, a sheepish smile on your face. “I’m sorry that I introduced you as my boyfriend, they just…my friends don’t know that I work at Eden, or what I do. They still think I work at my last job. I thought it would be easier.”

His every instinct says he should frown, or that he should be sad, but he also understands.

And also really, really likes the way you make the word “boyfriend” sound. 

Even more so, he likes the way it makes him feel.

But…in reality, he’s not that, no matter how much he would like to be.

Or at least, he’s not that yet.

“It’s okay,” he says. “I get it, it’s alright.”

You scrunch your nose. “Are you sure?”

Andrei shrugs, “I mean I would do the same if I was in your shoes.” If I knew your name, he wants to add, but doesn’t. Would that be okay with you?”

You give him a shy smile and nod a little. “Yeah, that would be okay.”

He feels a little out of place then, but then his eyes coast down to the jersey you’re wearing beneath his bomber jacket. He tugs on the logo at your torso, gesturing with his chin. “Where’d you get this?” 

“Made a stop downtown at the NHL store after you left earlier,” you say, offering him a cheshire grin. “Picked it up.” 

His eyes narrow playfully. “Who’s jersey is it, almaznyy?”

You shrug, tugging the bomber jacket closer, covering yourself up a little. “Guess you’ll have to wait and see later.”

Andrei makes a move like he’s about to scoop you up, when there’s a knock on the door and one of the security guards he came down with pops his head in. 

“Sorry to interrupt, but they’re calling for you in the locker rooms, Mr. Svechnikov.” 

“Give me a minute and I’ll be right there.” He promises. The guard steps out, shutting the door, and this time, Andrei does scoop you up, and you laugh gleefully, throwing your arms around his neck as he spins you around.

When he puts you down, he bends his head to tell you to have fun, to text him if you need anything and that he’ll come see you during intermissions if he can.

But then you take him by surprise, dragging your arms from his neck, trailing them down his chest, and gripping his tie in one hand, yanking him down the rest of the way as you rise up on your tippy toes and kiss him.

You’re kissing him.

This is your first kiss.

Yebena mat'. Holy shit.

It takes his brain a second to catch up and for his body to follow suit, but when it does, he’s got his hands on your waist and he’s pulling you closer, pressing his lips against yours firmly as he follows your lead, his entire world flipping on its axis in the process.

He doesn’t want this to end, has never been less interested in a game of hockey, ever, in his life, because all he wants right now is to take you straight back to The Mark and kiss you till the sun comes up, kiss your lips, your neck, your collarbone, trail those kisses down your stomach and -

You pull away, eyes glazed over a little and still lingering on his lips. On instinct, Andrei licks them, and your eyes flash, tracing the movement of his tongue.

“I um…” You start to say, but Andrei leans down and kisses you again. It’s chaste, not nearly enough of what he wants to do, but it’s enough for now.

“I know,” he murmurs. Because he does. “Later,” he promises.

Based on the look in your eyes, you know he’ll keep it.

~

It’s later on during the game that Andrei feels a tap on his shoulder, and he tears his eyes away from the ice, looking to where Coach is pointing. 

It’s the jumbotron, and there’s some kid dancing free and wild, people in the stands cheering him on or dancing along with him, but behind him, Andrei’s attention is stolen.

Because there you are, dancing with your friends, looking so wild and free, and a smile creeps up on his face. Then, that’s when he spots it.

Your jersey.

The seven evident on one arm, the three on the other. 

Your friend Maya grabs you and makes you do a little twirl, and then the “SVECHNIKOV” emblazoned on your back is on the screen, and the camera zooms in tighter on the child, blowing up your image along with it. The Canes fans cheer at the sight of his jersey, some people even standing, and it does something to his insides.

His jersey.

You’re wearing his jersey.

And he never cared about shit like that before, not really. Most of the wives and girlfriends never actually wore their husband or boyfriend’s jersey unless it was for some charity event or a coordinated effort in the playoffs. 

And you’re not his wife, or his girlfriend (yet), but he suddenly feels…

He feels completely less lonely. Feels less like he needs Eden’s services, and more like he just needs you.

Andrei feels like a boyfriend. A proper one. Yours.

“They still love you, buddy.” Coach Brind’amour says, and Andrei laughs, playing it off.

“That’s cheating,” he admits, gesturing to the screen, where they finally move onto another person. “That one was mine.”

Coach’s eyebrows raise a little. “The girl in the jersey?”

He nods, suddenly sheepish. He did say he was going to introduce you as his girlfriend, and you said you were alright with it, so he tells Coach “Yeah, she’s mine.”

“Well shit, Svechy.” Brind’amour teases. “About damn time.”

Yeah, he thinks to himself. I know.

He pulls out his phone then, shooting off a text.

Andrei: You little sneak

The three dots pop up, then disappear, then pop up again before your message comes through.

Almaznyy: You like it? 

Andrei: I never thought I’d say this in my life, but I’ll like it better when it’s on the bedroom floor

Almaznyy: I think that can be arranged

~

Andrei’s bouncing off the walls with anticipation as the elevator ascends to your hotel suite.

The Hurricanes won the game, and while he’s excited for the team, he’s also pretty fucking excited for himself.

It’s like your kiss broke the dam within him, destroying all of his restraint and hesitation. He’d been shaking with anticipation as every second passed between the second he left your suite to the very second he’d been able to get back to you once he was done playing Assistant General Manager. 

That’s something he’d never thought he’d say in his life.

He was fucking ecstatic to have this job, to be given a job for the team he’d stuck with since day one, a team that had given him everything. 

But this? You? 

This felt like a once in a lifetime kind of thing, and he wasn’t going to waste another second away from you.

A part of him felt bad about you saying goodbye to your friends so early, but this was his time with you.

Technically, as twisted as it made him feel, he paid for it…so…

When he finally unlocks the door to the suite, you saunter inside ahead of him, stripping off your shoes, socks, his jacket and your beanie, dropping them to the floor. His heart pounds harder in his chest, watching as you turn your head over your shoulder just slightly, enough so that he can see the mischievous smile on your face before you unbutton and unzip your jeans, dropping them to the floor and stepping out of them, sauntering ahead toward the bedroom with a flick of your hair behind you.

“Yebat’,” he groans out loud. Fuck. 

The sight of your bare thighs hidden beneath his jersey is the last thing he sees before you round the corner, and the image of those thighs wrapped around his head tents his pants in a second and propels him forward, stripping off his tie and suit jacket and kicking his shoes and socks off as he goes, leaving them in the same trail as your belongings.

When he gets to the bedroom, you’re sitting on the edge of the bed, all jersey and bare thighs, and the smile that spreads on his face is wide and bright.

“Posmotri na sebya,” he murmurs. Look at you. 

He steps in front of you, inches between you now, and takes in the way your eyes track him as he gets on his knees, placing his hands beside you on the edge of the bed and leaning forward.

You spread your legs a little to let him settle between them, and Andrei closes the distance, pressing his lips to yours as he shuts his eyes, losing himself in the feel of you. He feels your hands drift up his chest, gathering the material of his shirt and pulling him closer.

He feels your thighs bracketing his torso, then they’re wrapping around him, ankles locking behind him and he bites down on your lip a little, a small pleased sound leaving your mouth that reverberates in his body.

“C’mere,” you say between kisses, and he rises up, places his hands under your thighs as he moves the two of you up the bed, resting you against the pillows and slowly placing his weight on top of you.

“Almaznyy,” his own voice sounds far away to him, probably because that’s where he feels like he is. 

He feels like this is too good to be true, like this is all a dream and he’s going to wake up any second and feel like the last month that you’ve been in his life has all been an illusion.

Everything’s moving so fast, and he just…he’s suddenly worried that you might not be on the same page.

It makes him pull away, just a fraction, and you make a small noise of protest, trying to pull him back to you. 

Andrei smiles, catching your hand and kissing it. “It’s okay,” he says. “I just…” He pauses, swallowing past a lump in his throat.

You tilt your head, taking in his expression. “What is it, Andrei?” 

He shakes his head - partly out of disbelief that this is happening, and partly because he’s worried this is all in his head. “I don’t want to do something you don’t want. I don’t want to do anything if you don’t want it too.”

“Andrei, Andrei look at me.” You implore, framing his face with your hands. “I’m here, with you. Not because I have to be, not because of this job, I am here with you at this moment because I want to be, okay? I want this. I want you.”

It’s exactly what he needed to hear, but suddenly the words are too much to bear, it feels like something he doesn’t deserve. 

“What do you need?” He pleads. If he can know what you need him to do, maybe he’ll feel better about deserving this moment with you. “Tell me what you need here, what you need tonight, what you need from me. What can I do, almaznyy?”

“I just need you,” you coo, pulling him back down to you for another kiss.

“Is that all?” He presses, resisting for just a moment to look you in the eyes, so you can see him, so you can understand.

He’s asking about tonight and beyond, asking about what he can do to help you get what you need out of this arrangement, to make this more than a contractual obligation.

“Just you, Andrei,” you repeat, meeting his gaze straight on.

“If we do this…” he begins. “If we do this, then…”

“I know,” you insist. “I still want it. Do you?”

Andrei shakes his head, smiling at you. There’s…he can’t put it into words. 

The draw he feels to you is…otherworldly. 

And you’re beneath him now, in his jersey, his last name on your back, four dates under your belt, and you’ve got the most insane chemistry together, and he already likes you so much that he worries it would scare you if you knew how badly he’s wanted you since that very first second.

“You don’t get it,” he insists, bending his head a little, rubbing his nose against yours gently. “The things I want…if we do this…” he says again, finding your eyes. “If we do this, there’s no going back. Do you understand? If I touch you, I can’t go back.”

You nod, “I know. I don’t want to go back.”

You’re still not answering his question, not really, and he knows that.

“You can tell me you know,” Andrei breathes out, still a little dazed that this is happening. “You can tell me anything.”

You smile at him, nodding and murmuring “I know,” before pulling him down to kiss you again, and he feels it, feels the way you try to communicate to him through your lips, pressing your body against his, that this - here and now - is mutual.

And that’s going to have to be enough. 

This time, there’s no more waiting, no more hesitating, and he kisses you back full force, pressing his hips to yours and pushing you into the mattress. His hands wander up the jersey, feeling the lace material at your hip and on your ribs and he needs to see it. 

You must read his mind, because you’re reaching between the two of you and grabbing at the jersey, pulling it up and over your head, and all Andrei sees is black lace.

His cock throbs painfully against the zipper of his pants, and he meets your eyes for just a second, asking permission, and you’ve barely nodded before he’s bending his head, sucking the skin of your exposed breast into his mouth and groaning at the taste of you, the feel of your skin beneath his tongue.

You gasp a little, back arching and he winds his arms around you, pulling you impossibly closer as his name crosses your lips in a dreamy sigh.

“Say it again,” he demands, dragging his teeth over your skin as he switches to your other breast, pressing his palms against your back. “Say my name again, almaznyy.”

“Andrei,” you breathe out without hesitation, “Feels so good.”

He sucks your skin into his mouth, flicking his eyes up to gauge your reaction, and when he finds you already looking at him, his pulse skyrockets, and your hips move, grinding your core against his clothed abdomen.

Freeing one hand from behind you, he brings it forward and between your bodies, trailing his fingers over the lace and down toward your core, pressing gently against the lace, a moan escaping his throat before he can stop it when he feels how wet you are.

“This for me?” He murmurs quietly, trailing his tongue in the valley between your breasts, playing with the hem between your legs.

You nod, breath coming out in heated pants. “Only you, Andrei. Just you.”

Only you.

Just you.

He lets those words ring in his ears, lets the syllables settle in his bones and cloud his mind when he presses his fingers at the fabric and tears, ripping the black lace thong from your body before stuffing them in his pocket and shuffling down the bed.

You’re sitting up on your elbows, looking down your body at him as he parts your thighs, his large hands digging into the flesh as his eyes take in the one place he never imagined he’d be lucky enough to see in his life. 

“Trakhni menya,” he nearly croaks. Fuck me.

Your glistening pink heat stares at him, inviting him closer, calling to him, and he answers the call without a moment’s hesitation, leaning forward and burying his face between your thighs, dipping his tongue into your dripping center and sucking.

The sound of his lips and mouth working against your pussy fill the bedroom quickly, obscene and loud noises echoing off the walls. He eats you unabashed, unashamed, and unrestricted. You thrash against his mouth as pleased moans and whines escape your throat one after the other.

Your hands fly into his hair, nails scraping against his scalp and tugging the tresses between your fingers, pulling him closer and pushing him away all at once. His lips barely detach from your skin when he pulls away to take a breath, not wanting to be too far from his current task, not wanting your skin and your taste so far from him ever again.

He sucks your clit into his mouth and your back arches, nearly tearing your hips away from him and he moans out a little displeased sound, pulling you closer and bracketing his arms across your belly, keeping you locked against his mouth. 

“Andrei,” you pant again, desperation in your tone, “Please, please I’m so close.”

He quite likes the sound of you begging.

“Come,” he commands, murmuring against your clit. “Come for me, I want to taste you.”

He sucks your clit into his mouth, hard, and he keeps his eyes on you, your face, and your body, gauging for the little tells he wants to memorize, store in his memory for the next time he gets to do this with you, and the next, and the next, and the next.

You go silent all of a sudden, heaving breaths stopping as your orgasm hits and your mouth falls open in a silent cry, brows furrowed and eyes shut tight while your grip in his hair tightens, thighs bracketing his head as your body shakes through your orgasm. The taste of you floods his mouth and he groans in delight, savoring every drop happily as he continues to lick and suck until you’re all but forcing his head away, giggling and delirious.

“Andrei please,” you breathe, “Please just come here.”

He obeys, crawling up your body until he’s close enough and he bends his head, accepting your kiss and massaging his tongue against yours, sharing your release. He lets you unbutton his shirt and push it off his shoulders, lets you pull his shirt over his head before he unhooks your lace bra and tosses it aside, and then you’re completely bare for him.

“Let me see you,” he pleads, sitting up and back on his haunches just so he can look at you.

You preen under his gaze, back arching slightly as you stretch, a cheshire grin crossing your features as his eyes roam over you, trying his damndest to commit the sight of you to memory.

“Ty takaya krasivaya,” he praises. You’re so beautiful, allowing his admission to linger in the air and one of his hands to wander up your calves, your thighs, before it settles on your waist, the other hand unbuckling his belt with deft fingers.

“Spasibo,” you say almost shyly, sitting up and then reaching out, unbuttoning his dress pants and then lowering the zipper.

The corner of his mouth ticks up, his expression curious. “What did I say?”

He watches with bated breath as your hands dance on the waistband of his boxer briefs, and one of your shoulders lifts in a small shrug. “I think you called me beautiful,” you respond, eyes slow as they drag up his body and toward his face.

Andrei leans down, playfully suspicious when he says “And how did you know that?”

You shake your head, dragging that beautiful bottom lip between your teeth before bringing your eyes back down, dipping your fingers into his waistband. “Lucky guess.”

Andrei doesn’t believe that for a second, but his protest dies in his throat the second your hand dips into his underwear and wraps around his cock, grip firm as you tug a little at the base of him. 

A loud but pleased groan echoes out of him and his head tilts back, nearly going cross eyed as you tug again, and his hand shoots out, circling your wrist gently as he shakes his head. 

When he manages to focus again, he raises his head and looks down at you, the furrow in your brow and pout of your lips damn near breaking his heart.

“Did I not do it right?” You ask, concern lacing your tone.

He reaches a hand out, thumb smoothing the furrow in your brow before dragging over your lower lip. Your tongue darts out, licking the pad of his finger before you gently suck his thumb into your mouth, and chert voz'mi, damn it if his cock doesn’t throb painfully in your grip.

“Almaznyy, I don’t think there’s a single thing you could do to me that wouldn’t be absolutely right, or feel fucking amazing. But I need this first time with you to last more than forty five seconds, okay?”

Understanding crosses your features, and a pleased smile makes its way onto your lips. “Oh,” you say, a little dazed, almost surprised, and it baffles Andrei right back.

How could you not possibly know how you undo him? How could you not know that you rattle his very existence in the best way? He feels like it’s so obvious now, like there’s no way he’s been playing it as cool as he’s believed this entire time. 

He smiles at you, voice teasing when he says, “Yes, ‘oh,’ almaznyy. It’s you, it’s what you do to me.”

“You do it to me too, you know.” You say. The response is almost immediate and your words go right to his heart.

Again.

He rises from the bed then, dragging his pants and boxer briefs down his legs before he kicks them off to the side, then he’s climbing back on the bed and settling between your legs. Your hands frame his face once more when you pull him to you for a kiss, a kiss that quickly turns from innocent and reassuring to desperate and needy, soft and open mouthed as his tongue massages against yours, you opening up beneath him almost automatically, like you’ve done this together a dozen times before.

