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chaotickryptonitetree · 4 months

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grant me easiness and i'll give you everything (it's only fair) | jeremy swayman

what I feel about him is alarming and frighting and yap yap yap. hope you like!

Whoever claimed to enjoy airports had clearly never been an Uber driver.

Sure; the money was significantly better than a normal ride—but the traffic? And the poor temperament? And the confusing lanes? It made you question if it was even worth the money.

But there were bills to pay, so you added tonight to the list of nights you ended up at the rideshare terminal of the airport.

You knew by now that flights usually got in on the 10s (7:10, 8:10, etc), so people would have collected their luggage and made their way to ride shares by the 35s (give or take). Glancing at the dash cam, you read 9:32. As if on cue, your phone pinged with a few alerts.

Typically, you’d choose the one that offered the most money. But it had been a long night, with a lot of rides, and had made enough to finish a bit early. So you picked the one that would put you closest to home. And it happened to be Jeremy, who wanted to end up at a brownstone around 7 minutes from your building.

And you waited.

Just for a minute or two before a knock on the back window stirred you from completely zoning out. Instinctively, you unlocked the car and a body slid into the back seat.

“Jeremy?” You confirmed, not bothering to look back.

“How do you know that?” A cheery voice forced your hand, made you make eye contact with him in the mirror. Mistake.

“Are you Jeremy or not?” You were paid to drive, not indulge lazy jokes. Still, his kind eyes didn’t waver.

“Just messin,” he looked out the window and mockingly placed a light touch to the window. Despite yourself, you tracked the movement, watching his hands (his large, large hands). Mistake. “Driver, take me home.” He sighed a wistful sigh, and even though you didn’t want to, a small smile found its way to your face. Putting on the turn signal, you merged into the departure lane and turned up the stereo.

Checking your blindspot, you pulled onto the freeway—traffic was awful so it would be a long ride despite the short mileage.

“Temperature okay?” You asked politely, following your script.

“Just right!” You could hear the smile in his voice, even though you refused to look at him again.

“Music alright?”

“My favorite!” You raised an eyebrow at his response—top 40 radio was no one’s favorite. But that was your last question that usually made riders feel heard enough to give 5 stars. Slightly relieved (as always), you settled in for the drive.

Usually you spent the time working through a problem in your head, really getting into the whys and hows of something that was bothering you. One of your friends was being distant, so you started there. She had started this behavior about a month ago, so that could mean that—

“I flew in from Alaska,” that cheery voice interrupted your internal monologue completely.

“That’s nice,” your reply was non-committal. You didn’t usually talk to riders that much. Didn’t plan on making it a habit.

“Yup!” He popped the p sound. “I’m from there, and I was visiting my family. It was awesome—I really miss them when I’m here for a long time.”

“Nice.” You were out of practice making small talk with a new person (to put it lightly). He just nodded—the only indication being the sound of fabric moving around his neck as he did so.

“So, where are you from?” He leaned forward in his seat, as if genuinely interested—as if knowing where this stranger grew up was a seriously important part of his night.

“I don’t have to talk to riders just because,” you cringed at how mean you sounded. He didn’t even deflate a little, just leaned back and laughed a slightly weird laugh.

“Fair enough,” his tone made you wonder if he was always this happy, this unphased.

And then the music filled the space as much as your stale air freshener did—even if the air was tinged with a bit of guilt on your part.

“I can feel you looking at me,” your eyes darted to him again in the mirror. Brown eyes forgiving and kind and very, very cute.

“Not tryna hide it.” It could’ve been taken as flirting, but you had the impression that he was just like this with everyone. Still, it warmed your cheeks just a little bit. “I’ve just never had such a pretty Uber driver,” and then a moment later, “well, a pretty one that’s my age, I mean.”

You laughed, despite yourself. “Pining after older women are ya?” He smiled easily, and it definitely was for him—easy.

“Look at this face and tell me I’m not a cougar's dream,” he laughed loudly. You didn’t look back for safety reasons (and convinced yourself that was the only reason). He leaned forward again. “I like it though,” his words felt like an admission, even if he didn’t lower his voice. Everything about him just felt—genuine? In a way that made every breath feel like a secret. “Makes me feel like I have a hot girlfriend who likes me enough to pick me up at the airport.”

You scoffed. If he wanted a hot girlfriend, it definitely wouldn’t be hard—not with his easy charm and pretty face. “I’m only here because I’m being paid.” You hesitated. “And there’s no way you don’t have someone who likes you enough to brave the traffic.”

You could sense his delight through your headrest. “Oh yeah I do,” he looked out the window again, “I have the best friends in the entire world. They were just busy tonight.” He sighed as if the idea of his friends was as good as having them in the seat next to him. It was quiet for a moment. “But no girlfriend, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“I wasn’t asking,” your tone was blunt, but you couldn’t help but smile. He laughed his weird, goofy laugh.

“Call me a romantic,” he addressed you by name—something you typically didn’t like from patrons in your backseat—but it felt different with him. “But I want that—someone who wants to be the first person to see you when you get back, who can’t even wait to kiss you even if it’s in front of a whole terminal.”

“Sounds like you’ve been watching too many rom coms,” but that suddenly felt unkind to such a gentle man, so then a moment later, “I hope you find that.”

“I will,” he seemed absolutely sure. “Oh shoot,” he raised his fists to the sky mockingly. “My phone died. Curses!”

“I have a charger,” you looked around for the cord while still keeping an eye on the road. He stayed quiet for a moment, considering.

“No, I have an android,” he quickly put his phone in his front pocket, eyes squinting with trouble. Trouble that made you think that he definitely didn’t have an android. “Oh wait! I have an idea!” He completely over-sold his facial expressions, making you question where he was going with this little scheme.

“And what would that be?” your tone was dry, eyes still on the road as you took the exit off the freeway, only a few minutes from his destination.

“So I can give you your rightfully earned tip!” He reasoned, “you can give me your phone number so I can send you money once I get my phone charged.” You could feel his hopeful gaze on you, like his plan was the most logical course of action ever spoken.

Logistically, it made no sense. You could tip an Uber days after your ride. “And what—you’ll just remember my number until then?” For some reason that was the first question you asked.

He nodded, serious as you’d seen him. “Of course,” he said incredulously, “I remember important stuff.”

And it didn’t make any sense. And you could’ve said no. And this was probably against some sort of employer code. And he was definitely this charming with everyone. But he looked so endearing and hopeful and there was something very good about him. Something right.

So you rattled off your number, and he mouthed each number after you said it. And you believed him that he would remember it.

And you believed him as he opened the door to leave, wishing you a good night. And you believed him as he waved from the top step. And as he opened the door and turned around for one more look, mouthing goodbye.

Despite yourself, you believed him.

…

Your bed was heaven after a long stint in the car. Practically asleep before your head hit the covers, a notification sounded from your phone.

A message from an unrecognized number was the last thing you saw before sleep.

From: unknown

Sent $50

And then a moment later, after you saved his contact.

From: Jeremy

Any interest in meeting me at Dunkin on Tuesday morning?

You went to sleep smiling. He remembered.

…

You agreed to meet him early—you typically liked to start driving before 11 and he had morning skate.

The sun had just risen as you walked to a Dunkin about halfway between you and him, bundled up in a puffer jacket and a toque. The bell jingled above the door as you entered, blowing warm air into your hands. It was freezing out.

You didn’t even have time to glance around and look for him before a tall, broad body in a black coat walked up to you and held out his arms for a hug. And then you weren’t freezing anymore. Not even a little bit.

He released you with a smile, linking your arms together and pulling you into line. “What do you usually get?” You asked, convincing yourself that you certainly were not leaning into his side. Definitely not.

He peered down at you, tucked into his side, nose red from the cold. “Whatever looks good,” he admitted, “usually the thing with the most cream and sugar.”

You laughed—even if you didn’t really know him, the idea that he didn’t have an order, that he just let himself enjoy whatever he wanted (even if it had a ton of sugar), that seemed very him.

“I’ll get that too,” you definitely snuggled into his side more, but maybe it was so you didn’t have to face his genuine smile so head on. Maybe?

And so he ordered for you both, but not before complimenting the teenage cashier’s pride pin and asking what his favorite donut was.

“Dunno,” the kid had braces and posture that seemed to shrink in on itself, and was clearly not used to anything beyond what can I get for you, “sprinkle looks pretty good today.”

“Then two of those too,” he put the spare change (and a five) in the glass tip jar. “Thanks brother,” he put out his knuckles for a fist bump. The kid tapped his fist lightly to Jeremy’s, completely won over.

Like a puppy, he quickly found something else to entertain himself with while you waited. “We almost have matching jackets!” He gestured to his black north face and your navy one. You pulled a face—how could he find such delight in everything?

“I guess?” You pinched your face together. He didn’t mind.

“Very couple-y of us,” he put his hands up at the look you shot him. “I had to say it,” He shook his head like it was obvious. And it was so cute you didn’t give him a hard time about it.