There’s a moment where he expects to be jealous, to think about the times you could’ve been like this with other people, but the moment never comes. 

Because deep down, and based on the way your body comes alive under his touch, the way you respond to him, the way the two of you move like your bodies know each other inside and out already, Andrei knows, he just knows that neither of you have ever experienced something this perfect in your entire lives. 

“Condom?” He asks between kisses, trying to work through his mental checklist. “Do you want me to put on a condom?”

You barely even hesitate when you say “No, I’m clean. I know you are, too. I want to feel you. Is that okay?”

God. “It’s more than okay, almaznyy,” he assures you, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips. “I want the same.”

His cock slips against your pussy where you’re soaked for him all over again, and you both moan, grinding against one another as you make out until the need for one another just becomes too much to bear.

“Ask me,” he says, nearly begging. Because as right as this is, he still needs to know that you want this too, and that he’s not just imagining things. “Ask me for it.”

Your voice is syrupy when you ask “Please Andrei, please put it in. I want you so badly. I want you, just you, Andrei, no one else and I - oh my-” 

Your words are cut off as you gasp on an inhale, mouth open in another silent cry as your back arches, hips tilting just so that Andrei has to focus, has to keep his hips still as he focuses solely on the way you flutter around him and squeeze as he pushes in just an inch. The look on your face, the way your body reacts has him nearly roaring with satisfaction, with pride, his mind going blank as two words run through his brain on a loop. 

Ona moya, he thinks. She’s mine, she’s mine, she’s mine.

You’re his. You belong to him, and he belongs to you. There’s nothing else in this world that makes sense.

“Breathe, almaznyy,” he pleads, dropping his head into the crook of your neck. “Need you to breathe, need you to tell me if it’s too much.” 

Your head shakes, frantic, and your next inhale is deep, gathering enough air in your lungs to steady yourself, and he rises again, eyes scanning your face desperately, needing you to be okay.

Your eyes lock almost instantly, and the look on your face is pleading, your words articulating the desperation behind them when you say “More, Andrei, please. Pozhaluysta.”

He curses, cock throbbing when he pushes inside another inch, and your hands fly to his ass, nails digging into the flesh of his cheeks as you try to pull him closer. “I know, I know,” he assures, “I’ve got you, almaznyy.”

“I’m so close again already, Andrei.” You murmur, tilting your head up and speaking the words against his jaw. “Please, just wanna feel you. Want you all the way inside.”

The way your words affect him feel nearly criminal, and he almosts debates grabbing his tie from out in the living area of the suite or your torn thong from his pants on the floor and using either of them to gag you, keep your mouth shut and stop him from blowing his load before he’s ready.

“Okay,” he says instead, trying to ease your desperation as well as his own. He pushes inside a little more, and when you nod, pleased mewls spilling through your lips, he keeps going until he’s seated all the way inside, can feel his balls pressing against your ass cheeks, and you both let out a satisfied groan.

“Khoroshaya devochka,” good girl, “taking me so well,” he praises, and you nod, eyes glazed over in pleasure.

“For you,” you say, all breathy. “Just for you.”

His hips stutter, causing him to pull out and push back in just a fraction, but it’s enough that your eyes flutter. “What did I say?” He asks, and watches in amazement when you give him a lazy smile, eyes still lost in the way he’s making you feel.

“You said I was a good girl,” you say, though it comes out slow, and Andrei nods, dropping a kiss to your lips, dragging your bottom lip between his teeth as he pulls away and pushes up on his arms.

“I did,” he confirms. He drags his hips backward until just the tip of him rests inside of you, and then he pushes forward, burying himself back to the hilt. The moan that echoes across the walls buries itself in his mind as he catalogs the sound.

He starts to fuck you in earnest then, hands resting on the backs of your thighs to keep you propped open and spread for him, allowing him to watch the way his cock disappears inside of you, the way you take him over and over, his cock glistening with your arousal everytime he pulls out. The sounds your bodies make are probably obscene, but they sound like perfection in his mind, and he keeps at it, his eyes locked on your face to gauge your reactions, to make sure that he’s not giving you anything but mind blowing pleasure.

It’s all you deserve. He’ll give you nothing but the best, and if it’s not to your standards, he won’t stop until he gets it right, until he knows everything you like, until his legs burn and his jaw aches and he knows every single way he can make you come until you see stars and your voice is shot from screaming his name.

“Andrei,” you breathe, hands fisted in the sheets. “I’m going to come.”

He nods, “Do it, almaznyy. I want to see. Let me see you.”

“Want you to come with me,” you plead, and he feels his balls tighten at your plea. 

Your bodies know one another, he’s certain of it now.

“I will,” he promises. “Need you to come first, need to make sure you come first. Come for me and I’ll give you anything and everything, I promise.”

Your pussy flutters around him again, and he drives his hips forward, focused on fucking you until your flutters turn into a near death grip as you squeeze him, back breaking on an arch as his name crosses your lips in ecstasy, body shaking as your orgasm rocks through your body.

Your arms shoot out as you yank him down, and when you kiss him, when he swallows your cries as your release drips down his cock, he can feel a tight knot form at the base of his spine as his orgasm hits him like a freight train.

His arms shake as he keeps you open to him, cock throbbing as his orgasm pulses inside of you, filling you to the brim as he claims you from the inside.

“Ty moy,” he says as his orgasm begins to calm, pressing the words into your hairline. “Tol'ko moy.”

You’re mine, only mine.

“Andrei,” you say, his name sounding like a plea and a confirmation to his words all at once, and his heart hammers in his chest. 

If you only knew, almaznyy. He wants to say.

But his name on your lips is enough for now.

It has to be.

~

November

He wakes up hard. 

Images of you run through his brain from his dreams into his waking life and he sighs, reaching for his phone on his bedside table.

There’s a text there from you, telling him goodnight after you got off the phone earlier, and though it’s late - or maybe too early in the morning, he’s not sure - he calls you anyway, figuring he could just leave a voicemail, and a surprised bolt of joy blooms in his chest when you actually answer.

“Thought you were asleep, malysh.” You say, and Andrei can hear your smile through the phone.

“I never should have taught you that word,” he teases. He’d taught it to you the morning after your first night together, after he’d pressed the word into your neck while he fucked you from behind.

“Why not?” You feign hurt. “You get to call me something cute, why can’t I?”

What he really wants to call you is your name, but he knows he can’t ask, and since you still haven’t offered, it’s probably because you don’t feel like the two of you are in the right place for it.

You’ll get there, the two of you, he’s sure of it. He’s waited this long, he can wait a little more.

“You’re just going to use it to torment me,” he says, sighing as he leans back against his headboard.

You hum to yourself. “Well you’re clearly tormenting yourself if you’re awake right now. What’s going on?”

He shrugs even though he knows you can’t see him. “Ya skuchayu po tebe,” he says. “Kazhdyy den'.”

I miss you, every day.

It’s only been a couple of weeks, but it feels like months in his mind. Especially now that he’s had you in his arms, now that he knows what it sounds like when you say his name when he makes you come, now that he knows what you taste like, how you feel beneath his hands and body, it’s like he’s got a craving he can’t satisfy and he can’t help but want more, even if it leaves him feeling starved.

“Oh Andrei,” you coo, adoration in your voice. “I miss you too.”

His heart stops and he takes a deep breath, clutching his phone tighter. “How do you know what I said?”

“I have my ways.” You say cryptically, and he can hear your mischievous smile through the phone.

“Have you been taking lessons?” He inquires. It’s possible, given how much you understood that night and so far.

You giggle, “What’s making you miss me so much?”

He’ll accept your change of subject…for now. “Can’t get enough of you.” He confesses, “I can’t stop thinking about the last time I saw you.”

“I can’t stop thinking about you either,” you say. “Or that night.”

Andrei feels butterflies in his stomach followed by a wave of sadness. “I don’t know when I’ll be able to see you again,” he says honestly. “We’re in the height of the season now, and we’ve got a decent stretch of home games coming up, so it’ll be hard to get away to New York.”

“We don’t have to meet in New York, you know.” You say. “I can always come to Raleigh.”

He blinks, bolting upright so quick it almost makes him dizzy. “You can?”

“Yeah, Eden allows it so that we can travel wherever we need to. You don’t have to always formally book dates and times unless it’s based on your schedule.” You say. “I can always come to you, I just thought that…”

Your voice trails off, and Andrei frowns. “Thought what?”

You hesitate, and he feels it form a crack in his chest. “I thought you needed something more discreet, and that you liked being in Manhattan for the secrecy, so I never mentioned anything else. Plus, you always booked for The Mark Hotel, so…”

When you don’t continue, he swallows a lump in his throat. “I didn’t really know that. I guess I didn’t fully understand the booking parameters. Plus, I thought it was easier for you.” He winces at his word choice. “Not because of Eden, or anything, but because it was where we first met? So I thought it would be more comfortable for you..”

“No I understand, Andrei, I do.” You reassure him. “But I can come to you, if you’d like. If that’s what you want, or what you’re comfortable with.”

“I’d love that.” He says almost immediately. “I would love to have you here.”

~

You arrive in Raleigh two days later, Andrei picking you up from the airport. You’d offered to take an Uber since Eden would be footing the bill, but Andrei didn’t like that idea. 

You were his girl, his companion, and he’d take care of you himself, thank you very much.

He parks in the garage and waits for you at baggage claim, hiding beneath a baseball cap and his reading glasses just in case any fans recognize him. It doesn’t help that despite the fact that he’s retired, he knows his face is still plastered at the terminal exit as passengers come out and take the escalators down toward baggage claim.

Thankfully, you don’t make him wait long. He spots you coming down the escalator, wearing sweatpants and a baggy shirt Andrei recognizes as his own, a flannel tied around your waist and a duffel bag hanging off of one shoulder, your bracelet glittering in the fluorescent lights of the airport.

You spot him just as quickly, and Andrei enjoys the way the smile that stretches across your lips forms almost immediately. 

Andrei’s moving before he realizes, and he ends up at the bottom of the escalator just in time for you to step off of it, and then he’s hauling you into his arms by your waist, your own wrapping around his neck as he lifts you a little and spins you around, careful to move you both out of the way in the process.

Happy giggles spill from your lips as he presses kisses all over your face, grinning from ear to ear when he sets you down on your feet.

“Hi, almaznyy.” He greets quietly, arms still secured around you.

You rise on your tiptoes and press a kiss to his jaw, greeting him with an equally soft “Hi, malysh.”

He takes your hand and leads you over to the baggage claim area for your flight, choosing a spot close to the belt but far enough away from other passengers that he can still have you all to himself.

“How was your flight?” He asks, thumb rubbing the back of your hand.

“It was good,” you say, resting your head against his arm. “I’m just happy I’m here.”

“So am I, almaznyy.” He says, pressing a kiss to your forehead as the buzzer goes off and the belt of the baggage carousel starts to move.

You point out your suitcase after a few minutes and Andrei insists on grabbing it and taking your duffel from you, carrying both so the only thing you have to worry about holding is his hand in yours.

You make it out to his car and he makes sure to get you inside safe and sound before he places your things in the backseat, despite your protests of your suitcase messing up his leather interior.

He could care fucking less about that. All he cares about right now is that you’re here, in Raleigh, that he’s about to take you home for the first time, and that according to the confirmation email he got after you got off the phone the other night, the ticket Eden helped you arrange to Raleigh was a one way ticket. 

Meaning you were here for as long as either of you wanted, with no clear plans to send you back, and he liked that a lot.

He also liked that your suitcase felt heavy, meaning you probably packed for a long time.

All things that made Andrei feel like he should probably get a gift basket for Olly and Mason as a thank you for not being able to keep their traps shut at that dinner, maybe talk to Coach about getting them more ice time, maybe negotiating more money in their next contracts.

You held hands the entire drive to his house, your bracelet and his Rolex glinting in the sunlight from where they accompanied one another on his center console, and when he finally pulled into his garage and shut off his car, he felt a sudden rush of excitement fill his veins, and excitement he’d only felt whenever he got his day with the Cup. 

It was that initial feeling of him being able to carry it over the threshold into his home that made the victory feel surreal, and as he wheeled your luggage and carried your bag, holding your hand as he guided you inside his home and over the threshold, he realized this feeling, bringing you home, was better than any Cup championship he’d experienced.

It wasn’t even close.

The only thing that could possibly come second flashed in his mind, and images of him being able to bring you over this threshold in a white dress, layers of tulle flowing like a waterfall over his arms, and then not long after, being able to escort you over the threshold as you held a bundled up baby in your arms.

It seized the breath from his lungs so quickly he nearly choked. 

He’d never given so much thought to a god damn doorway before.

Oblivious to his predicament, you trail behind him as he leads you to his bedroom, eyes roaming over the expanse of his home, taking in every last detail.

“I’ll give you a full tour once you’re settled in,” he promises. “I just want to make sure you get comfortable first.”

“Okay,” you agree, voice soft in the mid morning hour.

When you finally get to his room, he lays your suitcase down on the bench at the foot of the bed, placing your duffel bag next to it. “You can sleep on whatever side you’d like,” he says, gesturing to the bed. “Feel free to make yourself at home. Bathroom’s through there,” he points to a door near the closet, “Fresh towels are already out for you. Would you like something to eat? I can make you lunch.”

You shake your head. “No, I'm okay for now, I ate a little on the plane.”

“Are you sure? Can I get you anything else?” he asks.

You shake your head again with a small smile, tilting your head toward the bathroom. “I’m sure, Andrei. Do you mind if I shower?”

“Of course not, feel free. I’ll uh…I’ll be in my office just down the hall, there’s something I have to take care of anyway.”

He closes the distance and drops a kiss to your lips, squeezing your waist in his hand before he leaves, wanting to give you space to yourself, to feel comfortable in his home. 

Oh god. 

You’re in his home.

His actual fucking house.

He can’t seem to get over that as nerves begin to settle in, tossing his hat to his desk once he’s in his office, running a hand through his hair.

He hasn’t been this nervous to bring someone home ever. He’d been so excited just to see you again, to have you here that it wasn’t until now that he worried what you’d think of the space, if you’d find it comfortable and homey and welcoming.

With a sigh, he pushes his glasses further up his nose as he opens his laptop, bringing up his emails and sorting through some of the things he needed to take care of for the team, welcoming the distraction even though it made him feel uncomfortable to think of anything but you for longer than a millisecond. 

Especially when you were down the hall, in his bedroom, in his shower, naked. 

The same shower he’d jerked off in thinking about you this morning, and last night. And the night before.

“O Gospodi, chto zhe ya nadelal,” he mutters to himself. Oh lord, what have I done?

He spends the next fifteen minutes willing himself to focus on the emails in front of him, tasks for him to finish up, people to respond back to, people to reach out to at the behest of the team owners and Coach Brind’amour. When his emails clear, he shuts his laptop and pulls out his phone, busying himself with responding to texts from Evgeny about the upcoming holidays, getting back to Evgeny’s wife, Sara, about potential Christmas presents for his brother, and his parents, checking in on them both.

It busies him enough that when you finally walk into his office - wet hair still dripping a little and body dressed in a baby pink spaghetti strap sundress, the only jewelry on you being the bracelet you never take off, your bare feet padding onto the carpet - he doesn’t notice at first. 

That is, not until you’re on the other side of his desk, knocking your fist playfully on the wood.

Andrei’s head snaps up from his phone, and he leans back a little in relief in his chair when he notices it’s you, a lazy smile spreading across his face. “You almost scared me there.”

“Sorry,” you breathe out in a laugh. “I believe I have an appointment with you, Mr. Svechnikov?”

He’s confused at first, until he sees the way your eyes twinkle mischievously, and he smirks. “Is that so?”

You nod, clasping your hands behind your back. “Mhm, I believe you’ve been expecting me, and I know you don’t like it when I’m late.”

Andrei places his phone back in his pocket, then folds his hands across his abdomen, resting his elbows on the armrest of his chair. “What is it you’re meant to be meeting with me about?”

“Don’t you remember? I’m your new assistant,” you say, releasing one of your hands from behind your back and trailing a finger on the other side of his desk. “I’ve been hired to help you and ensure your daily needs are met.”

“You’re a little underdressed to be an assistant, aren’t you?” He asks, tilting his head curiously.

You look down with a small pout, then back up to his face. “You don’t like it?”

“Hmmm, it’s hard to tell. Why don’t you come around the desk and let me see?”

He backs his chair up a little as you round the desk and then come to stand between his spread legs. Andrei pretends to deliberate, raising his hand in the air and twirling his finger before saying “Turn around, let me see all of you.” 

A shy smile works its way onto your face as you do a little turn, his cock immediately growing hard as he observes you taking slow steps to complete your circle before facing him once more, clasping your hands in front of you. “Well?”

“I think,” Andrei says, scooting his chair closer to you before his hands make their way to the backs of your thighs, thumbs rubbing at your skin. “That you’re perfect.”

“Why thank you,” you murmur, reaching a hand out and cupping his cheek. “You’re very sweet.”

He shakes his head a little. “If you knew what was going through my head right now, you’d disagree.”

“Well, what’s going through your head?” You inquire, rubbing your thumb over his cheekbone. 

“Why don’t you hop up on the desk and maybe you’ll find out?” He says, punctuating his statement with a light slap to the backs of one of your thighs. You gasp a little, leaning into him, and Andrei smiles, tightening his grip on your thighs as he stands, and you jump a little into his arms, your arms winding themselves around his neck as he backs you both up two steps, setting you down onto the wood of his desk gently. 

“I always have a lot going on in my head when it comes to you,” he admits, reaching up to grab your hands, kissing the backs of them before bringing them down to your lap. “I just don’t want you to…I guess I just don’t want to scare you away.”

“Skazhi mne,” you encourage, voice soft. Tell me.

Andrei’s eyes flash. “Tell me where you’re learning Russkiy.” He demands.

You giggle, “What’s going on in your head?” You ask him instead, and he narrows his eyes a little.

One of these days he’s not going to let you change the subject, but for now, he plays along. “I think about you sometimes,” he admits, circling his fingers around the bracelet on your wrist, pads running over the diamond studded vines. “I think about you on this desk, like you are now.”

“And?” You press, tracking his every move with your eyes. 

He hesitates to say more, unsure of how far to go with this, unsure of what he should reveal and what would be too…scandalous. 

“What about me on the desk, Andrei?” You ask, reaching a hand out to trail down his abdomen, resting on the waistband of his jeans.

He shakes his head, cheeks heating as his face goes red. He’s too ashamed, feels like he shouldn’t have been thinking such…dirty things about someone as pure as you. “I can’t, almaznyy. I-”

You surge up then, pulling his waistband at the same time and kissing him, hands traveling up his abdomen and to his face, where you pull his reading glasses off and set them on the desk next to his phone. Then, you take him by surprise, placing your hands firmly on his chest and shoving him back down into his desk chair. 

“I think this is where I, as your assistant, can help you articulate those thoughts.” You start, his favorite cheshire smile of yours creeping onto your lips. “Since it’s my job to make sure your needs are met, and to anticipate any future needs.”

“Are you sure about that?” He asks, well aware of how hard he’s breathing. 

You nod, and without another word, spread those glorious legs of yours to reveal your bare pussy.

Andrei’s breath catches in his throat. “Almaznyy,” he breathes, the word coming out like a pained sound.

“Malysh,” you say, voice teasing as your hand, the one donning your bracelet, comes forward and runs down your stomach and to the hem of your dress, pulling it up to bare yourself to him a little more.

He doesn’t know where to look. He wants to look at your face, wants to watch your facial expressions, but then he also wants to watch your hands, memorize the way you touch yourself so he can mimic the movements later, and he wants to keep his eyes locked on that little piece of heaven you’ve got between your thighs.

“Will this make it easier for you to tell me what’s on your mind?” You ask, trailing your fingers down and collecting the wetness already gathering, dragging it back up to circle your clit.

All he can do is nod, too entranced by your ministrations. He can feel his mouth start to water, watching one of the spaghetti straps of your sundress start to fall off of one shoulder, and good lord -

He reaches out, rubbing the hem of your sundress between his fingers. “Ty golaya pod etim plat'yem, krasavitsa?” 

Are you naked under this dress, beautiful?

Your brow furrows as your fingers continue to move in deliberate circles, and Andrei memorizes the pattern, tucks it away in his brain for later. “I don’t…I didn’t understand all of that,” you admit.

He smirks, but doesn’t repeat himself. He doesn’t know if he has the energy to think in just one language, let alone two right now, because all of his focus is directed on you and your body. 

“Boleye,” he pleads. More.

Now that you seem to understand, because you part your legs a little wider, scooting more toward the edge of his desk as you continue touching yourself.

Andrei rolls his desk chair a little closer so you can place your feet on the armrests and essentially bracket him in, giving him the perfect front row seat to everything going on. He reaches for his jeans, unbuttoning and unzipping them before he’s reaching inside his boxer briefs and pulling out his cock, giving it a rough tug to ease some of the pressure. 

Your pupils blow out wide as you watch him, and he jerks his chin at where your fingers are moving up and down your pussy now, where he can see the digits glistening from his vantage point.

“Move your hand.” He orders, and you do, prepared to move it to the side to rest on your thigh, but then Andrei’s making a small “tsk” noise, and your hand hovers in the air for a second. 

“Give it to me,” he says, holding one hand out while the other strokes his cock in slow movements. You place your hand in his and then he’s bringing the arousal coated digits to his mouth, sucking them between his lips and massaging the pads with his tongue, cleaning away your wetness and swallowing it down with a pleased rumble in his chest.

Your fingers leave his mouth in a soft ‘pop’ when he pulls them out, and he brings both hands to rest under your thighs, pulling you just a little bit closer to the edge, allowing his desk chair to also roll forward until there’s practically no space between you both, and then he’s bending his head, lips latching onto your pussy and sucking hard.

A surprised moan crosses your lips and Andrei’s hands hold you steady as you thrash a little, clearly not expecting him to just dive in so eagerly. Your hands slam against the desk behind you, using them to try to prop you up and keep you steady, and Andrei’s eyes are glued to your face.

He managed to learn what you liked best that first night, having the privilege to have taken you four times that night, insisting on tasting you every chance he got. He knows now that you like it when he turns his head just a little, tilting it so it’s nearly sideways and taking your labia and clit into his mouth and sucking, licking across the center of your cunt and teasing it as if he’s making out with you.

So when he tilts his head and does just that, taking you into his mouth the way you like, his name spews from your lips in a breathy sigh, and your arms shake at your sides.

Eagerly, he laps at you and moans in satisfaction when the taste of you and smell of you overwhelms his senses, having also learned that you like hearing him, like hearing how much he’s enjoying you and how excited he is to get you to come on his tongue. He doesn’t exaggerate the noises his mouth makes against you but does nothing to lessen or quiet them.

It’s his fucking house, and you’re on his fucking desk, at the mercy of his lips and tongue and spread out by his hands, so he’ll do whatever he god damn pleases. You can cry out for God for all he cares, it’s just the two of you in this room, and the only ‘God’ to answer your prayers for more is going to be him. 

“Andrei,” you moan, turning his name into a plea and dammit does he love that, too. It’s a sound he doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to. “Pozhaluysta,” you beg. Please.

You don’t have to beg, he wants to tell you. You don’t have to beg me for a goddamn thing. I’ll give you whatever you want. Just ask me and it’s yours, I’m yours. 

Instead, he just nods, pressing his tongue against you in the way he knows you like and spreading your thighs apart, pressing against the back of them to expose you to him more so he can feast on you properly.

It’s messy, wet, and loud, and Andrei couldn’t give a single fuck, not when you’re so close, your arousal dripping down his chin and your thighs are pressing up against his palm, shaking as you get closer and threatening to squeeze his head between the strong muscles.

“Can I come, Andrei?” You ask, syrupy sweet and desperate and his cock throbs in response.

He nods, brushing his nose against your clit as he does and you jolt, body nearly shaking in relief when his lips circle around your clit and he sucks in the pulsing rhythm he discovered had you coming in no time time, his tongue lapping at you and drawing you closer to release.

When your orgasm hits, your whole body shakes under his touch, and your arms fall out from under you, your back landing on his desk and then arching up, pressing you further into his mouth. He doesn’t stop, doesn’t back away, doesn’t do anything until you’re pushing at his head, and whining at the over sensitivity.

“Please malysh,” you beg, shaking against his mouth as he continues to lap at you. “It’s too much.”

“I’m a little busy, almaznyy,” he murmurs against your clit. “I’m cleaning up my assistant.”

You laugh through heaving breaths, fingers descending into Andrei’s hair and gripping the strands tight in your fist, tugging a little. He relents, pressing gentle kisses to your skin as you sit up, and then you’re fisting his shirt in your grasp, yanking him upright and kissing him, slipping your tongue inside his mouth and chasing the taste of yourself on his tongue.

You take him by surprise in the next second, shoving him back down in his chair and then licking the palm of your hand, wrapping it around his cock and twisting.

He hisses, hands gripping at your calves. He’s too sensitive and far too hard to be able to handle your touch. He doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to handle it, especially not now that he knows every inch of your skin and how it feels against his.

“Almaznyy,” he warns through clenched teeth when you twist your first over the head of his cock, squeezing and swiping at the bead of precum on his tip with your thumb. “Stop teasing.”

“Is that an order, Mr. Svechnikov?” You taunt, squeezing the head of his cock once more. 

A low groan leaves his lips, and he has half a mind to reach up and wrap his fingers around your throat, but instead, all he can do is hiss out a pained “Yes,” and then you’re using your other hand to reach out, yanking him a little closer before scooting all the way off of his desk and sitting right on his cock, taking him to the hilt in one go.

The gasp that leaves you both simultaneously is loud and echoes around his office, probably even down the hallway, and he can barely gather enough air in his lungs before you’re rising up again and then dropping down, and it feels like he’s going to burst at the seams.

“Oh my god,” he says, the words feeling like they’re being punched out of him as you slowly start to bounce on him. He tracks the way both of the straps of your dress hang off of your shoulders, the way that the bottom part of your dress is still raised from where he’d pushed it up earlier, and the bounce of your tits beneath the neckline.

He reaches out, tugging the neckline down and freeing them, and then you’re moving, sitting up a little taller, thighs bracketing his as you keep your pace bouncing on his cock, arching your back just so that when Andrei leans forward, he can easily suck your nipple into his mouth, laving his tongue over the bud while sucking your skin, hoping a hickey blooms there for him to admire later.

The moans spilling from your lips tell him you enjoy it, so he continues, switching to the other side and giving you teasing licks before he mimics his previous ministrations, sucking hard enough to hopefully produce matching marks.

Your hands find their way into the longer hair at the nape of his neck and tug so he’s looking up at you, and Andrei sees the way your glassy eyes take in his fucked out expression, sees how it spurs you on, your mouth dropping open in an ‘O’ everytime you sink down on his cock till he’s balls deep, then raise yourself up on your knees.

“Khoroshaya devochka,” he praises. Good girl. “Take it from me. Make yourself come on my cock.”

Nodding, you speed up just a little, thighs tightening on either side of his, and Andrei’s hands go to your ass, gripping the flesh and helping to move you up and down his length, keeping his eyes on your face to watch you, waiting for the way your eyes start to roll in the back of your head and waiting for the beautiful flutter of your pussy on his cock to let him know when you’re going to come.

“Andrei,” you whine, your grip in his hair loosening a little. “I’m so close.”

“I’ve got you,” he swears. He means it in every way possible. “Take what you need.” He punctuates his statement by burying his face in your neck and sucking on that sensitive spot he found last time, and it has you clenching around him in seconds, crying out as you pulse around him, body seizing as your orgasm washes over.

He has to take control then, gripping your hips and fucking you through it the way he knows you like, and it’s not long before he’s following behind you, pressing you down onto his cock as he pushes his pelvis upward, sealing the two of you together as he fills you up with his come, pulse hammering so hard in his body he can feel it in his ears.

As your orgasms subside, gently, he rubs up and down your back, pressing kisses to the nape of your neck and collarbone, happy to just sit here with you on top of him until you’re ready to move.

Eventually, you speak, voice a little raspy when you say “I think I need another shower after that.”

Andrei laughs, slowly standing and wrapping your legs around his waist, still fully seated inside you. “I think shower sex sounds like an excellent idea.”

~

The longer you stay with him, you two start to develop the beginnings of a routine together, and Andrei finds himself clinging to it like a lifeline.

In the mornings, you’re usually up first, wandering to some part of his massive house and drinking a steaming cup of tea or coffee, and it feels a bit like a game, Andrei wandering after you through his house to find where you’ve situated yourself for that morning. You usually only drink half of whatever you’ve made that morning, and when he finds you, he drinks the rest, still warm, before he takes your hand and drags you into the shower.

The first morning he did it, you pushed him to the built in shower bench and sank to your knees, took him in your mouth until he saw stars and came deep down your throat with a loud groan, repeating “Almaznyy” over and over until you took pity on him and released him from your mouth with a soft “pop,” the water trailing over your face making you look like a damn goddess. 

He came within like…five minutes, that first time. And though you clearly loved it and reveled in the effect you had on him, he would rather each time with you last longer than ten minutes, so he decided he wouldn’t let you take him in your mouth for a little while, especially if it meant saving what he had left of his pride and ego.

Sometimes, he would put you on the shower bench and get on his knees, burying his face between your thighs until you begged him for mercy. Other times, he pressed you against the tile wall, burying himself to the hilt and finding solace with you under the warm spray, filling you to the brim before fucking it deeper inside of you. 

Then, he’d wrap you up in one of his big, fluffy towels and dry you off, pressing you against the bathroom sink and kissing you until your stomachs rumbled. After getting ready for the day, he’d drag you out of the bathroom and to the kitchen where either you or him would make breakfast for the both of you, and then he’d either go to his office and work for a bit, or get dressed to head to the arena. 

If he stayed home to work, you’d either sit quietly with him in his office reading a book or sketching in a worn journal, earbuds in and playing music. He’d worried you’d be bored, but you assured him you were used to having to occupy yourself with things to do. That statement made him worry even more, but since you seemed to be fine, he didn’t push.

He’d work until there was nothing left for him to do, and he’d wait for you to either finish the chapter you were reading, or finish up the sketches in your journal. He had been tempted to ask you to see them, but given the way you hunched over your journal, like you’d been protecting it, he left it alone, figuring you’d share them with him if you wanted to. 

You’d spend the rest of the day together either making lunch, going out to eat, or with Andrei taking you around the Raleigh or Durham areas on little dates. So far, he’d taken you to the science museum, the North Carolina Museum of Art, taken you on a pedal boat ride in Pullen Park, brought you to Drive Shack where you both surprisingly and unsurprisingly kicked his ass, given you’d pretty much done the same when you brought him to Chelsea Piers, and just last night, he’d taken you to Rush Hour Karting.

He’d been there when he was a rookie in development camp for the Hurricanes, and he hadn’t been back in quite some time. It was nice though, to head back and make new and equally as happy memories there with you. You kicked his ass in a couple of laps, and since you’d raced with other people, there had been a round where a sixteen year old practically wiped the floor with everyone else, and it had made you and Andrei laugh a little when he’d been ready to boast about it until he saw Andrei’s face and freaked out, asking for a picture.

Those days where he could work from home and just be around you, taking the rest of his day to spend time with you, bring you anywhere and everywhere and spoil you silly? Those were beginning to be his favorite kind of days.

On the days he would go into his office at the arena, though, there are still particular advantages.

Andrei leaves his black card behind, insisting that you take it and make use of it as you need or see fit. 

The first morning he left it for you, he took it out of his wallet and put it down on the kitchen counter as he was heading out the door, and you just stared down at it, brow furrowed and lower lip jutting out in slight confusion.

“What is this for?” You had asked, holding it up in the air.

“For you,” he said, like it was obvious. “For you to use?” 

You pursed your lips, placed it back down on the counter and slid it back to him. “No, it’s okay.”

He frowned, ditching his bag by the door and rounded the counter to you. “I want you to have it, malyshka,” he insists. 

Your face scrunched up. “I know this next statement is going to sound weird, considering my job, and the circumstances of our…uh…relationship, but I don’t want your money, Andrei.”

“I understand, almaznyy,” he assured you. “But I don’t want you to spend your money. Not while you’re here with me,” he said, then tucked the card back in your hand. 

You stared at it for a second, then looked back up at his face, a small frown still on your lips, and Andrei couldn’t help but laugh. He reached out, smoothed the wrinkle between your brows and cupped your face in his palm. He pressed a kiss to your forehead, and then looked down at you with an amused smile. 

“How about this,” he began, “Since you’ve appointed yourself as my assistant, why don’t you take care of a few tasks for me?” He gestured to the card in your hand with his chin. “Use the card to pay for them.”

A small smile crept up your face, and you tilted your head at him, intrigued. “And what tasks would you be referring to, Mr. Svechnikov?”