“Thanks for paying,” you directed the subject elsewhere, “you didn’t have to do that.” He shrugged, eyes fixed on your drinks as the barista (are they called baristas at Dunkin??) set down two identically light and sweet drinks.

“My pleasure,” he grabbed the bag with two sprinkle donuts inside.

“I’ll send you my share,” you made to grab your phone from your pocket. His hand over yours stilled the movement entirely, warmth emanating from his palm.

“You got it next time,” he shrugged—like obviously there would be a next time. And you believed him, hand now interlaced with his.

“I know it’s bad for me,” he groaned as he took a sip, “but it’s actually the best thing I’ve ever tasted.” A completely innocent line, but it felt dirty as he said it. Or maybe you were just losing it over how his thumb moved over yours.

“Oh,” you responded quietly, taking a sip of yours. Total sugar bomb. “Well you’ll work it off anyways in practice I’m sure,” you fumbled over your words just a little bit. He seemed amused. “Like, looking at you, I’d never guess you have a sweet tooth,” you said, even though there was absolutely no reason to keep talking. He titled his head in delight. “Because you look totally in shape—you look, great. Yeah.” A true example of vocal mastery was on display tonight.

He took a bite of donut, his white teeth a sight so intimate it made you blush. He hummed while chewing, nodding. “Oh yeah? I’m not sure why you mean…should we keep talking about how hot I look?” He joked before pulling a very embarrassed you into his side and out into the chilly air. It didn’t feel as cold with his hand around yours though.

You laughed an embarrassed laugh. “Easy, you big dope, I was trying to be nice.” He laughed into your toque, head on top of yours.

“I know, I know.” And then he went into talking about how he wasn’t a fan of Dunkin before moving to New England and now he was addicted. And you just listened, toasty from humiliation and content as he walked you home, hand covering yours.

…

You offered to pick him up from practice later in the week (he had asked you to come to a home game, but you weren’t quite ready for that yet). He was right on time, waving an animated wave as he walked out the door with a few teammates.

You waved back (a bit more timid in the presence of his friends), and turned to que up your next song. He knocked lightly on the window, and you rolled it down. He was bent over, face in the window as he glanced toward the backseat.

“Want to meet my friends?” He asked politely, clearly excited.

You hesitated, which made him continue. “No pressure at all. If you don’t want to, I can hop in the backseat and we can pretend you’re my Uber driver again,” he smiled a grin that was so genuinely happy it made you less nervous. You turned off the engine.

“No way,” you unbuckled your seatbelt. “I wanna meet ‘em.” You opened the door and shut it softly behind you, wrapping your arms around yourself instinctively. He pumped his fist.

“Let’s go!” He seemed overjoyed. It was quite possibly the sweetest reaction to such a nothing event. You rolled your eyes, but let him pull you in front of him, large hands rested on your shoulders, steering you to face his two teammates.

He introduced you to them both (they were sweet, but there was something on their face that made you unsure if they were making fun of you or jeremy–or both–or no one). But listening to them banter back and forth while you stood pressed to the front of him made you realize that they just joked around like that.

Jeremy was usually the punchline–but he didn’t mind. He was easy to laugh, easier to smile, and made a point of pulling you impossibly closer to him. If his friends noticed, they didn’t say anything.

But then the fact that they didn’t say anything made you wonder just how many people he had introduced to his friends. Maybe they were having a non-reaction because they were so used to it? You stiffened slightly under his hands.

And he must’ve felt it, because he placed a feather-light kiss to your hair–which did pull a reaction from his boys.

“If you’re around on new year’s, we’re throwing something and you are obviously invited,” one of them nodded towards you, eyes a little wide.

“Obviously?” You questioned, but felt far more comfortable than a moment ago. The taller one laughed, eyes flickering to Jeremy’s briefly.

“Obviously,” he confirmed. “You think this is our first time hearing about you?” He shook his head, clapping the shorter one on the back. “Sway here wouldn’t shut up about you. If you didn’t respond to his text he was going to make us call every Uber in Boston until one of us got you as a driver.”

You hit his chest as you turned around. “You goof,” you meant to say–but the words died on your tongue when your eyes met his–so full of genuine enjoyment and content that it warmed you from the inside out. You turned toward them again, waving goodbye.

“I’ll see you on new year’s then.”

“Nice to meet you,” they parroted, smirking at Jeremy. “We’ll see ya sway.” He waved and let you pull him into the passenger seat.

“I like your friends,” you rubbed your hands together and blew on them. He smiled a radiant smile.

“You’ll love the rest of the guys,” he pulled your free hand into his lap, both palms wrapped around it, warming you right up. You drove the rest of the way home with one hand so he could keep a grip on you. He gave you a play-by-play of practice (which drills he did best on, what made him laugh the most, what he wanted to focus on for the next game), only coming up for air once.

“I really like you,” he said earnestly, as matter-of-factly as when he spoke about drills. It made you shake your head.

“Obviously I like you too,” the words felt good to be out–like you didn’t realize how true they were until you said them aloud.

He brought your hand to his lips and pressed a chaste kiss to your knuckles. “Obviously?” You could feel his smile on the back of your hand.

“It's, like, impossible not to.” You pulled in front of his building, putting the car in park. Meaning to pull your hand back from him–a little embarrassed–but didn’t even make it over the console before he crushed you in a hug over the center console. The steering wheel dug into your side, nose crushed into his chest, hair static-y all over his puffer. But you couldn’t bring yourself to back out of it–arms rubbing circles against the back of his coat.

You had no idea how much time had passed when he pulled back, grabbed his bag from the trunk, and walked up to the front door. It was probably the longest he had gone without talking around you. But you didn’t mind. You liked him when he talked, when he didn’t, when he smiled, when he breathed.

You smiled all the way home.

…

You agreed to walk to the new year’s eve party together. It was just far enough away for you to prepare to meet more of the people from his world and hear about his last couple road games. Just hearing him talk made your nerves melt away.

He insisted on meeting on your doorstep, however, even though it added 10 minutes to his walk. He texted when he was on his way.

From: J

Be there in a few!

From: you

You need my address?

From: J

Course not.

And then.

I remember important stuff.

You went in for a hug as you opened the door–a new part of your routine.

“Hey,” your greeting was muffled into his puffer. His navy?? Puffer. One identical to your own. You thumbed the material and glanced up at him. “Nice coat?” You raised your eyebrows.

He laughed loudly, tipping his head back. “I wanted to match.” The way he said it made it feel obvious–tone like a noncommittal shrug. Like why wouldn’t he want to match?

The ease of the gesture was lovely. He was lovely. “Well then,” you linked your arm with his, setting off down the stairs and onto the sidewalk, “it is an honor to match with you tonight.”

He let a grin brighten his face. “You smell really good,” he breathed into your hair. “Like you always do. And I like the glitter you have–” He ghosted a thumb over your brow bone, “here.”

And the loveliness haunted you the entire walk over, conversation easy and light. He was so open, so kind, in a way that eased openness and kindness from you as well.

So the night was much better than you had expected. It felt natural to meet his friends, his teammates, their wives, their kids. It didn’t feel like being thrust into a brand new world. It just felt like natural–like getting another piece of Jeremy was a privilege.

And you didn’t feel out of place with how enamored you were with him–everyone here clearly was. He was the heartbeat of this group of people–and you felt lucky to watch him light up the room. And a little part of you felt proud that you were here with him.

The one who everyone wanted to be around–he wanted to be here with you.

“You’re too nice for him,” another new face laughed as he clapped Jeremy on the shoulder, looking down at you.

“Too nice?” You glanced at the palm resting over your stomach. Possibly the most gentle, kind touch you had experienced. How could anyone be too nice for that? “For him?” Your voice raised with confusion.

The young guy in front of you raised his eyebrows at the man behind you. “He didn’t tell you?” His smile was all trouble. “Our boy Sway likes to be a little roughed up,” he laughed at your blush, hidden by you turning around to gape at Jeremy. To wait for a rebuttal.

But it never came. He just laughed good-naturedly and hugged you into his chest. “Hey now, don’t scare her away!” He looked down at you, squeezed tight against his chest. “Lucky to have her here at all.” His smile was just for you.

And so you smiled and let yourself half forget about that comment. Met some more people. Drank some more wine. Smiled a lot.

But you couldn’t forget it entirely.

Some time later, he beckoned you over to where he sat on the couch. You finished up chatting with some of the women and made your way to him.

“Hey,” you stood in between his legs before he pulled you down to sit on one of his thighs with a thud. You felt him sigh into your hair as you leaned back so your head rested on his shoulder, hands reaching around the play with his fingers. He was solid and warm.

“Hey,” if you had to put money on it–you’d bet he was smiling. “Thanks for being a champ about this–they can be a lot.” You traced a nail over the outline of his hand. “But they’re important to me, so it makes me happy that they get to meet you.”