“I think you need a new uniform,” he said, keeping his tone playful. “Why don’t you go and find something nice to wear around our…home office.” He punctuated those last words with a wink, smirking when you giggled. “Whatever you like, whatever the price. Get yourself some office supplies while you’re at it too, hm?”

“Oh I see,” you said. “This is a company expense, is it?”

“More or less,” he nodded, dropping another kiss to your forehead. “But I want to see everything you buy when you buy it. Send me pictures so I can see, understand? ”

You agreed with that gorgeous cheshire smile of yours. “I do.” 

And god if all the blood didn’t rush straight to his cock, picturing you in white as you say those words to him in another life, another time.

When he heads to the office, he purposefully takes his red Lamborghini to the rink, leaving you the safer options of his Mercedes or his BMW to use to go and complete your ‘daily tasks,’ and Andrei waits like an impatient teenager for those texts from you to come through. 

He’s saved every single picture, and thank goodness he has, because the second he gets home from work, it’s like the two of you are instantly pulled together like magnets. No matter where you are in the house, he gravitates to you, and you go at it like rabbits until one of you gets hungry, or until you’re begging him for relief. The lingerie sets barely make it ten minutes without being absolutely torn to shreds.

Though he wasn’t sure where you’d bought them, he had half a mind to march into the store and demand to know why their fabrics were so flimsy.

He's torn the first few either at the waist or right down the crotch, and one of them he all but snapped the strap of the garter belt off, the strap basically now hanging by a thread. The only things that have managed to survive after your first couple of weeks with him are a baby pink lace set complete with garter belt and stockings, and the same set, but in crimson red.

“You’re doing it on purpose,” you accuse through heavy breathing later that night, eyeing the fallen scraps of black lace among the black satin dress on the floor. The only thing that had managed to survive tonight was your thigh high stockings, which Andrei found himself running his fingers over now, your legs draped in his lap.

“What do you mean?” He questions, thumbing at where the lace of your stockings met your inner thigh.

You shivered a little, but didn’t move away from his touch, “You’re ripping them on purpose so I have to buy more, and that means I have to use your card.”

He smiles, dancing his finger over the spot inside your thigh that he’d made red by rubbing his stubbly cheek against it as he licked at you for a blissful thirty minutes. “You caught me.”

“If you wanted to be a sugar daddy you could’ve just said so.” You say lazily, stretching your body out. You probably don’t mean for it to look so seductive, but Andrei’s hypnotized nonetheless.

“I didn’t want to be,” he says honestly. “But you changed my mind a little.”

“I figured,” you murmur, casting a glance to your bracelet. “But you like it, don’t you?”

“Like what?” He asks, tugging your legs and maneuvering you until you’re straddling him again.

“Providing, spoiling, ” you purr, wrapping your arms around his neck. 

“I like it when it’s you.” Andrei clarifies, tilting his chin up so he can press little kisses along your jaw. “Even if I have to fight you on it a little.”

“I don’t want a sugar daddy for money,” you drawl, pushing his hair away from his face. 

He stares at you, confused. “Isn’t that what they’re for?”

“If I’m gonna have a sugar daddy, I want him for sugar.” You explain, “Not money.”

“Ya ne ponimayu, chto ty imeyesh' v vidu, detka.” I don’t understand what you mean baby.

You roll your eyes playfully, pulling his chin up and kissing him softly. He moans into your mouth, hands resting on your waist and bringing you closer. You tease him with your tongue running over his bottom lip before you pull away, sitting back a little. 

“That kind of sugar,” you say softly, running your thumb over his bottom lip. 

It takes him a few seconds, but then it clicks, and he flashes you a cheeky grin. “Well I’ve given you plenty of that, too, haven’t I?”

You shrug, reaching between you to grab his stiff cock and bring it back to your pussy, slipping him back inside of you and sinking down slowly, “A little more wouldn’t hurt.”

He’s immediately scooting back against the pillows and then his hands are on your thighs, anchoring you to him while you ride him, beginning your fourth round of the night.

~

After a few weeks of you staying with him, you approach him in his home office one day as he’s about to get off of a call. There’s an apprehensive look on your face as you linger in the doorway, clearly not wanting to interrupt, but he waves you inside anyway, gesturing for you to sit on the couch against the wall. 

You obey, waiting patiently until he’s hanging up and placing his phone beside his computer to stand from your seat and approach the other side of his desk.

“What can I do for you, almaznyy?” He asks, leaning back in his chair. 

“It’s probably a silly question,” you preface, “But I figured I would ask just in case.”

He nods, folding his hands on his stomach. “Okay.”

“I uh…me being here isn’t interfering with your holiday plans, right? I don’t know if you do anything for Thanksgiving since you started living here, but since it’s in a week or so, I just wanted to make sure I wasn’t overstaying my welcome.”

His brow furrows, mouth turning down into a frown. “You’re perfectly fine,” he assures. “I used to go to my coach’s house, but I haven't in years.” He pauses then, guilt suddenly coursing through his veins. “Am I…I’m not keeping you from your family, am I?”

You shake your head almost immediately, a strange look crossing your features. “No you’re not, we haven’t - I mean, we don’t celebrate. Haven’t in a bit.”

Andrei nods in response, but the guilt is still there, suddenly eating at his insides.

He’d been so wrapped up in you, so happy with your routines and the little corner of the world you’d managed to carve out for yourselves that he didn’t even think about the fact that he could’ve been keeping you away from your friends and family.

Or that he’s technically been keeping you away from his friends and family, too.

His mother’s been living with Evgeny the last couple of years, moving in to help Sara with their two year old and three month old babies, and his dad’s still back in Moscow, mostly by choice to help with Andrei and Evgeny’s grandparents. Evgeny and Sara sort of know he’s been seeing someone, but he hasn’t divulged much more, and he has no idea what you’ve been sharing with your family in turn.

Plus…he’s probably keeping you from other clients, which isn’t his favorite thing to think about, at all, but he can’t ignore the circumstances of how the two of you met, or how you came into his life. 

So as much as it pains him to say it, he doesn’t want to be like the beast keeping you locked in his castle against your will, so he takes a deep breath, and says “Almaznyy, if you need to go home, or if you need to go back, then-”

“I don’t,” you interject. “I’m good here.”

Oh…okay…

“No one’s missing you?” He asks. “You don’t have other clients?”

“I’m good here, Andrei,” you repeat, this time a little softer, rounding the desk. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“Of course I’m okay,” he assures you, reaching for your waist and pulling you into his lap. “I was the one who asked you to be here with me. I wouldn’t have done it if I didn’t want you with me.”

You nod, body relaxing into his embrace. 

There’s another sharp pain in his chest, and he rests his head resting in the crook of your neck, breathing you in. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs.

He can feel you tense for a second in surprise. “For what?”

“I didn’t think about…other people. I didn’t mean to be selfish, but I was, and I’m sorry.”

“Oh Andrei,” you murmur, wrapping your arms around his neck, fingers scratching lightly at the base of his scalp. “I didn’t mean to make you feel guilty. I just…I didn’t realize how long I’d been staying here with you, and when I did, I knew I needed to check in. That’s all.”

“I like having you here,” he confesses. “It feels…”

“Natural,” you finish for him. “I know, I feel the same.”

You both settle into a small silence, Andrei content to just hold you for a second, to stay in this little bubble with you he’d built before he’d been forced to remember the two of you weren’t actually alone in this world together.

“What about Christmas?” He eventually asks you. 

You nod. “My family does celebrate it, kind of. But I would have to go home for that.”

“I would too.” He confirms. “We technically celebrate Christmas twice. Once for western Christmas on the twenty fifth, and again in January for Russian Christmas.”

You lean back a little, brushing his hair away from his face, bracelet glinting in the sunlight filtering in through the window. “Guess we’ll have to make the best of this next month or so.”

“Yeah,” he agrees, leaning up to kiss you softly. “I guess so.”

A pang of sadness hits him, already not looking forward to having to let you go.

~

Read Part Two Here.

#andrei svechnikov #anderi svechnikov x reader #andrei svechnikov fic #carolina hurricanes #mendeshoney masterlist

[msmargaretmurry]

thanks I will be thinking about this forever now too! we need the fic, becky

hello friend, i come belatedly answering this ask with a less belated but still slightly belated little birthday gift. hope you enjoy ❤

inspired by this fantastic fanart and, obviously, set in the haw universe. explicit/nsfw.

Lying on Matthew’s hotel bed, still buzzing off the adrenaline of winning a hockey game in front of 55,000 people, Leon grins up at the ceiling.

“I’m waiting,” he calls.

“You can wait,” Matthew says from behind the closed door of the bathroom. “I’m pissed at you, remember?”

“Be pissed at me out here,” Leon says, bouncing his heels on the mattress.

To be fair, Leon would also be pissed if he lost in front of 55,000 people, especially if all of those people loved booing him as much as the Oilers faithful love booing Matthew. He’d be pissed even if he had scored a pretty goal. Pretty sexy goal. Winning affords Leon the generosity to really appreciate a sexy goal. 

“Come on, I’m getting lonely out here,” he says smugly.

The door finally opens. Leon sits up. Matthew steps out in his overalls and cowboy boots. Big white cowboy hat on his head. Big scowl on his face.

Leon smirks. “Hot.”

“Shut up,” Matthew says, like this isn’t his own fault. If he hadn’t sent Leon a picture of himself in the overalls getup before the game, Leon wouldn’t have had to text him, After I win youre wearing that for me later, and Matthew wouldn’t have texted back, Yeah ok IF you win. And Leon did win.

It’s early enough in the season that Matthew still has faint tan lines around his neck and upper arms. Leon wants to trace them with his tongue. He wants to sink his teeth into them and see if the marks turn different shades of red on the tan skin and the pale skin. At some point surely he’s going to stop feeling so crazy any time he looks at Matthew, but for now, especially now, with the win, the adrenaline, the animal part of his brain surges up every time. Mine.

“Okay, so,” Matthew says, awkwardly adjusting a denim strap over his shoulder. “You want a picture or what?”

“Not yet.” Leon slides to his feet to cross the room to him. Matthew makes a face, like he thinks Leon is going to make fun of him, but honestly it’s Matthew who should be making fun of Leon for being so into the stupid little outfit.

It’s not really the outfit, specifically. It’s Matthew’s shoulders on display, broad and strong. His sharp collarbones and the perfect, tempting dip of his throat. The hint of the hair on his chest peeking out of the top of the overalls bib and the knowledge of how it feels against Leon’s lips.

Leon tugs him in by the front of his overalls and kisses him, long and deep. Mine.

There's a bite to the way Matthew kisses Leon back. He’s not wound up way too tight like he would get after losses last season, but there’s still a tension there. A challenge. He’d been nervous, Leon knows — god knows Leon had been nervous, too — about how things would go when the new season started. The summer had been so good, even if their time together was far too short, an entire world away from their real lives. The preseason had been good, a meaningless win apiece and every possible stolen second of time together. But now the games matter again, and that C is still so heavy on Matthew’s chest. The points tonight were the same as the points in any other game, but the stage was so much bigger than usual.

But after the game, Matthew had texted first. And here they are.

“You played good,” Leon murmurs. He slides his hands up the edges of the overall bib, along the straps over Matthew’s chest, down again to where it scoops in at his sides, his fingertips barely tracing over the bare skin underneath. Matthew scoffs; playing well is cold comfort in a loss. It’s important for him to hear it anyway. Leon pulls him in by the fabric again, relishes the easy way Matthew’s mouth opens to his. He kisses Matthew until Matthew groans into it, the sound vibrating down Leon’s spine.

Leon maneuvers them until Matthew’s back is against a wall. It knocks the cowboy hat askew, and the stupid thing keeps bumping Leon’s head when they kiss, so he takes it off Matthew’s head and tosses it onto the bed. 

“Hey, it’s not a look without the hat,” Matthew says. Leon cares more about his kissed-red mouth than the complaint. Matthew shaved before the game, theoretically for the look, but even money says it was also in anticipation of how sensitive his freshly clean-shaven skin is to the bristle of Leon’s beard.

“Trust me, it’s still a look,” Leon says, sliding a hand into Matthew’s hair. So easy to tangle his fingers in the curls, like they were made for him to hold onto. It’s warm in the hotel, but he swears he can taste the cold air of Commonwealth Stadium on Matthew’s cheek as he drags a bristly kiss across it. Matthew’s jaw, his ear, his temple. Matthew squirms, laughs hoarsely, hooks his fingers into the waistband of Leon’s joggers and pulls him in so their bodies are flush together. Matthew pressed to the wall, Leon pressed to Matthew. Leon only has maybe half an inch and a few pounds on him, and yet somehow it feels easy to box him in like this when they’re alone, when he’s so willing to let Leon take the lead. Not like when they’re on the ice, when he’s throwing elbows, poking stick-butts into ribs, finding and getting on every last nerve. But Leon loves him out there, too. The fight out there makes the easy in here that much more worth it.

“I missed you,” Matthew sighs. His eyes are closed, head tilted back from the tug of Leon’s hand in his hair. Leon lets his fingers fall free to cup Matthew’s face instead, tilting his chin into another kiss. Softer, slower. He finds one of the buckles on the front of the overalls and works it open one-handed. The strap falls away; the bib would fall half-open if it weren’t held up by the way they’re pressed together. “Should have made you wear your stupid jumpsuit.”

“Mmm, shouldn’t have lost, then.” The jumpsuits were fun, but, in Leon’s opinion, would put way too much work between his skin and Matthew’s. Not like the overalls, serving Matthew up like a buffet.

“God, you’re insufferable,” Matthew says, but turns his head to give Leon access as he moves his mouth to Matthew’s neck. 

He thumbs open one, two buttons at Matthew’s hip and snakes his hand into the overalls, expecting to find underwear to deal with and instead finding nothing. Just his palm sliding over Matthew’s happy trail, finding Matthew’s erection pressed against the inside of the denim. It’s wet at the tip, hot and hard in Leon’s hand. Matthew makes a guttural noise when Leon touches him that sounds like how the primal urge in Leon feels. Mine.

“Yeah?” he breathes against the hinge of Matthew’s jaw, against the thrum of Matthew’s pulse. “You want this?”

“Obviously.” The word catches in Matthew’s throat as his hips hitch into Leon’s hand. “Please.”

Leon strokes him slow and steady. No need to rush. It would be better with some spit or lube, but he doesn’t want to pull away long enough to make that happen. And besides, he likes really being able to feel Matthew’s cock in his hand: the soft, soft skin, the warm pulse of blood, delicate contours of the head and the wetness in the slit as precome beads out. Matthew moans, quietly and then less quietly, but he doesn’t try to take more than Leon gives him. Leon loves when he’s like this, trusting, taking so beautifully. It’s greedy of him, maybe, but he loves the time it gives him with Matthew’s body. Like now, scraping teeth down his neck, tasting the sharp ridge of his clavicle. Following the constellation of moles across his throat, biting into the flexing muscle of his shoulder and getting a perfect sweet groan in response. His own dick twitches at the sound, but they can deal with that soon enough.

When Matthew’s breaths start coming hard through his nose, Leon speeds his hand up, just a little. Sometimes he might not, to drag it out as long as possible, but there’s so much more he wants to do tonight. Matthew pants, and Leon sucks kisses into his chest, drags his tongue along the edge of the denim strap that’s still attached over his left shoulder. There’s a buckle on it, a tang of metal. He gets his free hand under the back of the overalls, splayed between Matthew’s shoulder blades, holding him up when his knees start to buckle.

“Come on,” Leon urges with his mouth on Matthew’s neck. “Come on, let me feel you.”

“Oh, fuck,” Matthew says, “oh, fuck, fuck,” and comes in Leon’s hand, all over the inside of the overalls. Leon strokes him through it until he shudders, oversensitive, then pulls his hand out to wipe it on the front of the bib. 

“Fuck,” Matthew breathes again. He nudges his chin against Leon’s head, seeking a kiss that of course Leon gives him. A brief, wanting, bite of a kiss that says that as soon as Matthew catches his breath, he’s got plenty more in him. Good, because Leon’s so turned on he feels a little unsteady. They can take a minute, though. Gives him a chance to admire his handiwork. Matthew’s throat and chest are a mottled patchwork of pink beard burn and deep red hickeys. Teeth marks in his shoulder that’ll be purpling by morning. He doesn’t own a single shirt that’ll hide all of it.

Usually Leon would be more careful. But it’s a special occasion.

“God,” Matthew says. He’s caught Leon looking, and is now walking careful fingers over the tender marks. “How bad did you fuck me up?”

“Pretty bad. Only a little sorry, though.”

Matthew huffs a laugh, his head lolling back against the wall. Between the hickeys, the half-undone overalls, the dark patch at his crotch and the come smeared down his front, he’s an image that’s going to be burned into Leon’s brain for a long time. He looks at Leon through lidded eyes, his smile warm and lazy. “Only a little forgiven, then.”

“I can make it up to you,” Leon says, tugging him in by the unbuttoned hip of the overalls. Matthew hums into the kiss.

“Take me to bed and I’ll forgive you right now,” he says.

“Tough but fair.” Leon grins. “I want my picture first though.”

#ask #ratnovel #matthew and leon #my fic #hockey for ts

[katelynnwrites]

Give Me A Minute (To Hold My Girl) | Ona Batlle

warnings: general angst

word count: 1641

summary: in a crowded town or silent bed, you were always at your most comfortable with ona…you wonder if that still holds true now

chosen song: hold my girl by george ezra

a/n: chapter 3/6 of you were bigger than the whole sky (you were more than just a short time)

(Ona) 15.13

‘Hey.’

‘I know that you made the decision to reinitiate our friendship so I thought you should take the lead. I want this to go at your pace and only as far as you’re comfortable with because you deserve that. However, there is a screening of your favourite movie downtown and if you’d like to go…’

You frown at the message. The way Ona phrased things sometimes, it was like she still cared deeply for you. It contrasted sharply with her previous actions and you didn’t know what to make of it.

(You) 15.20

‘Yeah. I’d like to go.’

(Ona) 15.20

‘Great. I’ll send you an e-ticket in a bit.’

(You) 15.21

‘Gracias.’

******

Aitana was the one person you were still close to on the Spanish team. She was one of your closest friends growing up, along with Eva and Laia. The latter two however, were always closest to Ona so after the breakup and despite everything, you’d figured Ona would need her friends. It had been a conscious decision to kinda fall out of contact with them.

So Aitana’s the one whom you sometimes, occasionally (more often than not) ask how Ona was doing.

You cared for her (and you loved her) and while it seemed like Ona was able to just turn a switch off for how she felt about you, you struggled to do the same (struggling was putting it mildly, you simply couldn’t do it).

Years and years of your life were spent caring about the Catalan defender, it was practically wired into you.

You knew Ona better than you knew yourself which was why it kept you from sleeping most nights when you tried to figure out how she could have ended things so easily.

She’d promised she would never leave you and you knew that she took her promises seriously so of all the promises that she had made to you, how could she have broken the one that meant the most to you?

So while you received the occasional update from your childhood friend, you never thought that Ona would do the same and ask Aitana how you were doing.

******

Ona meets you at the cinema, cheeks, nose and ears flushed by the cold (you think she looks adorable).

Autumn was rapidly creeping up on Manchester, August bringing colder evenings and the beginning of preseason.

The past six weeks, you had never seen her as nervous as you did now.

‘Hola.’ The brunette softly says, an anxious smile on her face.

‘Hi.’

Ona shuffles her feet and then vaguely gestures towards the entrance.

‘Come on.’ You give her a brighter smile and some of her anxiety lifts.

Finding your seats is easy and you offer Ona the popcorn that you had bought as the opening plays.

‘No it’s fine. You like salty and I like-’

‘Sweet. I remember. This is sweet.’

‘Oh. Thank you.’ Ona’s voice is faint and she stays silent for the rest of the movie.

When the end credits roll, the Spaniard quietly follows you out into the night air.

‘You want to get something to eat Oni?’

Your back is to her so you don’t notice the pained expression that crosses her face.

‘Okay.’

Her voice is strained but she manages to give you a little smile when you turn around.

******

The both of you ended up at a small quaint Spanish restaurant where you prop your head up on your hand as you wait for your food to arrive.

‘How’s Barcelona going?’

‘It’s been good. Sunny.’ Ona answers.

You smile, ‘That’s an understatement.’

Ona winces again, ‘How’s Manchester been?’

‘It’s still too cold and it’s been red.’

‘Red?’

‘Yeah. We kept Manchester red.’ You grin proudly and that gets Ona to laugh.

‘I’m glad.’

There’s something you can’t figure out in her eyes and it stays for the majority of the evening. She laughs and smiles with you but you can see that something is bothering her.

You don’t pry however, knowing that it was more effective if you let her come to you instead (because that’s what friends do right? they help each other).

It’s why you insist she comes over to yours to watch a movie when it starts pouring with rain. The plan had originally been for her to take a taxicab from your apartment (the apartment that used to be hers too) to her hotel but it would be far more expensive now.

Ona agreed when you’d reasoned with her and that lead to where you were now, unlocking the door of the all too familiar apartment.

You have to admit, you didn’t quite think through your actions because letting Ona back into the home you once shared with her is far more painful than you’d expected it to be.

Your ex swallows hard as she steps over the threshold, fighting back tears as she realises you’d kept most of the decor the same.

The coat rack that she had spent half a day putting together when you had both moved in, the coffee table that you had bickered over buying and the plants that she had bought on a whim (those plants would have died if Ona was the only one taking care of them).

It was one thing for you to choose to remain in the same apartment but it was another for you to keep it almost exactly the same as before.

The brunette toes her shoes off and sets them carefully down by the door.

You stay quiet and you know that this moment is affecting you just as much as it’s affecting her.

‘Thank you for letting me back in here. I know this can’t be easy for you.’ Ona whispers and you nod, tears slipping down your cheeks.

Trying your best to hide them, you go into the kitchen and take a moment to compose yourself before Ona follows after you.

‘Wine?’

‘Only a little please.’ She murmurs.

You pour the both of you a half glass each and take them out to the living room.

Once again Ona follows after you but her gaze is momentarily caught by the lack of photos on one of the walls. Most of the photos that had been there have now been replaced with photos from recent years. Photos without her in it.

It adds another crack in her heart and she sniffles quietly.

The brunette joins you on the couch (it’s the same couch from four years ago, the same couch she had fucked you on multiple times), keeping her eyes on the blank television screen.

You switch it on and the channel it’s on is a winter sport channel. More specifically it’s figure skating that is showing.

You don’t react, simply switching it over to Netflix and handing Ona the remote.

‘I-’ The flustered Barcelona defender looks from the remote to you repeatedly.

‘Pick us something to watch Ona.’

‘I-’ Ona stammers and she frowns before clicking on Friends.

As the night wears on, both you and Ona refill your glasses more than once. If it wasn’t for the fact that you and Ona were sitting on opposite sides of the couch, it would be just like before.

******

There’s a silence that only comes when two people understand each other.

You and your girlfriend always had that. That didn’t change when you moved to Manchester together and you supposed it came from years of dating each other.

In a crowded town or a silent bed, you’d always be at your most comfortable with her.

At twenty one, you curl up next to Ona in your new apartment in which you had both just finished unpacking.

You had been enjoying the quiet, Ona’s soft breaths in your ear, the only sound in the room.

That is until Ona mumbles an ‘I love you.’ against your hair as she presses a kiss there.

‘I love you too.’

You snuggle further into her side and Ona laughs, kissing your hair again.

She wraps her arms around your waist, ‘I’m so glad we’re here and starting this new chapter of our lives together. You’re the only one I’d want to do this with.’

‘Me too Onita. Me too.’

******

Ona falls asleep.

You laugh softly when she lets out a snore. It seemed that Ona still didn’t drink much and more than two glasses of wine still proved too much for her.

She looks so peaceful lying there and it’s still raining out so there’s no point in waking her up right?

And if you cover her in a blanket before you go to sleep in your bedroom it’s because that's what good friends do isn’t it?

******

You wake early but when you go to check on Ona, you find that she’s woken earlier.

The brunette is standing in front of your photo wall and though she tries to hide it when she sees you, it’s clear that she has been crying.

‘Ona what’s wrong?’

‘Everything!’

Her sudden outburst scares you and you reach for her arm only to have her pull away.

‘Don’t touch me!’

You flinch back and Ona looks at you with fresh tears in her eyes.

‘I don’t deserve this. I don’t deserve you.’

It’s a broken, defeated admittance, one that confuses you.

‘I don’t understand.’

Apparently that’s the wrong thing to say because Ona snaps, ‘Exactamente! You don’t understand and I don’t see how you can do so!’

Her raised voice and sudden anger gives you that feeling inside, the one that you never know will make you cry or yell back.

‘Why don’t you understand!’

Her heated words are the final straw and you coldly tell her, ‘You can see yourself out Ona. If there’s one thing you’re good at, it’s leaving.’

Spinning around, you’re slamming your bedroom door shut a moment later.

Spanish Translations:

gracias - thank you

exactamente - exactly

#ona batlle #ona batlle x reader #ona batlle imagine #woso fanfics #woso x reader #woso imagine #espwnt imagine #espwnt x reader #spain wnt x reader #spain wnt imagine #futfem imagine #futfem x reader #wsl imagine #wsl x reader #muwfc imagine #muwfc x reader #katelynnwrites #uswnt x reader #uswnt imagines #uswnt imagine #you were bigger than the whole sky

[luke-hughes43]

Just Friends | edwards x Luke!twin

Here is the Ethan fic, hope you enjoy!

Part 2 | Insta Edit

~You are Luke Hughes’s twin sister and play hockey and softball at the University of Michigan. You are very close with Luke given that you are twins. You are best friends with teammate, Ethan Edwards. You and Ethan were always flirty with each other but were always strictly friends. Until, maybe you weren’t.~

*This is a part one of I don’t know yet. Takes place freshman year.*

October, 2021

Morgan’s POV

I’m currently hanging out with my brother and our teammates. We decided to have a movie night in Ethan and Mark’s dorm, since I had a projector and Ethan didn’t put anything on his wall. I put on Miracle because we couldn’t decide on anything and I figured that everyone would be happy, and they were.

Somehow, I wound up squished between Ethan and Mark. Ethan is quite literally my best friend. We do everything together and it’s been that way since we stepped foot on campus. When we’re not in class, at hockey, or me at softball (because I’m a two sport athlete) we’re always together. 

Ethan put his arm around me and pulled me closer to him. This was a common thing we did. Me and Ethan are just friends though. I lean my head against his shoulder because I’m starting to get tired. I had 6 am weights for softball on top of three classes and hockey practice. This was a regular thing for me. I feel Ethan kiss my head (something that was also a common thing between us) and say, “Go to sleep, you had a long day. I’ll wake you when the movie is over and walk you back. Just close your eyes morgs.”

I nod and listen to him. I don’t really remember falling asleep but I remember hearing a camera click and someone that sounds like Dylan say, “They’re cute. Are we sure that they are just friends?”

“Yes. Morgan would’ve told me if she had a boyfriend. I’d know anyways, we’re twins remember.” Luke said in a ‘duh’ tone.

Mark comments. “And Ethan would’ve mentioned it. He talks about her a lot so it would’ve come up.”

“And neither Sarah or McKenna have mentioned it. So they’re just friends Dylan. Just drop it dude. Should we wake them?”

“Nah. She can stay. He’ll walk her home in the morning so it’s fine. She had a long day so let’s not disturb her. You guys should get some sleep too.” Next thing I know, I feel Ethan’s arms tighten around me and I drift back to sleep. 

January, 2022

Morgan’s POV

Now that the spring semester has started, my days have become longer as the softball team is in preseason mode. I have to rearrange my entire schedule to accommodate lift, two practices, 5 classes and games. It’s stressing me out. Hutch is letting me do individual practice with a coach. It’s pissing a lot of my teammates off because they think I’m slacking off when I’m doing double the work. They have started being bitches to me and it pisses me off.

I taught Ethan how to soft toss so that I could get BP in everyday. He’s actually pretty good at it. He throws to me every time I ask and I could not be more grateful. We’re at the cages right now since I had a break in my day. He says, “Three more mego. Then can we be done? I have homework and we have practice at 4.”

“Only if they are good ones.”

“Ok Ms. Perfectionist.” He says with attitude. He throws them and I hit all three of them perfectly to the top right corner of the cage. I put my bat down and we pick the balls up. I turn to Ethan who’s holding the bucket, and say, “Can we go to chipotle or something? I haven’t eaten today.”

“Seriously? It’s 12:30 and you had six am lift on top of back to back classes. And we have practice today.”

“I know that Ethan. I really don’t need you telling me what my schedule is. You sound like Luke.”

“I’m sorry, I’m just worried. You need to take care of yourself morgs.”

“Ethan, I’m fine. Can we just pick these up and get food?”

“Yea. And I’m buying your lunch.”

“Ethan…”

“Not up for debate. Just help me pick these up.” I laugh and we pick the rest of them up before we head to Ethan’s car and to chipotle. He stays true to his word and buys me lunch despite me protesting. A few of the girls from the team come in and see me with Ethan. Jess comments, “Oh, little miss hockey player is here. Must be blowing off practice again. Wish I could skip like that.”

“Oh and she’s with her little boyfriend. How cute? Wonder what he thinks of her skipping practice all the time.” Sierra says. Hearing that pisses me off. I don’t know why but it just does. I say, “can we go?” Ethan says, “yea. Are you ok?” I shake my head no and he says, “Ok. Let’s go then, yea?”

I nod and he holds my hand and leads me out to the car but we don’t get in it. He pulls me in for a hug and I relax under his touch. I think I’m developing feelings for him and it scares me. Ethan rubs my back and whispers, “Hey, it’s ok. Morgs, you’re ok.”

He kisses my head and I pull away no longer wanted to hit something. I wipe the tears that I apparently shed. He forces me to look at him and he asks, “What happened back there? I’ve never seen you mad like that before.”

“I told you about the softball team basically hating me because of me doing individual practices right?” He nods so I continue, “Well, they’ve been making comments and shit. I usually use it as motivation but it’s been getting to my head. Only Luke knows. He’s the only one I wanted to know. And now you.”

“So then what just happened?”

“Two of the girls in there were on the team and made comments about how I must be skipping practice again and how I’m with my little boyfriend as they refer to you as and said something about what you must think about me skipping practice. That’s not even the worst thing that’s been said. I’m just done with it, all of it Ethan. Sometimes I wish I just played hockey and never played softball in the first place. I can’t keep doing this, it doesn’t feel worth it anymore Eddy.” 

He pulls me back in for a hug and he says, “you know that they aren’t right meg. You are the hardest working person I’ve ever met. It takes real talent, skill, dedication, and sacrifice to play two division one sports like you’re doing. We’re extremely proud of you. Luke for damn sure is. He brags about you when you’re not around. I’m proud of you too. Don’t let them get in your head. I know it sucks. But you’ve worked so hard for this. Hutch knows that, she knows knows that your putting in double the work. It’s gonna pay off. And I’ll be at every damn game, cheering the loudest for number 6 who is my best friend in whole fucking world.”

I mutter, “thank you.” We pull away and head back to school so try and get homework done before practice. I mean we are students too. I hope he’s right and that everything will pay off in the end.

April, 2022

Morgan’s POV

Today is our rivalry game against State. The whole hockey team is here. I’m excited. Ever since our season ended, they’ve been at every home game and even traveled when we played State at State. These boys really do have my back and I love them for it.

Ethan was right, I got this. Bottom of the seventh, tied at 0, two outs. I get down to my last strike. The pitcher winds up and I get my bat on the ball, sending it over the fence, to win the game. As I’m rounding first base, I hear from the stands, “That’s my best friend right there. WOO! Go blue!”

I shake my head at my Ethan. I can hear Luke too, “That’s my twin right there. Hell yea morg! Go blue!” I turn and see Ethan and Luke chest bump. God I hate them sometimes. But they pulled up like they promised so I deal with it. I approach third base and get ready to high-five Hutch as I jog by. Literally the whole hockey team is on their feet cheering for me especially since we just beat State.

“That’s our girl.” I hear from Nolan Moyle.

“WOO! That’s my girl right there! Number 6 on the field, number 1 in my heart! I love you morgs!” I hear from Ethan fucking Edwards. Oh my god. Ethan is definitely drunk. I laugh it off and get greeted by the team. They're happy but I think it’s because we won, not because I hit a walk off. 

It sucks because straight up only like 6 girls like me. Alex, McKenna, Audrey, Kaylee, Sarah, and Ella. Alex is transferring and using her 5th year somewhere else so I’m losing one of my girls. It’s tough but I got my boys.

After we shake hands and everything, I head to the locker room and grab my backpack. I usually just change at the house after games. I go out to all of the boys waiting for me. Ethan comes running over and engulfs me in a huge hug. He reeks of beer. He says, “I’m so proud of you.”

“Party at my house at 9 morgan. Invite whoever. We’re celebrating.” J Bone says. J Bone and his parties. I nod and text my girls and tell them. I ask them not to tell the other girls because I wanted to drink and get drunk tonight. 