As intimate as a secret, spoken lowly in your ear. As secure as a fact, warming your chest.

“I like them,” you thought for a moment. “Even if they think I’m too nice.”

He rolled his eyes. “They’re just giving you a hard time. It’s a long story.”

You raised your eyebrows. “You can tell me if you want.” You could feel his chest rise and fall under your back.

“When I first signed, I showed up to practice all beat up once. Bruises, all that nonsense.” His eyes shone as he retold the story–like the emotions were just as fresh as they had been. “Told everyone I walked into a doorway–or something stupid like that. In the locker room later, everyone saw the marks this girl had left all over me.” He indicated scratch marks over where you lay on his chest. “All on my back and my neck and stuff. Never heard the end of it–how doors are really fighting back now and all that.” You just listened. “So yeah, they give me a hard time about it. But it’s no big deal–I didn’t want them to scare you or anything. If you’re not into that, don’t worry.”

He ducked his head into the crook of your shoulder, kissing behind your ear. You shivered, trying not to wiggle too much over his lap. Tilting your head towards him, you let your voice drop so only he could hear. “I’m into that.” His eyes went wide. “And I’m into you, so I can still be nice.”

He gulped audibly, making you smirk. “Like, I can be nice and tell you that you’re so good.” His face was as serious as you’d seen him. “Makes me wonder if you’d be so good for me.”

He nodded before he knew what he was nodding at, grip tight around you. “I would be.” His voice was clipped. “I’d be so good for you.”

You nodded back, chest on fire. You believed him.

You let your cheek rest against his sweater, eyes peering up at him–slightly flushed from the party and eyes a little tired. It had to be close to midnight.

As if on cue, the countdown began from the tv. Every voice in the room chanted along…10, 9, 8…but you almost didn’t hear them. Too busy looking at Jeremy. 7, 6, 5. You turned so your legs swung off the couch, sideways in his lap.

“I’ve never had a New Year’s kiss,” he whispered, holding you upright against him. “Like a real one. Not just a friend or something.” 4, 3. You pulled him so close you could see the shine of his lip from his drink, feel the sweat on the back of his neck from his sweater.

2. 1. “Glad to be your first or something,” you grinned into the kiss, teeth knocking against his. He laughed a breathy laugh into your mouth, free hand palming the back of your head. His chest rose and fell next to yours, making you pull back.

“I’m so happy it’s you,” he admitted–probably the most embarrassed you’d seen him. You ran your hands through his hair, settling against his chest so he could put his chin atop your head.

You believed him.

...

happy new year! Love ya

#nhl fic #nhl imagines #jeremy swayman #bruins #boston bruins #david pastrnak #brandon carlo #charlie mcavoy #matt poitras

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thenhlteaissuperhot · 11 months

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what do you think of the tkachuk vs mcdavid "face of the nhl" debate?

since people magazine called tkachuk the "face of the nhl" butthurt hockey men are saying that will never be true because mcdavid is the face of the nhl. the way i see it, mcdavid might be the best player but he has the personality of beige wallpaper and tkachuk might be a rat but seems to have a fun personality

also, who do you think the nhl should market more to be the "face"? boring but the best players in the world (mcdavid, crosby, mckinnon etc) or talented fun personality guys (tkachuk, pasta, zegres etc)

I see it the same as you do.

No one can deny that McDavid is currently and will continue to be the best NHL forward - it is something every single person who gets into the world of ice hockey and consequently even the world of the NHL grasps and accepts as a fact.

However, just as you have said Connor has a personality of beige wallpaper (I love that term so much by the way). You see it every single time he is asked to do any sort of promotional content during the All-Star Week, before the season shooting, or during it. The outcome of that is always something you can hardly sell to his fans, who are die-hard supporters of the cult of "McJesus" - even those people oftentimes consider it as unwatchable - so now imagine what would people, who have no idea what NHL is, say if McDavid really was the face and his content would be the one, with which would the league be trying to expand its fanbase.

It's not that I blame him for being socially awkward, everyone has a different sort of personality and not everyone is born as a social butterfly with an undeniable charm, but the NHL and those fans who passionately defend his "face of the league" title need to realize that being the best player and the most marketable player thus the face of the league are two completely different roles and McDavid can play only the first one. Just like Crosby.

Simultaneously, you have to take into consideration that they are looking for primarily an American face of the league - that's market where they are competing with other big and more known leagues like NFL, NBA, and so on, you don't need that much promotion in Canada where it is a national sport or in Europe where you could definitely find many more fans but where you have the huge disadvantage of the time difference so you will never have thousands of Europeans watching the games at 2 AM when they have to go to work the next day. If you use a Canadian or European player as the face of the league, it won't register as big of a success as you would love to. This is the USA we are talking about, the most ridiculously patriotic country I know, they want an American face or else they won't support it.

That's why the league is pushing guys like Matthew Tkachuk or Auston Matthews (or at times even Zegras) because they are both players with actual talent but also a big marketability aspect and mainly with American passports.

Naturally, there are players who would be even bigger internet sensations if they were American - look at David Pastrnak, that man has been born a showman and a great player on top of that, he would absolutely kill the face of the league game if he wasn't from the Czech Republic and so would Mitch Marner if he wasn't Canadian, hell even Brad Marchand has an elite personality or Jaromir Jagr if he once again wasn't Czech. To this day Jagr is the most beloved player from the big guys (Gretzky, Lemieux, Ovechkin...) because he was and still is a f*cking comedian on top of being an ice hockey legend.

#nhl #nhl players #nhl gossip #connor mcdavid #matthew tkachuk #david pastrnak #brad marchand #jaromir jagr #auston matthews #mitch marner

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gaybroons · 18 hours

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Warlord Pasta??? >:3c ?

Lari, babe. Do you remember this fucking thing???? and THIS moment???????

Ok. Imagine with me for an instance. In a royalty/fantasy AU, Princess (gender neutral) Willy Nylander, spoiled, beloved, pretty, and also delusionally in love with David Pastrnak whom he met when they were wee little boys, mildly injured on the edge of a running river at the border between leaf kingdom and bruins territory. Except it’s not delusion. They’re both instantly obsessed with each other.

When Pasta goes back, learns who that pretty little boy is, he vows to make him his. What better prize than the leaf’s princess after all? Studies the sword, the bow and the spear, rises in status until he gets a bearskin of his own; the highest honor.

And then they raid the kingdom’s capital. It’s been years, a decade almost, he doesn’t even know if willy remembers him but it doesn’t matter. This has been his goal for so long.

And he GETS HIM. Finds Willy’s room, driven by gut and instinct even though he’s never been in the castle, even though there’s no castles in Boston, no kings there. Kidnaps him (he actually comes along willingly) and takes him home.

Toronto loses its mind. Those barbarians TOOK our beautiful willy????? Our delicate princess??????? Saints know what they’ll do to him. We need to save him ASAP (cut to willy being doted on by everyone, barely clothed, hand fed fruits and wine in carved wooden cups laying on a feathered bed)

Also it’s like. Consider Toronto to be a classical monarchy, right, in a very centralized bureaucratic city, heavily influenced by their temple of Saints. Boston on the other hand is a lot less polished, doesn’t believe in the divine right of kings, with different gods and a different government and a different political and social structure. Both of them believes the other to be wrong and that’s how it’s been for centuries.

Honestly this plot needs to be polished and developed more, I have like 3 willypasta scenes in my head that I want to write but I gotta also figure out the buildup to them 😔 the horror

I don’t have much written but!!! Here it is !

——

The bearskin is menacing, as it’s meant to be.

And yet, despite it all, William can’t find it in him to be scared.

Under the bearskin a pair of eyes flash at him, bright and blue and striking, pinning him down in place. How can he be scared when it’s David wearing it? His face, striped with blood so dark it looks black, twists in a boyish smile, victorious.

#wip ask game #hrpf #willypasta #8888

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sociallyawkwardsailor · 1 year

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#Boston Bruins #David Pastrnak

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ao3feed-hockey · 2 years

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Bonafide Stallion

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/VnqTCd4

by snorky

An informal exchange of tweets, tomfoolery, team-building beef, and reddit posts around a fire on a nice evening with some of the Boston Bruins.