*At J Bone’s*

I walk in and everybody cheers for me. I immediately get a drink put in my hand by the bone man himself. J Bone stands up by the speakers and. He says, “Alright, everybody shut up for a sec. For those who don’t know, our girl Morgan Hughes, is a two sport athlete. She dominates on the ice for us and kicks ass on the softball field. Today she hit a walk off homerun to beat State. So this is for her. A toast to our superstar. To Morgan!”

“To Morgan!” Everyone toasts me, making me blush. He gets down and turns the music back on. I immediately down my drink and get another before finding my girls. I get greeted in a hug by them. McKenna says, “Ethan is staring.” 

“He’s staring at you with heart eyes.” Alex says.

“He’s my best friend. He’s also drunk and probably just horny. Let’s not talk about Ethan.” I say.

“As you wish.” Audrey says. We start dancing together. After about two hours, I’m like 7 or 8 in and drunk as fuck. I feel hands go on my hips and someone behind me. I start dancing on them. I’m feeling extra confident, probably the booze. Oh I’m definitely not gonna remember any of this tomorrow. I turn and see my best friend, Ethan Edwards. Neither of us have a problem with this since we’ve always been flirty with each other. We stay like that for a bit before Ethan whispers, “I’m gonna get another, do you want one?”

“Yes please.” I say and kiss his cheek. I could smell the alcohol on him. I also say, “I’m gonna go find Luke while I can still kinda walk.”

“Ok. Just stay there until I come with your drink.” He says kissing my cheek this time. I stumble through the house to find my brother talking with J Bone, Chic, Moyle, Keato, and Grano. I stumble into him saying, “Lukey!” He grabs me smiling, “Morgy. Having fun?”

“Fuck yea. J Bone, your a g man. Sick fucking party.” I say slurring my words. The guys laugh. J Bone says, “Thanks lady Hughes. How many have you had?”

“Uh, I can’t count that high J Bone. Ethan went to get me another one.”

Moyle says, “Oh boy. Good to know.”

“Was he drunk at my game? He seemed it.” I asked. Luke laughs and says,“Yes. You’re staying at my house tonight by the way. You have no choice.”

I say, “Ok.” “You doing ok?” He asks being a little concerned. I nod, “I’m doing great. Has Ethan been drinking all day?” Luke laughs, “Oh yea. He started when he got out of class. I’ve never seen him drink this much.”

“Oh. Can I tell you a secret? But you have to promise not to tell Ethan.” I say. He looks at me smiling, “Twin promise.”

“Boys, block your ears. Lukey’s ears only.” They laugh and then block their ears. I pull Luke down closer to me since he’s so fucking tall and whisper in his ear, “I’m in love with Ethan.”

“I knew that morgy. It’s obvious. You just play it off as best friends. But you’re both drunk so make a move. You both won’t remember so no harm no foul.”

“This is why your my favorite. Your so smart.”

“Glad I can help.” He taps J Bone and they unplug their ears. I stumble over my own feet and Moyle grabs me before I fall. “Woah, you ok lady Hughes?”

“I’m fucking wonderful Moyle. We beat State, there’s no reason to not be ok.”

They all laugh and I hug Luke. He wraps one arm around me to keep me from falling over. Ethan eventually finds us and hands me my drink. I say, “Oh yay! You just became my favorite. Sorry not sorry Luke.” Ethans wraps an arm around me pulling me into him. I smile and say, “Let’s dance Ethan.” We walk off towards the dance floor. 

Luke’s POV

I use Morgan going off with Ethan as my opportunity to make a move on McKenna. We’ve been flirting for a few months but I really like her and want her to be my girl. 

I see her dancing with the girls so I go up behind McKenna and whisper in her ear, “Hey baby.” and then kiss her cheek. She turns and smiles at me. “Hey lukey. Finally come to hit the dance floor?”

“Just for you baby.” I say a smirk and pull her close to me.

I grab her hips to dance along with her. She looks up and at me smiles. She reaches up and runs her fingers through my hair. I look down at her with a smirk, “Can I kiss you McKenna?” She nods and I lean in to kiss her.

Morgan’s POV

I look to my right while dancing with Ethan and see Luke kissing McKenna. What the fuck? She’s my best friend. A heads up would’ve been nice. I point it out to Ethan, “He’s kissing her. She’s my best friend.”

“So then kiss his.”

“I am not kissing Dylan.”

“I meant me morgs.”

“Oh. ok.” He leans in and kisses me. I have a feeling that we are both so drunk that we aren’t gonna remember this in the morning. I can taste the beer on his lips. Everything is so fuzzy right now, but I think that’s the alcohol. I don’t remember us stopping but somehow I’m in Luke’s car and cuddled into Ethan’s side in the back while McKenna is in the front seat holding luke’s hand. I’m cold, tired, drunk. “Ethan I’m cold.”

“I know baby. We’re almost at the house. I’ll give you a sweatshirt to sleep in.”

“Thank you. Can I stay with you tonight?” I plead.

“Yea.” Luke pulls into the driveway and has to help us both inside. Ethan almost falls over getting out which is problematic to say the least. I do fall over getting out. “Ow. Ethan why’d you let me fall?”

“I tried baby.”

“No you didn’t. Neither did you Luke, your a bad brother.”

“Morgan, come on. Your drunk and it’s cold. You need to get to bed.” He says trying to get me up. Ethan comes over and tries to help too. I swat their hands away and try to get up myself. I say, “I can take care of myself. And I’m not that drunk.”

“Morgan, seriously. Stop being difficult.”

“I can take care of myself Luke. Just because we’re twins doesn’t mean I need you every second of every day. I’m 18. I don’t need you anymore.”

“Stop being fucking difficult Morgan. Just let us fucking help you. You’re black out drunk right now and don’t know what your doing. Stop being a stubborn bitch, shut up, and just let us fucking help.” He snaps at me. He’s never snapped at me like that. I stand up and lean against Ethan. I snap back at Luke, “Fuck you Luke. Go to hell. Don’t talk to me like that.”

Ethan and I stumble our way up to Ethan’s room. He hands me a sweatshirt and I change for bed. I’ll deal with makeup later. “Hey Ethan?” He looks at me with a raised eyebrow. I kiss him one last time for the night and say, “Good night.”

“Good night.” We climb into bed and drift off to sleep.

I wake up the next morning and I’m in Ethan’s sweatshirt and cuddled into Ethan. I look under the covers and check that we are both wearing clothes which is a relief but I don’t remember anything from last night. I don’t even remember getting here. What the fuck happened last night?

I hear Ethan moving next to me, “Why do I feel like I was hit by a bus?”

“I don’t know. Last thing I remember is being at J Bone’s with McKenna and the girls. What do you remember?” I say rubbing my eyes. 

“I remember your brother scolding me for pregaming your game. And I remember your homerun. After that, couldn’t tell you.”

We laugh and then drag ourselves downstairs. I see Luke sitting on the couch watch tv with McKenna. When the fuck did she get here? Luke hears us and says, “Morning. Tylenol is on the counter.”

“Indoor voices.” I say rubbing my temple trying to sooth the headache. I grab the Tylenol and chug some gatorade. Ethan does the same and we both feel like death. I groan and lean against him hugging him. He hugs me back and asks Luke, “What happened last night? Neither of us remember anything.”

“Well, eddy you blacked out at like five from your day drinking. You guys spent most of J Bone’s party with each other. We had eyes on you since you both were blacked out. I was sober and drove home. You guys fell asleep within a half hour of being home.”

I zoned out like halfway through Luke talking. I need food or I’m gonna puke. I use ethan’s chest to hide the light because of my headache. I groan and say, “I’m starving. Can we get food?”

“Yea. I’ll drive. I’m good to drive I promise.”

“Ok.” We got into his car and drove off the get breakfast. He paid for mine, like he usually does no matter my protests. And we head back to the house. I take it nothing happened last night because Luke would’ve said something. We go to Ethan’s room and I cuddle into him to sleep this hangover off.

At least I can chalk up anything I did last night to being drunk. I’m just hoping that I didn’t blurt out that I’m in love with him.

(I have a part 2 ready and currently working on part 3 if anyone's interested)

#umich hockey #ethan edwards #new jersey devils #ethan edwards imagine #ethan edwards x reader #ethan edwards x Luke!twin #hockey

[landinrris]

I come bearing a bit of a Carlando ficlet repurposed from an abandoned wip I mentioned in a previous fic note. Technically same year/timeline as the recent honeymoon fic. From a timeline where Lando's fighting for the championship with McLaren. This takes place during a sponsorship event early in the season and involves an ignorant brand rep and Carlos subsequently taking Lando's mind off it. Not quite nsfw, though they are them. (Also, definitely wrote this initially before silly season last summer and didn't have the heart to replace anyone upon going back through it.)

May 2024

Just because Lando’s spent the last six years being subject to the same monotonous and circle-jerk-worthy sponsor events doesn’t mean he has grown to like or enjoy them. They’re usually full of the upper echelons of who “matters” and who’s willing to write the largest cheque—meaning Lando’s stuck smiling and nodding for hours on end while he pretends to care.

He’s often stuck entertaining people’s thoughts and comments that sound like they’re trying to project an air of knowing more than he does.

Even though they never do.

While Lando’s not sure these events will ever be good, they’re at least always better when Carlos is able to be there with him. Daniel helps as well, turning them into a three-man front against condescending and underhanded remarks.

With the early races showing that Lando may well be a contender for the championship, the events he’s required to go to seem to escalate. Carlos has only been to one other event with him since the start of the season, busy with his own obligations, but he’s here tonight.

Except for the part where it’s Carlos who’s been tugged away for a conversation by Andreas of all people, leaving Lando standing off to the side with a half-empty champagne flute as perfect bait for some old fuck to corner him.

And the universe must have it out for him tonight because that’s what happens.

Some older guy who’s in charge of something or other to do with Goldman Sachs and its European branch (Lando can’t be assed to remember) pulls Lando into a conversation about the one thing Lando really wishes he wouldn’t. He reeks of cologne that lingers on the edge of too sweet, the cloying scent of red wine practically condensing in front of his mouth.

Lando pulls upon his years of politeness and PR training to stay where he is. After four sponsor events in the last month and a half, he’s rather tired of accepting their comments and strategy calls for the championship like the decision is obvious. As if the team doesn’t have months and months ahead of them with the competition close behind.

This guy starts there, like so many others, asking about how Lando feels about the team’s progress (better than during preseason now that they can see everyone’s pace), his thoughts on development (cautiously optimistic given their recent progress and his comfort level with the car), and the upcoming race (Barcelona is always fun and practically feels like home after the last few years).

It doesn’t stay there though when Mr. Goldman Sachs leans in almost conspiratorially and says, “You know, given the last few champions and standings, I think the real trick is to not be tied down to a woman while trying to be competitive.”

Lando, honest to God, chokes on his champagne, his eyes going wide despite his best efforts. “I’m sorry, sir, I don’t quite get what you mean.”

Unfortunately, this guy has no issue repeating himself. “Lewis Hamilton and Max Verstappen, during their truly dominant seasons, never had anyone holding them back. True, you’ll find the same for a lot of the multiple champion-winning drivers. And really, maybe it’s something the teams should pay more attention to.”

Beneath the utter audacity of this man trying to start a conversation about drivers’ libidos, there’s something immensely amusing about him being so confident about Max specifically over the past few years (and that’s to say nothing about the others). Lando wants so badly to tell him Max has been in a committed relationship since 2017. He wants to see the man’s eyes grow wide, for him to choke on his words and make a stuttered apology before scampering off to talk to some other CEO. Lando keeps his mouth shut lest he accidentally creates headline-worthy news out of a fucking sponsor event, but God does he want to ruin this man’s worldview.

Mr. Goldman Sachs is rambling something about virile young men (Lando almost throws up at that one) while Lando debates asking again what position this guy holds in the company. What would the odds be of Zak renegotiating their sponsorship future over this if Lando asked?

“But you don’t have a girlfriend, I trust? Nothing to stop you from putting everything you’ve got into this championship. McLaren needs another champion. It’s been too long.” His smile is on the wrong side of leering, and Lando suppresses his shudder. He wonders if this guy even knows McLaren’s last champion, considering it’s obvious he knows little about their current front-runner.

“No sir, I don’t have a girlfriend.”

“Ah, good man,” he interjects before Lando can correct him.

“I do have a fiancé, but I don’t really anticipate it having a negative effect on my championship fight.”

Carlos, God bless him, chooses that moment to finish talking to Andreas. Lando shifts his eyes over Mr. Goldman Sachs’ shoulder and sees him approaching with an easy smile on his face, two flutes of champagne in his hands. Now is not the moment to admire Carlos in his well-tailored suit that Lando has wanted to tear off him all night, all sleek lines and sharp corners.

Especially when Mr. Goldman Sachs regrettably makes his thoughts on Lando’s relationship status known. He schools his moderately surprised expression and says just about what Lando expects from him by this point.

“Oh, well, I hope you’re right. Distance just creates such a hiccup in any relationship, let alone the stress I’m sure you’ll be under as the season unfolds. And given how focused Red Bull is on correcting their mistakes, it won’t be long with Verstappen coming through the field with a single mindset.”

The literal only thing that stops Lando from yelling that Max isn’t single and having to subsequently beg for his and Daniel’s forgiveness until the end of time, is the back of Carlos’ hand brushing against Lando’s upper arm. His smile is warm as his eyes flit back and forth between Lando and Mr. Goldman Sachs. He tilts his head enough for Lando to understand that he’s asking two questions at once.

“More champagne? Andreas needed my opinion on something, so I bring back apology alcohol for abandoning you.”

Lando’s only too glad to take it and exchanges his almost empty glass for Carlos to hand to a passing waiter.

“Am I interrupting?” Carlos asks once Lando smiles in thanks, shifting his gaze to Mr. Goldman Sachs. There’s a carefully veiled concern there, like Lando need only use their rescue word to change locations.

But Lando just musters his most professional smile and holds out a hand to present Mr. Goldman Sachs to Carlos. One of the most unfortunate moments of his career. “Uh, Carlos, this is the head of the European branch for Goldman Sachs. One of our sponsors.” Lando looks more directly at Mr. Goldman Sachs as if challenging him with his next words. “I’m sure you must be familiar with Carlos Sainz—my fiancé, actually. You’ll find distance won’t really play a role in our relationship.”

Both Carlos’ and Mr. Goldman Sachs’ faces do something funny for completely different reasons, but Lando’s too ticked off to find either of them amusing. He’ll have to commiserate with Daniel and Max later.

“Sainz? You’re with Ferrari, are you not?” Mr. Goldman Sachs manages after he practically picks his jaw up off the floor. He’s oozing with faux politeness and acceptance—trying his hardest not to look rocked by the news that Lando has the farthest thing from a girlfriend.

Carlos shifts closer to Lando, picking up easily enough on Lando’s prickly attitude. Hell, Andreas probably can where he is across the room. The slide of Carlos’ hand over the middle of Lando’s back, coming to rest at the base of his spine helps Lando to relax some of his muscles.

Carlos returns just as much sanitized politeness. “I am normally. Tonight though, I am here as Lando’s plus one. It is true like he says, we are never far apart.”

“I just find it mildly surprising that Ferrari would allow you to be here, and in this capacity. They’ve always been notoriously strict, I’ve heard.”

Carlos shrugs and sips from his glass. He looks calm and collected, but Lando can see the subtle shift of his jaw— can feel the way Carlos’ fingers flex at Lando’s back. “There are some things more important than what Ferrari wants me to show sometimes. If you’ll excuse us. I was sent to fetch Lando for Zak.”

The lie is blatant even if it works. Lando wonders if Carlos realizes he’d said he was talking with Andreas before as he gives Mr. Goldman Sachs a barely-there smile. Carlos doesn’t give them much time to linger until he’s pulling Lando away and back in the direction he’d come from earlier before Mr. Goldman Sachs can say anything else.

Carlos pulls Lando down a long hallway off the main ballroom until they’re about three-quarters of the way. Only then does he stop and turn to look at Lando for the first time.

The irritation is plain to see on Carlos’ face and in the set of his shoulders when he sighs. “Some fucking people. What did he say to you? It didn’t sound like it was going well based on how you introduced us.”

Try as Lando might, he’s unable to refrain from unloading. Poor Carlos, who hates these kinds of things more than Lando does and who doesn’t even have to be here out of obligation. He’s only here on one of his precious few free nights out of his love for Lando and not wanting him to suffer alone.

Lando starts at the point where Carlos had first been pulled away, talking fast enough as if the quickness of the words would help Lando get over how uncomfortable they’d made him. As if the speed would make it so Carlos wouldn’t have to bear their abrasiveness as well. They’ve been publicly out for a year, how do people not know?