Words: 546, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Fandoms: boston bruins - Fandom, NHL - Fandom

Rating: General Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: Gen

Characters: Charlie McAvoy, Brad Marchand, David Pastrnak, Patrice Bergeron, Torey Krug, Reader

Additional Tags: Hockey, Hockey Imagines, Reddit Posts, buds being buds, Charlie McAvoy’s New Nickname, Boston Bruins Imagine, Boston Bruins, Mutual Friendly Bullying, Brad’s Nose, Apparently he can also grill, Platonic Relationships

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/VnqTCd4

#IFTTT #ao3feed #fanfic #hockey rpf

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littlemortals · 2 years

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Nhl (4+1) recommendations

Because I love these fics I thought why not to make a little list of recommendations

(some of these are 5+1)

Matthew Tkachuk:

4 times Matthew’s family knew he was in love + 1 time he confesses his love by @josty

The four times you took care of Matthew and the one time he gets to take care of you by @stardusttkachuk

It’s not that bad by @sorryjustafangirl

Are you sure about that? by @linasobsessions

I hate you by @lam-ila

Four times you sat in Matthew’s chair + the one time they called him out by @extratragic

4 times you faked a relationship + 1 time you didn’t by @hockeywhy

Mathew Barzal:

Four Times Mat Almost Told You How He Feels And The One Time He Did by @fallinallincurls

Bad luck charm by @matwith1t

Steal my love by @tysonjost-taylorsversion

Five times everyone knew Mat loved you & the time he realize himself by @idontgiveaflyinggrayson69

Our song by @generallybarzy

Not a perfect proposal by @myhockeyworld87

Frederik Andersen:

Maybe it was fate by @ghstandpucks

Tyson Jost:

The holidate by @hookingminor

Olympic bound by @ghstandpucks

Dancing around feelings by @tysonjost-taylorsversion

Andrei Svetšnikov:

Fake numbers and date numbers by @matsbarzal

Nathan Mackinnon:

The night everything changed by @ghstandpucks

Four Times Nate Embraces Hot Boy Summer And The One Time He Falls in love by @fallinallincurls

David Pastrnak:

5 times the team told him he was in love + 1 time he realized it by @mainlypastrnaksbae

Jesperi Kotkaniemi:

Five times you pull tiktok pranks on him, and the one time he pulls one on you by @ilyasorokinn

Joel Farabee:

Fell in love with you in stages by @antoineroussel

Sebastian Aho:

I thought you’d never say it by @hockeyshitandstuff

Puck me by @sydnikov

Sideny Crosby:

What love feels like by @laurenairay

Elias Pettersson:

Five Times Elias Pettersson was Teased for Being Whipped and One Time He Wasn’t by @oleksiak-pettersson

Erik Johnson:

Annoying little brother by @ghstandpucks

Travis Dermott:

4 times you thought he would kiss you + 1 time he did by @denis-scorianov

All the authors mentioned in this have other amazing fics so make sure to check them out!

@mitch-slap tagging you bc you said you like these:)

If you have some other 4+1 fics that you like please send them to me!:)

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pastrnaks-sainz · 3 years

Text

5 Times the Team Told David he Was in Love + 1 Time he Realized it

Pairing: David Pastrnak x reader

Type: 5+1, fluff, angst

Warnings: Swearing, hospitals, catcalling, injury, blood

Word Count: 8.3k

Request: 5+1 moments when david pastrnak realized he loved y/n and then the one time he said it or like moments when other people realized david loved y/n and then the one time he noticed it. there needs to be more pasta fanfic other there and i really love your writing so if you have the time i would appreciate this fic so very much (from anon)