Carlos stops him in the middle of a tangent about how, even though he’d wanted to spill about Max and Daniel so bad, there’s no way he would deserve their forgiveness, and—

“Lando, Lando stop. Breathe for me, please.”

“Can we, let’s just— I really don’t want to go back out there yet. I will do something I regret.”

It’s a wonder that Carlos doesn’t have to ask him the specifics and just nods, taking Lando’s wrist in his hand and guiding them further down the hallway.

Their shoes echo together against the walls, but it’s infinitely better than the way everyone’s voices in the main hall coalesced together to create a quiet din that built up on his nerves slowly but surely. Like a fine grit that wasn’t noticeable until it was too late and left a bleeding mess of his nerves.

Carlos tries a few doors that are locked before coming to a set of narrow double doors that aren’t. They look like heavy oak, ornately carved like they themselves are an art piece— and maybe they are considering the rest of them looked to be pretty standard. Lando decides in the back of his mind that people rich enough to have an estate and manor this big to host corporate events don’t have to make sense.

The room that Carlos pushes into is a library because of course it is. And it’s not even a small room. The walls are lined with floor-to-ceiling shelves, all packed to the brim with books old and new— tomes of information Lando could never hope to get through in this lifetime. There’s even a mezzanine off to the side with further shelves that reach to the top edge of the ceiling before it vaults up to the outer wall lined with windows. Thick drapes are pulled open along the outer edges, but they get the mood across.

The mood that happens to make Lando feel like he’s stepped back in time at least eighty years.

It’s not until Carlos pulls him a bit further into the room and away from the door that Lando remembers why they’d even found it. Right, the utter chaos of his brain and the people in the main hall aren’t mixing. And he quite likes his job.

Lando’s feet kickstart before Carlos can lead him to one of the wingback chairs off to the side, and instead, he pulls them to one of the far walls, tucked near the staircase that leads up to the mezzanine. If someone comes in looking for them, they might be out of sight back here.

Carlos turns once they stop walking, and it’s the first time Lando actually sees his face after begging to go somewhere other than the open hallway. All hints of the anger from before are gone, replaced instead with genuine concern. His big eyes and worried eyebrows make him look sad in a way Lando can’t deal with.

And maybe they shouldn’t be using the library of some wealthy person’s manor for their own benefit, but Lando desperately needs to get out of his mind—to forget, if just for a moment, what that man had said.

Carlos in all his rational sense likely has his own qualms about pressing Lando up against the shelf behind them with his hands spanning the width of Lando’s hips and their lips pressed against each other. He would ordinarily likely have some trepidation about kissing up Lando’s jaw and burying his head in Lando’s neck. Their breaths are a cacophonous roar in Lando’s ears, his chest fit to burst when Carlos’ teeth snag at Lando’s earlobe.

When their lips meet again after way too long, Lando frantically pulls Carlos’ mouth back to his own. As if this is a short, clandestine meeting where they’re meant to part once finished and pretend they don’t know the other— that they’re forbidden from being together.

It’s exactly like this, in a way. Lando doesn’t want to think of what would happen if anyone caught them in here, especially while he’s trying not to think.

Rather than Lando’s earlobe this time, Carlos’ teeth catch on his bottom lip, pulling a moan from Lando’s mouth, muffled as it is pressed to Carlos’. Lando feels weak under Carlos’ hands, surrendering to Carlos’ control with an ease that would be embarrassing if anyone else found out. But here, he’s only too happy to open his mouth to Carlos, whimpering at the feeling of Carlos’ tongue against his lip.

Even through his suit jacket, dress shirt, and undershirt, Lando can feel the heat of Carlos’ hands—can feel how they flex. It’s a tactile reminder of Carlos’ self-control, of how he’s barely holding himself together from ripping Lando’s clothing off.

Lando’s close to letting him, to saying to hell with it all, when he hears as much as feels Carlos’ groan ripped from his chest where he has his own hands splayed. He wants desperately to feel the warmth of Carlos’ skin and run his fingers through where Carlos’ chest hair is growing back from its latest wax. He wants to feel Carlos’ weight over him, pressing into him enough to reduce him to a litany of curses and pleas.

This is everything Lando wanted—to have every sense filled with Carlos instead of any of the people out in that grand hall.

All he hears is Carlos’ labored breathing that alternates between huffs and sighs and half-uttered proclamations of Lando’s name.

All he feels is the starch of Carlos’ shirt, the fleeting feel of silk that runs up the lapels of the suit jacket he’s regrettably still wearing.

All he tastes is Carlos, a hint of champagne still on his tongue, much fancier than they’re ever given on the podium. Lando still hates the taste, but it’s always been sweeter kissed from Carlos’ mouth.

Lando’s about five seconds from tearing his mouth from Carlos’ to sink to his knees where he stands, he really is, all the more encouraged when Carlos tears one of his hands from Lando’s waist to cradle his face instead. It’s instinctual to lean into the touch, Carlos’ mouth catching the corner of Lando’s and trailing up on its own accord to the space on his cheekbone just below his eye.

The action makes Lando giggle breathlessly, a noise incongruent with what they’ve been doing, what Lando’s really about to do. But that’s Carlos—always somehow subverting Lando’s expectations. It doesn’t stop Lando from trying to tilt his head back up into Carlos’ space, wordlessly begging for Carlos’ lips again, but it’s not a request that’s granted. A whimper may or may not escape unbidden from Lando’s throat at the action.

Instead, Carlos lets his thumb sweep across Lando’s cheek with a sad smile that just about reaches his eyes. Lando can’t tell for sure, but he wouldn’t be surprised if its presence wasn’t wholly because they can’t do as much as they want to. The most sure-fire way to get Lando out of his head when he wants to stop thinking isn’t something that’s possible right now, they both realistically know, but that doesn’t mean they can’t be sad about it.

“We really should not be doing this here, mi amor. Someone will be coming to look for us. We have been gone for too long, I think.”

Lando sucks in a bit more air before he trusts his voice enough to answer without producing a distinctive wobble. “If we were at the MTC, I’d know where the hiding spots were.”

Carlos huffs out laughter at that. Good, Lando thinks. Anything to wipe away the look on his face.

“And I believe you. Later though, okay? You deserve me to make love to you not against a bookshelf in a gaudy manor, no?”

Lando tries to suppress the shudder that goes through him at the combination of Carlos’ words and the way they’re almost whispered into his ear. He nods unthinking because if Carlos is telling him he deserves to basically be fucked in luxury, then who is Lando to dispute that?

“What time is it?” Lando asks in lieu of physically pulling Carlos back into him. He should honestly be commended for his strength.

Carlos could tell him to look at his own watch if he felt like it, but he doesn’t. Rather, he barely shifts his gaze down to meet his watch at Lando’s hip and sighs. “We still have about an hour before you can make an elegant exit.”

“An elegant exit?”

“Ay, everything you do is elegant. Surely leaving one of these dreadful events must also be.”

Truly, one of the most elegant things would be leaving a sponsor event, so he won’t fight Carlos on that one.

What he wants to do is fight the tug on his wrist that Carlos gives him after a much more chaste kiss to his lips. He wants to fight the intent to lead him back through the overly ornate doors that lead back to too many inane comments and questions. If there’s one thing Lando’s decided for the rest of the night though, it’s that he won’t be left alone without one of his team members.

They reenter the main hall to find Daniel standing near the entrance, glass full while he holds an empty one in his hands. He doesn’t look at either of them as they pause next to each other, and for a moment, it’s a bubble of peace in the middle of chaos.

“I think I've just figured out why I never won a world championship,” Daniel says off-handedly. The PR fight leaves Lando then, bending him at the knees as he’s helpless to fight off the hysterical laughter that bubbles up and over inside him. Carlos’ steadying hand is on his back keeping him semi-upright, but it’s a losing battle.

Fucking sponsor events.

#anyway carlos and lando went back to their hotel later that night and carlos showed lando exactly what he thought he deserved #one of the few bits that got written for that version of that wip #carlando #husbands™ #writing tag

[nytb]

Rough Preseason Part 2

Preseason was coming to a close, the team had competed in their Preseason friendly tournament in Germany, sadly they didn't win their final against Wolfsburg, but the team made their fans and technical team proud by how well they competed.

For the Arsenal team, media day always included some sort of challenge video for their YouTube account, for the last challenge, some of the players were asked to play a Teqball tournament.

The roommates Hurtig and Y/N were slightly late to the tournament and as usual their teammates took the opportunity to mock them "The new girls making an impression" said Lotte and Y/N strutted jokingly "Saving the best for last". Katie who noticed Y/N commented "Thought missy wasn't joining" she joked and the newbie replied "Sorry my ankle was suffering from PTSD" Y/N laughed "It had a flashback from the last time it played against you" she added with a wink. As the teams weren't set in stone yet, the midfielder decided to make her move "Well luckily you will be playing with me this time" she affirmed. Y/N taken aback replied "Oh is that so.. you sure got tired of losing against me huh"

Hurtig, who also arrived late, decided to chime in after hearing Y/N and Katies bickering "Aw aren't you two cute" she joked to which her roommate replied "Remember where your loyalties lie Lina" warning her roommate and the striker took no time to reply "Ok ok no need to get your knives out hottie" she said as she backed away sarcastically. Katie approached her Teqball teammate "So hot and feisty huh" she whispered to which Y/N turned around, looked at the midfielder straight in the eyes and replied "Not in your dreams McCabe"

The cameras started rolling, the tournament was a success among the players, especially for Y/N and Katie, who reached the final against Hurtig and Williams.

"So you girls do know how to play together" teased the captain trying to get a rise out of Y/N, something that she clearly succeeded in. "Well if her job isn't to take your ankles out of the game, she sure knows how to play" said Y/N. McCabe jumped to her defence "Had to make sure you weren't running after somebody else cutie" she teased her teammate, "So, Y/N" said Hurtig as she got closer to her roommate and acted as if she was putting a microphone near Y/N's mouth "How is the enemies to friendly situation-ship going" she joked, Y/N pushed Linas hand away from her face and replied "How bout you walk over to your side of the table and get ready to lose"

The final match began, both teams competed damn impressively. It all came down to the final point, the tiebreaker. Y/N and Katie were focused and having played harmoniously, and adding the competitiveness of both players, they sure seemed unbeatable. "C'mon let's win this" said Katie as she prepared to begin the match, but before she got the first kick in, Leah jumped in with a last minute distraction attempt "Yeah suspicious how both of you are so in synch" she said, Hurtig picked up on what her captain was laying down so she added "Now I know where Y/N is sneaking off to in the middle of the night".

That last comment got to McCabe, Y/N picked up on it and looked at her teammate as she leaned one arm over her "Aw aren't they cute" Y/N stated "Can't beat us at the game so they resort to mind-games" she added to which she quietly whispered to Katie "Win this and I'll think about the us thing". Katies eyes light up, she got ready to serve the ball, a tense game followed.

"Yeeees" screamed Y/N as she jumped onto her teammate's arms "We wooooooon" cheered the midfielder. Williamson and Hurtig looked distraught, lost for words at how in sync their rivals played, nobody would have guessed that they didn't get along with each other. "Fuuuck" yelled the captain frustrated at the loss "How?" she asked as she repeated herself "How? Just How?" to which her teammate, Hurtig, answered "Yup, definitely weird, one day they fight, the next they play like they are married or something". Mead who had been watching the final match along with her teammates added "Yup, something indeed" as she implied that something was going on between the Irish girl and the new signing.

Katie, who was still celebrating with Y/N replied "What something", and as her teammate heard she asked "Wait how did you say it?" leaving the Irish girl confused "Said what?" she asked "The something, you pronounce it funny" Y/N joked as she put her arm over Katies shoulder directing her away from their teammates. The midfielder who was still confused went along with it, walking away with Y/N as she continuously pronounced words in her Irish accent making her teammate laugh.

#woso imagine #woso #woso x reader #arsenal wfc x reader #arsenal wfc imagines #arsenal wfc #woso arsenal #katie mccabe woso #katie mccabe x reader #katie mccabe imagine #katie mccabe

[giganticism]

is there auston matthews/trevor zegras lore?? i remember AM tweeting about him during the wjc but im very eyes emoji at him name dropping out of the blue to quinn, a guy who obviously does have a connection with zegras

As far as I know, there’s nothing else really public about Auston and Trevor so far. But the Hughes guys have mentioned knowing Auston prior to now, there’s of course the overall NTDP commonality among them all, and specifically we know guys Auston’s close with guys like Dylan Larkin and Zach Werenski who have trained and hung out with Trevor and others from his NTDP gen quite a bit, so Trevor and Auston could know each other pretty well. They’ve also been at things like the 2022 preseason media day at the same time and do follow each other on Insta.

The other thing to remember about Auston is he’s a big nerd about gear, especially sticks. It’s come up here and there, particularly when Spezza was still a player on the Leafs because he and Auston would be nerds together.

So it’s also possible Auston just knows that offhand because he’s looked it up or asked Trevor about it at some point and remembers because he’s a dweeb lol.

Part of my hope for the ASG was that we’d finally get a little more of a peek at how well Auston knows them, and I’m glad we at least got this little bit!

#auston matthews #trevor zegras #asg 2024 #ask

[writinginfinite]

imagine part ii

imagine: form a mental image or a concept

plot: you didn’t know what you were getting into when you turned your hobby into an actual career on f1. based on Lewis’ “imagine” tweet.

Saturday March 12, 2022

“please don’t let this be a sick joke!”

“For all that’s holy, I pray Mercedes is sandbagging” was all you thought when writing your articles after watching preseason testing. It was your goal to come across as impartial because the world would automatically assume you supported Lewis and Mercedes because you were Black. In a way, they weren’t wrong. To you, it felt morally wrong to not support the only Black driver and his team. Still, you wanted to appear as unbiased as possible, so you made a considerable effort to avoid that bias coming out in your writings and videos. The last thing you needed was people assuming you only got to where you were because the color of your skin. 

You took a break from your writing and left your office to go into your living room to scroll on social media. It always pained you to see other independent content creators at races with media passes to cover Formula One. The 2021 season went by and the FIA constantly denied your media credentials. (Maybe it was a blessing in disguise that you didn’t get media credentials for the 2021 season because what you witnessed made you physically ill. That was something you told yourself when the season ended to find some “positive.”) 

It’s been a goal of yours since you gave up your job to cover this sport. You travelled to races occasionally, but what was the point of going if you had no access to the paddock, pit lane, and press room? Your subscriber count nearly doubled, to 600K; your social media engagement and following in the community grew, and the traffic to your website was through the roof. You were being noticed by everyone but the one you dreamt of- Formula One. It’s not that you didn’t appreciate all you had, or needed more validation from others; it was more of a moral boost that “I made it” and I'm with the “big ones.”

There are many days when you wanted to give up and thought it wasn’t meant to be. Was it worth giving up a steady career to start your life over? But when that doubt snuck in, Lewis’ words rang in your head “Never give up never doubt yourself.” After every denial email, you’d apply again. They somehow at least remember your name, right? 

You found yourself in a bit of a funk, so you called your best friend, Ashlyn, to vent your frustrations. Ashlyn did not understand Formula One, nor could she give a damn about it, but she was your best friend and willing to listen. You knew you were talking a mile a minute while Ashlyn would say “Yep,” “I understand … I think,” “Uh huh,” and the few words you’d let her get out. She’d always end with, “Stop doubting yourself, all will happen in due time.” Those final words from her always calmed you down. 

After your short therapy session with Ashlyn wrapped up, you were back in your creative mindset. You went back into your office and continued working on your Bahrain pre-season testing article. You were about to close your laptop lid when you looked to the top right of your screen to an email notification from “FIA Formula One World Championship Media Accreditation” with the subject line “Status: Approved.” 

You felt a lump in your throat form, your eyes stinging with tears forming, saying aloud “please don’t let this be a sick joke!” As you looked at the email, it read “2022 Media Accreditation approved” with directions on how to get your pass starting at the Bahrain Grand Prix and throughout the rest of the season. 

All the hard work, the tears, the doubt, it was gone. Everything you wanted had come to fruition. After calming down and getting your heart rate and nerves together, you turned on your camera with the biggest smile and glow your audience had ever seen. “What about that pre-season testing!” After your breakdown and thoughts, you closed the video “Guys, I have some big news for you all. Until next time!

// parts

author's notes: slow burn, i know. friday i'll make up for it. thanks for your patience! hoping friday I'll have a longer update.