A/N: Sorry this took me so long nonny! This is officially the longest thing I have ever written and I love every bit of it! I hope you enjoy it as much as I do and I hope it makes up for the severe lack of pasta fics!

~~~~

The first time coincided with the first time David introduced you to his linemates. It was two months into the offseason and David had just come back from his stint in Prague right after exit interviews were over.

Patrice was having a cookout with the Marchand family and, naturally, invited Pasta along to join. He might have dropped a hint that if Pasta wanted to bring a girl that would have been fine by him. David didn’t pick up on the underlying meaning and brought you along as his friend.

“Y/N,” David announced himself as he walked into your apartment the second after dropping his luggage inside the front door of his place. You vaulted off the couch and ran around the corner through the kitchen to the front hallway, your socks sending you sliding into the wall.

“David,” you paused before launching yourself into his arms. “I missed you so fucking much.”

“I wasn’t gone for very long,” David laughed as he hugged you tight and kissed the top of your head. It was a gesture he did without thinking at this point, it was second nature.

“Two months is a long ass time,” you pouted, subconsciously inhaling his distinct smell.

“I’ll take you with me next time,” he said offhandedly. “Now come on, Bergy is having a cookout and I said I’d bring you with me.”

“Moving right past the part where you want me to come hang out with you and your two NHL superstar best friends,” your eyes widened at his casualness.

“Oh come on,” he smiled, giving your shoulder a small shove. “It’s not like you haven’t met my friends before.”

“Yeah, those friends aren’t your teammates,” you called over your shoulder as you grabbed your keys from their spot in the hallway and slipped your feet into a pair of flip flops.

“So you’re coming?” David asked hopefully.

“Yes, dummy,” you ruffled his hair as you brushed past him on your way out of the apartment. “Now come on.”

“Pasta!” Brad exclaimed as David walked into the backyard. Brad caught Patrice’s eye when he saw you all but attached to David’s side. You were oblivious to the look exchanged between the two, though, as David introduced you to his linemates.

“It’s so nice to finally meet you,” you smiled as you shook Patrice’s hand and then Brad’s. “Pasta’s told me a lot about you.”

“Whatever it was, it isn’t true,” Brad said smoothly.

“All good things, I promise,” you responded, placing your hand back where it had been resting on David’s forearm.

“Well welcome to the family,” Patrice said warmly as his wife Stephanie came up beside him.

“You must be Y/N!” she exclaimed. “David here never stops talking about you.”

David rubbed the back of his neck as Stephanie pulled you away from him to go get drinks and meet Katrina. Patrice and Brad simultaneously gave him a look. David looked between his two linemates in confusion.

“What?” he asked.

“’What?’,” Brad mocked him. “Are you seriously that blind?”

“What do you mean, ‘blind’?” David asked genuinely confused why Marchy was giving him such a hard time out of the blue.

“It’s, like, blatantly obvious that you like her,” Patrice said, hoping his words would make his younger teammate realize.

“What?” David’s eyes widened as his arm fell back down to his side. “You guys are crazy. Y/N’s my best friend, I don’t like her like that.”

“It’s like dealing with a teenager,” Patrice sighed, rubbing his temples. “You look at her like she hung the moon, dude.”

“She was my first friend I made in Boston,” David insisted that there were no feelings between you besides very close friendship.

Before either Patrice or Brad got the chance to say anything more you were walking back over to them, arm linked with Stephanie’s.

“I’m gonna show Y/N around the neighborhood,” she announced, stopping to give Patrice a quick peck on the cheek.

With one glance at David you knew something was up. You caught his eye and tossed him a look, silently asking if he was alright. He offered a small smile and nod in response. You ran your hand down his arm in a promise to talk later as Stephanie led you off the deck and around the front of the house.

“So,” Stephanie started once she was positive you were out of earshot of the guys. “How long have you known David?”

“Oh god,” you said as you tried to remember what year it was when you first met your best friend. “I think it’s been, like, seven years now. Yeah, I met him when he first got to Boston.”

“Cute,” Stephanie cooed, nudging you with her shoulder. You felt your cheeks warm. “How did you meet?”

You immediately went straight back to the day you first met David.

A bright orange traffic cone stood out against the snowbank. David watched in confusion as a woman climbed out of her car and grabbed it. She tossed it into the backseat of her car like it was something she had done a million times. He didn’t realize he had been staring until she stopped beside her car and called out.

“Can I help you?” you asked, looking directly at the man who had been watching you. David felt the tips of his ears warm when he realized you were talking to him.

“Oh, sorry,” David said, hyper aware of the way he spoke. He hadn’t been in America long and his English was a long way from being fully understandable. “I’m just confused what you are doing.”

“You’re new to winters in Boston, aren’t you?” you asked with a small smile. David nodded, happy you were able to comprehend what he was asking. “Give me a second to park.”

David watched in awe as you expertly parked your car in the tight space beside the snowbank that had to be taller than you were.

“Space saver,” you said as you locked your car and started towards him. “You spend hours after a snow storm digging out your parking spot only for some douchebag to take it. Sort of a winter tradition in some parts of the city.”

“Oh,” David nodded. He looked around at the brightly colored or mundane objects serving as claims to specific parking spaces.

“I’m Y/N,” you held out a hand.

“David,” he introduced himself, shaking your hand. Your fingertips were warm against his cold skin.

“That's so typical,” Stephanie giggled as you finished your story. “For as long as I’ve known him he’s been curious about everything.”

“That’s one of my favorite things about him,” you said, not noticing the small smile that was starting to spread across your face. Stephanie filed your change in expression with the topic away for later use. “So, how did you and Patrice meet?”

Back on Patrice’s patio David was desperate for any kind of escape from the interrogation his linemates were putting him through. He had been answering question after question about you and denying it every time they told him he was in love.

“I am not in love with Y/N!” he finally exclaimed.

“Whatever you say buddy,” Brad sighed, leaning back in his chair and taking a sip of his beer. “But don't say we didn’t tell you so when you finally figure it out.”

“Figure what out?” you asked as you joined them on the patio, sitting down in the open space beside David on the loveseat.

“Just a trick to win face offs,” David quickly covered, not giving Patrice or Brad a chance to embarrass him any further than they already had. You hummed and leaned into David, your head resting comfortably on his shoulder. He instinctively let his arm fall over your shoulders.

It wasn’t the first time he had held you, but Patrice and Brad’s words were still ringing in his ears as he absentmindedly started tracing random patterns on your arm. He quickly pushed them out of his mind, though. You were his best friend. Only his best friend.

****

The second time was when David needed to leave a team practice in order to bring you to the hospital.

The cookout had been weeks ago and training camp was just beginning. David had nearly forgotten about the conversation he had had with his linemates, its space in his mind being replaced with preparing for the upcoming season.

“What’s up, man,” Jake greeted David as he took the seat next to him in the dining room.

“Hey,” David responded, swallowing a mouthful of salad. “You look exhausted.”

“Jet lag is a bitch,” Jake yawned in response. As he opened his mouth to say something else David’s phone rang.

“Hold that thought,” he said as he fished it from his sweatpants pocket. A smile crossed his face at your name popping up on the screen. “Hello?”

“David,” he instantly knew something was wrong just from your tone of voice. Jake jumped as his fork went clattering to the table.

“Y/N, what’s wrong?” he asked seriously.

“I need you to come get me,” you said, your voice breaking.

“Where are you?” David ignored the looks his teammates gave him as he rushed out of the dining room and headed straight to the parking lot.

“Kenmore Square,” you answered, unable to control your shaking.

“Share your location with me,” David told you, making sure to keep his voice steady. He pulled his phone away from his ear for a split second to see your exact location. “Stay put, Y/N, I’m on my way.”

“Can you stay on the phone with me?” you all but pleaded.

“Of course, miláčku,” he tried his best to sound comforting.

He talked about anything he could think of as he drove to where you were. He was almost positive he ran a handful of red lights but he didn’t care. He knew you were in trouble, he knew you needed him.

David saw you sitting on a bench, back facing the street. He didn’t bother turning his car off as he pulled into a parking spot, he just jumped out and ran to you.

“Y/N, what happened?” he knelt in front of you, hands immediately cupping your face. You broke down in tears the second his skin made contact with yours.

“I was on my morning run,” you sobbed. “And a man started following me-”

Another sob cut you off.

“He catcalled me,” David felt anger begin to bubble in his veins. “And when I told him I wasn’t interested he pushed me and I fell into the building.”

David pushed aside some of the hair that had fallen into your face to reveal a nasty cut. He reprimanded himself for not noticing the blood that had been dripping down your face. He swore to himself before untying the bandana you always kept tied around your neck and pressing it against your injury. His heart shattered as you winced.

“Come on, Y/N,” he carefully pulled you to your feet. “I’m bringing you to the hospital.”

You felt like your head was underwater as you listened to David’s voice. He was your one, grounding link. You didn't register anything as David checked you into the emergency room. He was all you were aware of as he replaced your hand holding the bandana in place with his, as he spoke Czech to you, as he held your hand and told you everything was going to be okay.

“Get in the car,” Patrice told Brad an hour later as he hung up the phone after talking to David.

“What?” Brad asked confused, but jumping up from his seat and following Patrice out to the parking lot.

“Pasta just called me,” Patrice answered. “Y/N’s in the hospital.”

“What!?” Brad exclaimed. “Why? What happened?”

“I don’t know,” Patrice answered. “He just told me to get there as fast as I could.”

“How can I help you?” the nurse at the reception table greeted them as they walked in.

“We’re here to see Y/N Y/L/N,” Patrice said, nervously tapping his fingers against the desk.

“Okay,” the nurse said as she tapped away at her keyboard. “Y/N Y/L/N; third floor, room 378.”

“Thank you,” Patrice said hurriedly as he and Brad all but ran towards the elevators. Patrice mumbled to himself as he watched the little red numbers tick closer to the ground floor.

“Pasta didn’t tell you anything?” Marchy asked as they started down the hallway towards your room.

“Nope,” Bergy answered, knocking on the door marked ‘378′.

“Hey guys,” Pasta answered in a quiet voice as he stepped aside to let them in. “She’s kind of out of it still, but here’s what I know.”

David told them everything. About the man that catcalled you, about how you called him to come get you, even going as far as apologizing for leaving practice.

“Is that Patrice Bergeron I see?” you asked groggily. Patrice walked over to the side of your bed, taking your outstretched hand.