#lewis hamilton x black reader #lewis hamilton imagine #lewis hamilton fanfic #lewis hamilton fanfiction #fanfic #lewis hamilton imagines #lewis hamilton fanfictions #fanfics #imagine by writinginfinte

[moregraceful]

i would love to send u a prompt but i don't know enough about hockey narratives to give you a pairing :( if the word 'pavement' moves your hand in any particular way go for it!! and if not feel free to completely ignore this lol <3

i was like i will write a nice tony kemp/mikey yas story for my nice a's friend and then i was like i don't know anything about tony kemp except from your fanfic and then i wrote it anyway...alas

;;

Even thinking about buying a house on a one year contract is insane, no matter how much Mike wants to commit to San Francisco; Zaidi is not going to hand him a big contract when he’s a 35 year old UFA. But he’s got six-point-one million dollars burning a hole in his pocket, so he goes to San Francisco early in January, well before preseason, just to look for a good apartment.

He’ll probably end up in some stupid too-expensive condo in Outer Sunset, like he did the last two years, but Tony’s over in Oakland househunting too, so he makes a trip of it. Go to see Tony; go to find a nice place to live.

Tony goes with him around Twin Peaks, then the Mission, then the Presidio, and then they end up back in Outer Sunset, eating breakfast at a bistro Mike used to frequent last year. It has good breakfast sandwiches. The skies are foggy, but Mike’s content with where they are. They saw a condo that he liked more than the other places he’s seen that week.

Tony agreed to spend three days house-hunting with Mike but since it only took Mike two days to end up down the street from where he was last year, Tony claims he has a free day and Mike has to treat him right. “You owe me,” he says, “for making me walk up that hill in Twin Peaks.”

“Oakland’s too flat,” says Mike. “You’re getting weak.” Tony laughs. “Yeah, yeah, keep talking,” he says.

Mike agreed to spend three days househunting with Tony too. Tony’s looking exclusively in Montclair and Upper Rockridge. They’re not talking about it, but Tony’s looking at school districts.

Tony’s out in a year, unless the A’s come to their senses and keep him around for a while. Mike thinks that’s as unlikely as Farhan ever handing him more than a one year contract. 

Tony doesn’t have kids, but Mike knows he likes Oakland, knows he’s been looking around. Maybe they’re both thinking about things they can’t have, but Tony’s actually doing something about it.

They walk down to the beach after breakfast. Sand dunes have covered over the road, making the street gritty under their shoes. Neither of them dressed up all that much, but Tony steps carefully to avoid getting sand in his shoes.

The sun is barely visible under the fog. Mike likes Outer Sunset because the Pacific Ocean seems endless but he’s still close to home.

They stand at the top of a path and look out at the ocean spreading before them. The pavement is cracked, as much a victim to coastal erosion as the Great Highway, and in January, the ocean is mostly just gray. Nothing like it is in the Spring or Summer.

“What’s it like at night?” Tony asks. “I know you come here after games sometimes.”

“Dark,” says Mike. Tony frowns at him. Mike laughs. “Light pollution’s too shit to really see any stars, but if it’s dark enough and there’s no one around, sometimes it feels like the ocean might swallow me up if I go too close to the surf.”

“Well,” says Tony. “Don’t do that then.” He laughs. “I don’t want to wake up one day and read that you went missing in the night.”

“Gone too soon,” Mike agrees.

They stare at the ocean for a while and then turn around when it starts to get too misty and damp. They end up back at a coffeeshop Mike always liked last season, warming up over cups of coffee. The barista remembers his order. She remembers Tony’s too.

“You want to see the houses I’ve been looking at?” Tony asks, almost shy about it. Mike grins. “Yeah.”

They’re small, comfortable cottages, one or two bedrooms at most, tucked in quiet corners of streets in neighborhoods Mike’s never been to. They look nice to live in, as welcoming as the apartment Mike signed a one year agreement for earlier that day, with the same potential to create a warm home. None of the houses are furnished, but Tony was smart and kept his furniture from his last two apartments.

He’ll need more though. Mike likes the one with a dining room. “Big enough for a lot of people,” he says.

Tony smiles. “Yeah, that’s the idea.” He takes his phone back from Mike. “Gotta have enough space for the boys.”

“Just the boys?” Mike asks, testing the topic like he’s prodding the sand on the beach to see how compacted it is, if he can walk on it without sinking.

“Well,” says Tony. “You know.”

He grins at Mike, bright and brilliant. “Gotta have enough space.”

Mike smiles back. Pressing a little harder. “Just save a space for me at the table when your family gets big.”

“Head of the table,” says Tony, rolling his eyes. He laughs when Mike opens his mouth to say something but nothing comes out. “Come on, man, you know you always have a seat at my table.”

“Right,” says Mike. He sips his coffee. “I know.”

Tony picks up his cup and salutes him. “Wherever I go,” he says. “Wherever you go. You always have a place with me.”

He sips his coffee. Mike watches him drink and thinks about his next contract and the one after, what happens in his forties, his future.

#me 🤝 yas 🤝 unable to buy property in the bay area due to our job insecurity #unfortunate birdcage fanfictions #this was sooooo fun thank you!!!

[redwineconversation]

I hope you both feel the sparks by the end of the drive

Sometimes I think the more hostile the environment, the more Lyon thrives in it. It just triggers their competitive side, allows them to be more themselves, be more comfortable in their own skin. With a majority of the crowd cheering for their opponents, Lyon seemed almost happy and carefree, kicking the ball around and clearly enjoying themselves.

Lyon playing a hostile crowd in a final? Let's be frank, Lyon lives for that kind of shit.

But we already knew that. We've always known that, and we didn't need to watch the reigning European Champions play in a hot and humid Portland to come to that conclusion. So what did we learn during this preseason?

Bompastor has not yet solved the Carpenter Dilemma. I'm not exactly certain there even is a solution rather than simply cross our fingers and hope for the best until Carpenter is back. Cayman can do fine against "lesser" teams but got killed against Harder (whose miss in the semifinal kept Lyon in the game by the grace of God).

Almost all of Lyon's attack came from the left because of the Carpenter Dilemma. Lyon got away with it this time but it is only a matter of time before teams realize they just need to throw bodies at Lyon and Lyon will start struggling.

Lyon hates losing, and will flex on a team they don't like given the chance. Lyon played horribly against Chelsea for roughly 75 minutes, realized they were losing, and then clawed their way back into a game in borderline insufferable heat and humid. I really cannot emphasize how bad it was in the stadium - I am referring both to Lyon's play for 75 minutes and the weather conditions.

Lyon also really likes solving problems in real time, and we saw that against a fast Monterrey team (who I hope we see more of, I genuinely do). Lyon is a really, really bright team, and it's pretty cool to see their football IQ being applied in real time.

Van de Donk makes a difference in the midfield. She's still coming back but you can tell how comfortable she has become with this Lyon team, especially considering she was injured for six months. Some things will never change - van de Donk is always going to be muscled off a ball by a more physical player - but she makes up for it by still trying to get the ball back after it's lost. She did really well against PSG the last time she played them (6-1 win in November 2021), so it'll be interesting to see (1) how many minutes she gets and (2) what she produces.

I feel we saw a lot of growing pains from Damaris this tournament. Part of me wants to snark about it - the kid should know better by now - but I am also going to excuse a little bit of rust in preseason. I felt like she didn't quite master the line between being physically aggressive and just letting Lyon impose their physicality over Monterrey. It wasn't as flagrant as it was against Chelsea, but something that does need to be sorted out sooner rather than later. Those kind of mistakes will be costly later in the season, and I have no interest in paying up.

Remember when everyone was giving me shit for wanting Bruun back this year? I do!!! But who was right? Me!!! Victory lap aside, it's still preseason, so let's see what happens as the season progresses. For now I am just glad that she seems full of confidence, but more importantly, seems to be having fun. Once she stops being a perfectionist and just ... shoots, the goals come.

The future kid to keep a very close eye on is Marques, who reminded me a lot of Sombath and Bacha in their early days. As I said earlier, it would be absolutely criminal if Lyon let another team poach her from under them.

The next test is the clash against PSG in the Trophee des Champions game next Sunday. PSG-OL games are always fine because of the rivalry, and this time it'll be interesting because both teams are missing significant players due to injury. The other intrigue is the coaching battle between Precheur and Bompastor. Precheur was an amazing coach during his time at Lyon and I feel that PSG will really thrive under him.

#all good love stories start in the rain

[beardedmrbean]

NEW YORK -- A college basketball star was killed and eight other people were injured in a mass shooting in Harlem overnight. Police still have not made any arrests.

CBS2s Ali Bauman spoke to the victim's father.

Family members held each other in agony Monday, mourning 21-year-old Darius Lee.

"This is something different, Nobody expect that. He don't curse, don't hang out, don't drink, don't do anything. He just plays PS5 and plays basketball," Eric Lee said.

Darius Lee was one of the nine people shot overnight on Fifth Avenue and 139th Street. The scene was so close to where Lee lived, his sister heard the shots and instinctually feared the worst.

"She called. He didn't answer. She called again. He didn't answer. His best friend called his mom and said, 'I'm sorry.' She said 'Sorry for what?' He said, 'I'm sorry, Darius was shot,'" Eric Lee said.

"Humble, quiet, star, amazing," sister Tiara Weaver said of her brother.

Weaver, who asked that CBS2 only record her voice, said Lee was one of a kind.

"We love him. We're gonna miss him. I don't know what I'm gonna do. That's my other half," Weaver said. "He was never supposed to die, never. My mother is never supposed to bury her kid."

The block was crowded before the shooting. Police said people were out having a barbecue, and a group was also filming a music video when investigators believe some kind of dispute broke out.

A gun was later recovered at the scene.

"Get some resources here to stop this violence because our people are dying and we're tired of it," Public Advocate Jumaane Williams said.

The latest NYPD data shows that shootings citywide are down 10 percent so far this year compared to last, but up 47 percent compared to two years ago.

"When is enough going to be enough? When we gonna put these guns down?" Chaplain Robert Rice, community affairs liaison for the NYPD, told CBS2's Jenna DeAngelis.

Darius Lee was a star basketball player at St. Raymond High School for Boys in the Bronx. From there, he got a full ride to Houston Baptist University, and was supposed to graduate in December. He averaged 18.2 points per game as a senior and had one of the most electric performances of the season when he scored 52 points in a quadruple overtime game against McNeese State, the most points scored in a Division I game all season.

His coach at Houston Baptist, Ron Cottrell, said Lee was a great player, but an even better person.

"He was one of those guys everybody loved," Ron Cottrell said. "He would've been probably preseason player of the year going into next year in our conference. [He had] a terrific future ahead of him as a pro player. Just one of those guys you knew the future was bright for. Darius Lee, he was gonna do something special."

"I hope justice is served and I hope the NYPD do their job and find those people that killed my son," Eric Lee said.

Police told Bauman the other eight shooting victims are expected to survive.

Authorities have not made any arrests and ask anyone with information to call the NYPD.

Mayor Eric Adams and the NYPD will be making a public safety announcement Tuesday in wake of the recent gun violence in the city. 

A basketball court in the Bronx was the latest crime scene, where police said two men were shot in a drive-by shooting. Both are expected to survive. 

It happened around 9:30 p.m. Monday at the Jackson Houses on East 157th Street and Courtland Avenue. 

Now with the official start of summer, many New Yorkers are fearing the worst. Gun violence may be down, but as the temperatures rise, traditionally shooting spike as well. 

#nunyas news

[thattngurl]

I know they didn’t get rid of Jonny to bring in that pos Corey Perry. If I see Kyle it’s on sight. Talking about a veteran presence. All he can teach Bedard to do is be a shitty player and a cheap shot artist and someone who fails at winning. His one Cup came when he was super young - now his old ass is still playing and being a pos. They need to let the kids play instead of enabling that shitshow of a human being to keep making teams. Him and his homophobic slur spewing never got a second Cup other half - Getzlaf - from the Ducks - get such a victim edit and Perry has always been a pos on the ice and actively tried to hurt people. He’s been suspended just in the last few years. Bedard deserves better. Also remember in 2015 when the Ducks got beat in the WCF and then that wags show came out and we found out they thought they we going to win Game 6 and their black aces got ready to come on the ice and they never lead ONCE in that game. That’s just how cocky they were. Then the next season their preseason shirts said close isn’t good enough - unfinished business just for their dumbasses to lose in the first round 🤣 Corey Perry can kiss my ass and so can the Blackhawks for bringing him in tbh. Got rid of Domi racist ass and one of the bigoted Jones brothers just to employ a career asshole. But they want to move on from Jonny and his legacy. Fuck them. That’s why y’all don’t know how to run a team. Y’all let the video intern become GM and look what’s happened. Jonny is older than him. He failed up like a lot of white men seem to do 😐 That idiot better not ruin everything Jonny worked so hard for for this franchise.

[three-headed-monster]

kj x op: the primer

yes...it is in fact, time.

kj: aka kent johnson. from port moody, bc. besties with connor bedard. went 5th overall in the 2021 draft to columbus. studying sports management. messy eater. pouty and flirty boy. likes weird edm music

op: aka big dog aka pow aka odp aka big o aka owen power. from mississauga, on. besties with jamie drysdale, shane wright, cole perfetti, etc etc from the gta. went 1st overall in the 2021 draft to buffalo. studying sports management but he has no idea what that is. wears glasses. likes country music. would in fact like a truck.

owen and kent first meet when they both become freshmen with the university of michigan wolverines:

owen is big, tall number 22 there, and kent is the shorter number 13. owen is 6'6" and kent is 6'0"(he confesses that the umich roster people pump his stats by saying he's 6'1").

SO LET THAT SINK IN

THEIR HEIGHT DIFFERENCE IS HALF A FOOT

that is perfect head resting height for kent, and does in fact inspire many headcanons from me.

kent and owen start really getting close when they end up moving in together at an off-campus house, with 5 other guys on the team (portillo, briss, lambert, lapointe, and one more who i cannot remember)

again, there's not much from their freshmen year BUT have a gif of them showing their little crushes in a celly:

tell me this isn't love???

here's a clip of kent talking about how he and owen train together after games and how big he is too

so not much: but you can see their little crushes growing, especially from kent's side :)) who periodically went into owen's old insta photos to leave flirty comments on them

THIS IS WHERE IT ALL PICKS UP THOUGH GUYS

BECAUSE THEY ARE NOT ONLY IN LOVE BUT OBVIOUSLY SO BECAUSE OF THE SOCIALS COVERAGE ON THEM

okay so first we start off, in the preseason. they're still living together, confirmed by kent and owen, with jimmy lambert and phil lapointe. kent does in fact confirm that they share a bathroom (as if that's important) in an athletic article diary. they even go to quinn hughes' beach house together

the first little tiny bit of content we get about them and their relationship was the time they Literally got caught holding hands on campus and walking to class:

we tinhatted about that here, because owen doesn't have his signature glasses on or a backpack so we all deduced that he's either a) just being a good boyfriend and walking kent to class or b) kent is carrying all of his stuff for him

not really a tidbit but we got some pics from kent in that athletic article and yes i am going to believe that's a broken *** dresser in this pic:

and that's just the BEGINNING.

they walk in together, owen finds excuses to touch kent in the hallway for no reason, "surrender the outcome" etc etc etc, there's so much lost game tape of them interacting too.

wjc camp starts and things start getting even more serious. kent is unfortunately not there due to covid protocol, AND OWEN FREAKING SAYS THE PIECE DE RESISTANCE THAT MADE EVERYONE LOOK AND SAY BOYFRIEND SHIT

here's owen power admitting to calling kent johnson every day, sometimes multiple times a day

LOVE. they're in LOVE. and it is obvious now from both sides, kent and owen's, when in freshman year, it was mainly just kent

this continues throughout the tournament. owen calls kent "one of his closest friends" - i analyze it more here

there's photos of them showing their height difference:

AND of course there's the ever iconic clash of owen and kent's music taste (which owen "hates")

and the mason mctavish "leave room for jesus" gif:

they even have little inside jokes about owen's music vs kent's music!

even though world juniors was cancelled early, it gave us some wonderful content of owen and kent together and pretty much confirmed their relationship

not to mention how AFTER, they did an interview with tsn where they squeezed together in kent's tiny room and did some flirting in practice and did some codependent plane shit together

and now they're going to the olympics together! good for them!!! they're gonna go be in love there together!!!

if anyone has any more questions about them to give to me, i'd be HAPPY to discuss them with you, and i hope you guys enjoyed this primer :))

i'll leave you with this photo where they are gently bonking each other's heads and whispering to each other, oblivious to everyone else around:

#i hope i did a good enough job for y'all with this primer!!! #obviously scrolling down my tag is a great way to find out more about them! #but also i hope you guys like the primer because i worked really hard on it #let me know if you think i missed anything! #hockey #1322 #owen power #kent johnson #tinhatting