“Hey champ,” he said, sitting down in the chair David had obviously not left since he got up to let them in. “How you feeling?”

“Fantastic,” you responded.

“Not even a Class A douchebag can take that sense of humor away,” Pasta smiled as he knelt beside you. He took your other hand in his and kissed the heel of your palm.

“You’re gonna have a nice battle scar,” Marchy added his voice to the mix.

“Always be a reminder of my knight in shining armor,” you said, smiling over at David. He kissed the heel of your palm again, looking as though he had absolutely no plans on letting go any time soon.

Patrice and Brad stayed with you for hours, keeping your mind of off your current situation. By the time it was 5:30 they needed to leave.

“Will you be okay for a few minutes while I walk them out?” David asked, gently squeezing your hand.

“I’ll be fine,” you said, squeezing back. David gave you a tired smile before following Bergy and Marchy out of the room.

“I probably don’t have the best timing in the world,” Patrice started. “But you are head over heels in love with her.”

“I care about her,” David responded sharply.

“Mhm,” Patrice hummed, deciding it was a bad idea to press the topic further. “Take the day tomorrow, stay with her. She needs you right now more than we do.”

“I’m not going to argue,” David ran a hand over his face. “Thank you guys for coming, it meant a lot to her.” “Hey man,” Marchy clapped his shoulder. “She’s family now.”

David offered up a tired smile and nod before turning on his heel and walking back to your room. He paused and took a deep breath before opening the door. Your doctor looked up from where she was applying a new bandage to your forehead.

“You can go ahead and take her home,” she told him, peeling off her gloves and tossing them in the trash. “Just keep her up for the next six hours and make sure she gets lots of fluids.”

“Copy that,” David nodded. “Thank you.”

“She’s in good hands with you,” the doctor gently patted David’s shoulder before leaving.

“You ready for a sleepover?” Pasta’s signature smile returned to his face as he helped you out of bed.

“Oh that's exactly what I need right now,” you returned the smile.

David rummaged through your drawers trying to find a pair of comfortable clothes to bring back over to his apartment after grabbing the handful of things you had asked him to. He swore to himself as he couldn’t find anything.

The sound of faint music came from his bathroom where he had drawn you a warm bath and left you with his body wash that you always threatened to steal. He grabbed his favorite t-shirt and his fluffiest pair of sweatpants before knocking on the bathroom door.

“Come in,” you called, your voice still quieter than usual.

“I couldn’t find the clothes you wanted,” he said, his eyes glued to the tile floor as he set his clothes on the vanity. “So I just brought you something of mine to wear.”

“Thank you, David,” you said gratefully. David nodded and left, closing the door behind him.

He sat on the couch, absentmindedly scrolling through his phone as he waited for you to come out. He turned to look over his shoulder as he heard you walk down the hallway into the living room. The sight of you in his clothes with your hair tossed up in a messy bun made his heart flutter. He had no clue what he was feeling, but it was definitely something he could see himself getting used to.

****

The third time was a much happier occasion. The annual Wives and Girlfriends road trip. Though you weren't a wife or a girlfriend, Stephanie refused to go unless you came along. David wasn’t about to argue. He hated leaving you to go on roadies after what happened so having you come along was his dream come true.

“Y/N!” David called from his spot leaning against the wall outside your bedroom. “Are you coming or am I going to have to kick down the door and drag you out?”

“Thank you for your patience!” you retorted, rolling your eyes at your best friend as you gave yourself one final glance in the mirror. You pouted as you tried your best to get your hair to cover your scar.

“Y/N I’m sure you look fine,” he yelled. “Come on, we’re going to be late!”

“Alright!” you huffed, slinging your bag over your shoulder and walking out of your room.

David almost forgot how to breathe. He had seen you dressed up before, wearing things that were far dressier than the leggings, simple t-shirt, and leather jacket you had on for the bus ride to the airport and then the flight, but there was something about this particular time that took his breath away.

“Now look who’s gonna be the one to make us late,” you teased, poking David in the ribs as you brushed past him on your way to the kitchen.

“Yeah, okay,” David shook his head, clearing his mind. He opened your apartment door for you with an over exaggerated sweep of his arm. You gave him an equally over exaggerated fake curtsey before walking past him out into the hallway.

He tapped his fingers against the steering wheel as he drove to Warrior Ice Arena. The majority of the team was already there by the time you and David arrived.

“Hey champ,” Patrice greeted you with a warm hug and a smile and usage of the nickname he’d been calling you since your trip to the hospital.

“You know I hate it when you call me that,” you returned the greeting with your usual response to the nickname, though you really didn’t mind it.

“Oops, forgot,” he grinned as Stephanie pulled you away to talk with Katrina and some of the others.

“I don’t want to hear it,” Pasta held up a hand.

“Hear what?” Patrice asked innocently as Marchy made his first appearance of the day.

“Did you seriously bring Y/N, your ‘best friend’ Y/N, on the Wives and Girlfriends trip?” he asked, making Pasta groan and rethink every decision that led him to this point. “Wait, is this your way of telling us something?”

“Nope, she’s still my best friend,” Pasta retorted, pushing past him and making his way over to you. He laced his fingers through yours as he took your bag from you and set it down in the pile with all the others. “Come on, let’s go find seats away from Bergy and Marchy.”

“Trouble in paradise?” you teased him as he started up the bus steps. He tossed a look at you over his shoulder.

“Nothing out of the ordinary,” he answered, stopping by two seats in the very back of the bus. You dragged your fingertips over his shoulder as he let you take the window seat. “I’m really happy you agreed to come along with me.”

“Me too,” you agreed. The team slowly started to filter onto the bus, Charlie McAvoy and his girlfriend taking the two seats across the aisle from where you and David were sitting. “Happy my boss let me take the week off.”

David hummed in agreement. He noticed how you had deliberately styled your hair so it covered your scar. He pouted before reaching over and tucking the strands behind your ear. Before you could protest he was placing a very gentle kiss over the raised skin. It was something he had taken to doing from the moment you came home from the hospital. It was one of your favorite things. It made you feel like your scar was something to not be ashamed of.

“We’re going to have fun,” he promised.

“As long as I’m with you I know there’s no chance of not having fun,” you replied, smiling up at him.

Across the aisle Kiley was taking note of what was happening beside her.

“Are they...” she asked Charlie, her voice trailing off.

“Nope,” Charlie responded quickly.

“Are you sure?”

“Also no but David hasn’t said anything and I’m not gonna push it,” he said. “It’ll be more entertaining when he tells us and we’ve all seen it coming.”

“Can’t argue with that one,” Kiley shrugged and made a mental note to get to know you more during the road trip.

The flight out to Los Angeles was long. You took advantage of two of the six hours to catch up on sleep. Ever since what had happened in Kenmore Square a restful, uninterrupted sleep was a difficult thing to come by. Somehow, though, being in close proximity to David worked wonders in helping you get to sleep.

“Y/N,” David said quietly, gently shaking your shoulder to wake you.

“Hm?” you hummed groggily as you forced your eyes to open.

“We’re about to land,” he told you softly. You groaned and tried to go back to sleep, but David stopped you. “We can take a nap at the hotel before dinner, I promise.”

“Okay,” you sighed dramatically. David smiled. He found himself doing that a lot, no matter what the situation was. He could be with you and you would do something typical for your personality and it would make him smile. Or he could be alone and just the thought of your little quirks and what made you you would make him happy.

Charlie stepped up beside Pasta as they waited for the room keys to be passed around.

“Dude,” he said. “Are you sure Y/N’s just your best friend?”

“This again,” Pasta sighed. “Yes, I’m positive she’s my best friend.”

“Really? ‘Cause you seemed pretty content with her sleeping on your shoulder on the plane for two hours. You even told Marchy to quit being so loud. From where I’m standing it seems like you’re in love.”

“I am not in love with Y/N,” David protested, tossing his teammate a quick glare as you broke away from the conversation between Katrina and Brad and Kiley.

“Jet lag sucks,” you groaned, tucking yourself under David’s arm and burrowing your head into his chest.

“You’ll be used to it in a few days,” he reassured you, automatically kissing the top of your head. Charlie gave him a look. David ignored him and accepted the key card being passed to him by Patrice. “Come on, let's go take a nap.”

Kiley watched over Brad’s shoulder as David led you to the elevators, both your duffle bags slung over his shoulder. As soon as the doors slid closed she excused herself from the conversation and joined Charlie.

“Are you absolutely positive they aren’t a thing?” she asked.

“Pasta was insistent upon the fact that he is not in love with her,” Charlie answered. “But, honestly, that’s complete bullshit.”

“Wanna place a bet on how long it takes for the two of them to get together?” Gryz asked as he stepped up beside Charlie.

“Absolutely,” Charlie answered almost too quickly. “How long do you say?”

“All-star break,” Matt answered. Charlie scoffed.

“That’s a month away, bro,” he shook his head. “Pasta’s not gonna realize he’s in love within a month. I say the end of the season at least.”

“Hey, you're the one losing money,” Matt taunted. “Put fifty bucks on it?”

“Yeah, sure,” Charlie nodded.

“Alright, while you two are betting I’m going to try something different,” Kiley said, rolling her eyes.

By the next night your jet lag had subsided substantially. You were excited and alert as you walked into the box with Stephanie and Kiley.

“So, Y/N,” Kiley began as you took your seats in the front row. “You and Pasta, when did that start?”

“Oh, we’re just friends,” you answered. You should have known that wouldn’t satisfy Stephanie.

“Bullshit,” she laughed. “You haven’t seen the way he looks at you.”

“Yeah,” Kiley decided to pile on. “He looks at you like you’re his saving grace. I’m honestly surprised you’re not together yet.”

“Come on, David doesn’t like me like that,” you shook your head. Though deep down, you knew the two of them were right. You didn’t want to get your hopes up, though. The last time you did your world came crashing down around you.

****

The fourth time was a special occasion. Your sister was getting married and you absolutely could not show up to another family function without a date for fear of the ‘you’re not getting any younger’ looks from your relatives. The wedding was during the All Star break, and David had elected not to go in favor of staying in Boston with you. He didn’t like leaving you for too long after what had happened prior to the start of the season.

“Can you have a suit readily available by tomorrow?” you asked as you sat down on David’s couch, his dog jumping up into your lap.

“Yeah,” David answered. “Why?”

“My sister is forcing me to bring a plus one to her wedding and you’re the only person I know that isn’t doing anything this week,” you said, absentmindedly rubbing his dog’s head. “And before you turn me down, there’s an open bar.”

“Well I was in before you mentioned the open bar but that just seals the deal,” he joked. “Where is it?”

“Some country club in Plymouth,” you answered. “Her fiancé is a member there I think.”

“Well I was hoping to avoid golf courses until July but I guess I can make an exception,” he deadpanned. “Is there a dress code I should know about?”

“Do you have anything blue?”

“Of course I do.”

“Well alright then, that settles it,” you said before standing up and heading for the door. “Get some sleep, we leave early tomorrow.”

David watched as you walked out of his apartment, closing the door behind you. He caught himself smiling at the thought of being able to spend the entire day with you tomorrow, something he hadn’t been able to do since the summer. The ride from Boston to Plymouth promised to be entertaining. He knew your filter was completely nonexistent on mornings you had to be awake before the sun.

“Good morning,” David drawled as you opened your door at 4:00 AM the next morning, suit bag draped over his shoulder. You groaned in response as you joined him in the hallway, locking the door behind you.

“You’re driving,” you mumbled, pressing your car keys into his palm.

“That means I get to pick the music,” he grinned.

“At this point I really don’t give a shit,” you yawned, stepping onto the elevator ahead of him.

David chuckled as the elevator doors slid closed and open again to let you off at the parking garage. He climbed into the driver’s seat of your car and backed out of the space. He glanced over at you as he pulled out of the garage. You had bundled up your jacket and used it as a pillow. The corners of his lips quirked up into a small smile.

You woke up as the car crossed the Kingston border.

“Morning,” David grinned, glancing over at you. “Sleep well?”

“Mhm,” you nodded, rubbing the sleep from your eyes. “Sorry to leave you alone with your thoughts like that.” “Don’t worry about it,” he shrugged. “You can drive on the way home and it’ll be my turn to sleep.”

“Fine by me,” you agreed. “What time is it?”

“Six,” David answered. “Hit a little bit of traffic leaving the city. We’ll be there soon.”

“Okay,” you yawned again.

The parking lot of the country club was half full by the time David pulled in. You gave him a bleary kiss on the cheek before joining your sister and the wedding party in the dressing room.

“Y/N!” your sister, Allie, exclaimed, jumping up from her seat and lunging to give you a hug. “I’m so happy you’re here!”

“Sorry I’m a little late,” you said, accepting the mimosa she handed you. “We hit a little traffic coming out of Boston.”

“‘We’?” your sister’s best friend raised her eyebrow from across the room. You tossed her a look before taking your first sip of your mimosa.

“I brought David as my plus one,” you shrugged her off. “I hope that’s okay?”

“Of course it’s okay,” your sister smiled, patting you on the shoulder before sitting back down in the chair in front of the hair stylist. “We love having David around.”

“Good morning, sir,” David greeted your father across the country club as he made his way to the back patio to find his seat.

“David!” your father exclaimed. “We hoped Y/N would bring you along.”

“I’m happy she did,” David agreed, smiling. “It’s been too long since I’ve seen everyone.”

“It has,” your father agreed as another man walked up behind him. “Oh! Michael, this is David. David, this is Michael, Allie’s soon to be husband.”

“Nice to meet you,” Michael said, shaking David’s hand. “You’re Y/N’s friend?”

“That I am,” David subconsciously smiled at the mention of your name.

“Well from what Allie’s told me about you, let’s hope our roles are reversed next time we meet,” Michael’s words left David confused as he was jostled along to the seating. His mind was clouded as the wedding party took their places. That is, until he watched you walk down the aisle.

Despite the fact that you tossed him an excited smile on your way to the front, David felt a pang of jealousy at the sight in front of him. He was jealous that your hand was resting in the crook of another man’s arm. He tried his best to push it aside, but it was too big to be subdued. When he should have been paying attention to the ceremony he was only paying attention to you. You were the center of his focus all day.

“Congrats, you two,” you smiled at Allie and Michael as you and David walked up to them hours into the reception.

“Leaving so soon?” Allie asked, frowning as she stood up and pulled you into a hug.

“Yeah,” you said disappointedly. “Gotta beat the Boston traffic.”

“Well okay,” Allie said. “It was good to see you! You too David!”

“Congrats,” David smiled tiredly. Michael caught his eye and gave him a smirk. David shrugged him off with a shake of his head.

David scrolled through the pictures he’d taken during the reception as you started the drive back to Boston. He grinned softly at the one of you on his back and Allie on Michael’s. It had been Michael’s idea, and it made for his favorite picture of the night.

“What are you grinning at over there?” you asked, sparing him a glance.

“The pictures from the reception,” David answered. “Do you think Allie and Michael will mind if I post some?”

“Not at all,” you shook your head, merging onto the highway.

David smiled as he switched over to Instagram. He selected his favorites and tagged Allie and Michael in the caption.

Jake DeBrusk grinned at the fuel to the fire David had dropped right into his lap. He sat up as the perfect comment popped into his mind.

‘Did you catch the bouquet? 💕’ he commented.

David groaned as he got the notification. He should have known his teammates would give him shit. He walked right into the oncoming onslaught of comments that would be something along the lines of what Jake had to say.

He almost didn’t look at his phone as it buzzed again.

It was Chucky this time.

‘David’s in looooove’

“What’s wrong?” you asked as David groaned.

“Nothing,” he lied swiftly before adding under his breath, “Nothing you need to be worried about.”

****

The fifth time was at your monthly movie night. It was just past the midpoint of the season, and you hadn’t been able to have one of your movie nights in a while. You had asked David to invite some of the guys along, saying you missed messing around with them.

“I remember when there was a time you wouldn’t even look Patrice in the eye and now you’re asking me to invite them to our movie night,” David teased. You rolled your eyes and shoved his shoulder. “Of course I’ll ask if they want to join us. See you tonight.”

“See you,” you smiled, shaking your head at him as he walked out of your apartment on his way to morning practice.

At five in the afternoon there was a knock on your door. You groaned and forced yourself back onto your feet. You’d spent all day running around doing errands for your boss, all you wanted was a moment to yourself.

“I brought friends,” David gave you his lopsided smile as you opened the door. You couldn’t help but smile back.

“Hi Y/N!” Trent waved to you over David’s shoulder.

“Come on in, guys,” you stepped aside. David gave you a quick hug and kiss on the top of the head as he walked in. You greeted his teammates as they came in, Jake being the last one.

“What movie are we watching?” Jack asked as David picked up the remote and turned on the TV.

“You guys decide,” you said, stopping up your heels. You let your hand run across David’s shoulders as you walked around the couch and back to your room. “I’m going to change. There’s popcorn and candy in the kitchen, help yourselves.”

You knew full well you were going to have to go grocery shopping in the morning. No matter how much they ate they were always ungodly hungry after practice. Especially when they got home later than usual due to press or meetings.

“What did we pick?” you asked as you settled into your spot next to David. The boys knew not to sit there or feel David’s wrath. You could care less if you found yourself sitting between Jake and Trent, or Jack and Connor. David, though, didn't like a break in routine.

“Hangover,” Jack answered. He exchanged a look with Trent as David draped his arm over your shoulders and you rested your head against his chest. Trent shook his head and gave a subtle eye roll.

You laughed along with the guys as the movie progressed. Jake and Connor spent half the runtime saying lines along with the characters. It was obvious all of you had seen the film more than once.

David could tell you were tired. Whenever you were with the guys you were always happy and laughing wholeheartedly at the jokes they made no matter how shitty they were. All you were doing now was giving polite laughs every once in a while when you knew you were supposed to to appear to be keeping up with the plot of the movie.

“Hey,” he whispered to you once he knew Jake, Jack, Trent, and Connor were too focused on quoting the movie to each other to listen to the conversation.

“Hm?” you hummed quietly, looking sleepily up at him.

“You should go to bed, I’ll kick the guys out,” he said.

“’S okay,” you shook your head. “I’ll get a second wind in a minute.”

David knew better than to argue with you when you were tired. Even half conscious you were able to decimate him.

He just shook his head with a soft smile and turned his attention back to the TV. Though he was watching what was unfolding as the plot of the movie progressed, he wasn’t processing anything that was happening. His attention was solely on you.

Every ten minutes you would shift in order to make yourself more comfortable. David simply lifted his arm, let you settle down, then resumed holding you close. If too long had gone by without you moving, he would hold perfectly still and wait for you to shift.

The last time you moved to get comfortable before falling asleep was after you'd tossed your legs over his lap. This time you managed to wrap your arm around his torso and keep your head resting on his shoulder. To Jack you didn’t look at all comfortable, but you looked as though you had no intentions to move again unless forced to.

“She asleep?” Connor asked in a low voice. David stilled for a moment to make sure before nodding.

“Good,” Jake said as he paused the movie. “Now we can talk about the fact that you are so in love with her you can't even see it.”

“Jake,” David sighed, cutting himself off. “We’ve had this conversation too many times. I am not in love with her.”

“Tell that to the hand that’s rubbing her back,” Jack snickered. David looked down to see that he had, subconsciously, been doing just that. He thought he should stop, but he feared the change in environment would wake you up, and he didn’t want you to have to listen to the guys’ constant teasing.

“David, it’s okay to admit it,” Connor persisted. “She’s a sweet girl, and, to be honest, she’s also in love with you.”

“No,” David shook his head. “She can’t be in love with me, we’ve known each other for too long.”

“It’s like you don’t know how most relationships start,” Trent said, rolling his eyes. “Almost everybody I know got together with their significant others because they were friends first. It’s, like, the number one most common way to fall in love.”

David didn’t dignify his teammate with a response let alone a reaction. He just stared at his feet, letting his mind think over things. Deep down he knew they were right. He just, A.) didn’t want to give them the satisfaction of telling them they were right, and B.) was too afraid to admit it. Admitting to yourself you were in love let alone the people you were closest with was daunting, and not something he wanted to do at movie night.

“We’ll head out,” Jake said after David was quiet for longer than usual. “See you tomorrow.”

“Yeah,” David called half heartedly. “See you tomorrow.”

David’s mind would not quiet down. He was busy reliving every moment he had spent with you over the past six months. He had to admit, there had been times where it looked like he was completely head over heels for you. But he couldn’t be, right? There was no way. For the longest time he had thought of you as his sister. When he thought about it, he realized he had stopped feeling that way. But when? When had those feelings been replaced with the mess of emotions he was dealing with now?

“Mmm,” your sleepy groan startled him from the mental wall he was putting up around himself and sent the unfinished structure tumbling down, leaving him defenseless.

“Good morning,” he grinned, rubbing your back to help you wake up.

“Is it morning?” you asked blearily, rubbing the sleep from your eyes.

“No,” he chuckled lightly. “You’ve been out for about an hour, though.”

“Have I?” you huffed. “I’m sorry. Did the guys leave?”

“No, they just left. They didn’t want to wake you up. Besides, we’ve got practice tomorrow morning,” he told you soothingly, “But don’t worry about it. You’ll see them again soon.”

“Yeah,” you yawned.

David paused for a moment to admire you. Even half asleep you were still the most beautiful girl he had ever seen. He considered himself to be the luckiest guy in the world to even be able to call you his friend. He was too afraid to push his luck and potentially ruin the foundation of the relationship you had already built.

“Come on,” he murmured as he scooped you up in his arms with ease. “Let’s get you to bed.”

“Not even gonna try to argue,” you smiled, letting him carry you back to your bedroom.

“Good night, miláčku,” he whispered, kissing you on the forehead as you burrowed down beneath your blankets. “Sleep well.”

The next morning at practice Trent pulled David aside as they left the locker room on their way to their forwards meeting. David knew exactly what Trent was going to ask, and he knew exactly what his response was going to be.

“Are you in love with her?”

“No.”

****

The day he finally realized was the best day of his life. For more than one reason.

It was a few months after the movie night. David had convinced himself that he was not in love with you. It took a lot, but he was sure. He was equally sure that you didn’t have any feelings for him. Your friendship carried on, with your movie nights and dinners and brunches and random day trips whenever he had a day off.

It had been nice, just spending time with you and not needing to worry about his teammates half convincing him he was going to be getting married within the next year.

But then the playoffs came around. David hadn’t seen you for more than an hour once the first round started. And now it was game five of the Stanley Cup Final. The days had merged into one, and David had no idea how long it had been since he last spoke to you.

He nervously drummed his fingers against the table as the phone rang. You picked up just before he thought his call would go to voicemail.

“David!” you answered cheerily. “It’s so good to hear from you! I was starting to get a little worried.”

“Yeah, sorry about that,” he chuckled. “Listen, I know it’s a little short notice, but game five is tonight here at the Garden, and it would mean the world to me if you came.”

“I would love to!” you accepted his offer. David felt a weight lift off his chest. “What time do you want me to get there?”

“Stephanie will pick you up,” David answered after Patrice waved to get his attention. “I can’t wait to see you, Y/N.”

“You’re nervous,” you stated. David laughed. “You’re gonna be great, don’t worry. Everything is going to go perfectly tomorrow.”

“Thanks, Y/N,” David smiled.

The next day you were so filled with excitement to the point that Stephanie was scared you were going to explode. She had picked you up a couple hours early to get your nails done with her and Katrina and Danielle. You had worn your denim jacket with the number 88 emblazoned in gold on the back. It had been a Christmas gift from Stephanie and Patrice, and led to copious amounts of teasing from both David’s teammates and their girlfriends and wives. You smiled at the memory each time you put it on.

“Ooh,” Danielle hummed as she leaned over to look at the design the nail tech had been doing. Your nails were black, with white and gold accents. The number 88 had been painted on your right thumb nail, along with David’s initials on the left.

“David’s going to love those,” Katrina smirked. You rolled your eyes at her before turning your attention to Danielle’s nails. She had opted for a white base and black accents with Charlie’s number 13 on her ring finger.

“It’s go time, ladies,” Stephanie announced, glancing at her watch. You had left the nail salon and got dinner at your favorite restaurant before heading to the game.

As you drew closer to the back parking lot of the Garden, your nerves and excitement grew. It was your first game seeing David play in person since movie night, and the fact that they had the chance to win the Stanley Cup on home ice only added to your jitters.

The atmosphere inside the Garden was absolutely electric. You could tell from the moment the team stepped out onto the ice it was going to be an incredible night.

David’s eyes scanned the crowd. He knew he wasn't going to see you, but just knowing you were up there, somewhere, watching him made all the difference. It was one of the biggest moments in his career, and he was absolutely ecstatic that you were here to witness it. No matter which way the tilt ended up going.

“You ready?” Patrice asked before skating over to take the opening face off.

“I was born ready,” David answered. Patrice rolled his eyes at David’s cheesy remark, but smiled nonetheless.

“Let’s go, boys,” Marchy cheered, skating past them.

You had never been to a hockey game that flew past as fast as this one did. You felt as though you had blinked and it was already five minutes remaining in the third period.

The game was tied at three a piece. You were on your feet, unable to control your nerves and your excitement. Stephanie and Danielle were beside you, also standing.

You watched with bated breath as David cowboyed over the boards. As soon as he received a pass from Craig Smith, he was off like a shot. Your heart started pounding against your chest as he crossed the blue line into the zone. You could see Patrice and Chucky both open with lanes to the net, but you knew David too well. You knew that he was going to loose a shot of his own. And that’s exactly what he did.

Time seemed to move in slow motion as the puck left the blade of David’s stick. The sound of the puck hitting the pipe at the back of the net snapped time back into motion. It was followed by the screams of nearly twenty thousand people. You screamed so loud you were almost positive you weren't going to have a voice by the time you got down to ice level.

With two minutes left in the game, a member of the Bruins staff came and led your party down to the ice. You looked down the tunnel just in time to see the guys launch themselves off the bench and pile in a hug at Tuukka’s end of the ice. Leave it to them to make winning the Stanley Cup as dramatic as they possibly could.

You could hear the guys coming down the tunnel before you could see them. David was the first one to appear.

The second David’s eyes landed on you he knew. He knew, for real this time, that after nearly a year of his teammates telling him he was in love, they were right. He knew he fell for you a long time ago. He knew there was no better time than the present to let you know how he felt.

“Y/N!” he yelled, running to you as fast as his skates could possibly allow. You braced yourself for impact as he grew closer. You felt yourself being lifted off your feet and swung through the air.

“David!” you laughed, gripping onto his jersey for dear life. “Okay, okay! Put me down!”

Before he could think, he was kissing you. He kissed you like his life depended on it. He could have blamed the kiss on the adrenaline coursing through his system, but there was absolutely no denying that your lips fit perfectly with his. There was no denying that he was perfect for you, and you were perfect for him. There was no denying the fact that David Pastrnak was completely and utterly in love with you.

“What was that for?” you asked, your voice hoarse for reasons more than just screaming at goals.

“I love you,” David said point blank.

He paused for a moment to gauge your reaction. The biggest smile spread across your face. Your heart soared, you were sure it was going to explode with the amount of happiness filling you.

You lunged for him, wrapping your arms around his neck and kissing him.

“I love you too,” you whispered in his ear.

“Finally!” Brad yelled. He was followed by Patrice, who nearly dropped the Cup at the sight of you and David in each other’s embrace.

“We know who’s taking the first sip of champagne outta the Cup!” he exclaimed, setting the trophy down and accepting a bottle of bubbly liquid passed to him.

David laughed as Patrice popped the cork and poured the champagne into the bowl at the top of the Cup. He knelt in front of it and let Patrice help him tilt the trophy. He wiped the spilled champagne from his chin before standing up again. You laughed and let him pull you into another hug.

“I smell a party coming on!” Chucky yelled, raising another bottle into the air.

325 notes · View notes

myhockeyworld87 · 4 years

Text

Bubble Wrapped - Part 2

Word Count: 4,247

POV: Reader

Warnings: Language, NSFW, Smut, Please read the note in the Masterlist

Teams: Bruins, Caps, Flyers, Lightning and Pens

Notes: Ok so here we go with Part 2. I hope you guys enjoy this. I’m trying to add some of the suggestions that I’ve gotten in. Please feel free to send me an idea if you have it and I will try and work it in. Also I would love your feedback on this, as well as tell me what players you want to see. With that Happy Reading!!!

As you made your way down the long hallway to Conference Room three, you realized that you didn’t pack enough flats for these next several weeks. If things were going to happen this fast you definitely needed to ditch the heels for a pair of running shoes instead. You couldn’t imagine what had gone wrong in this short amount of time. By your calculations, the Capitals should be in there now having dinner. The Pens were Conference Room one, two was being cleaned from when the Flyers were in there and then the Lightning would go in, and the Bruins should’ve been long out of three before the Caps even went in. Even though you had everything timed out to the minute with ample time in between, you knew things were bound to go wrong, but you didn’t expect to see your conference room in complete shambles.

“What the hell is going on?” you asked Alexis as you took in the room. Food was thrown everywhere. It was on the walls, on the floor, and on the plexiglass where your servers stood; it was even on the players, even though there were only a few of them in the room itself at the moment.

“Well, you see those guys there,” Alexis pointed to a table where David Pastrnak, Brad Marchand, and Charlie Coyle all sat. “They were still eating and I had the room cleaned just like you said, but let them go because the plane was late. I totally thought they’d be done before these guys showed up.” You looked over to where Tom Wilson, TJ Oshie, and Jakub Vrana sat, some green vegetable hanging off the shirt of Oshie. “They said it wouldn’t be a problem and I only left for a second, when I came back they were already throwing food at each other.”

“Where’s the rest of the team?”

“I sent them over to Conference Room one since it’d already been cleared out.”

“Alright, go make sure everything is fine with everyone else and I’ll handle this.” Alexis scurried out of the room, as you surveyed the damage. “Alright which one of you guys started this?” They all acted like you hadn’t said a word. It was seriously like dealing with a bunch of kindergarteners. You walked over to the Bruins table first. “It’s a little ironic is it not, that they call you Pasta?” you said picking noodles off of David Pastrnak, his shoulders shook as he tried to contain his laughter. Maybe you’d have luck with the Caps players. “What about you? You guys have anything to say?” When no one said anything, you had no choice but to say. “Look you know I can go to the league with this and you guys can be sent home.” While it was true that you could do this, you doubted a little good fight was going to get anyone sent back. “But I don’t want to do this, we’re only a few hours into this...guys, can’t we try and make this work?” They seemed to mull this over yet still no one said a word. “Fine, you and you,” you said pointing the Wilson and Pastrnak. “Come with me. The rest of you have five minutes to get to your rooms.”

“Why us?” Pasta asked.

“It’s obvious, you two started it.” They both seemed taken back by the statement, so you explained further. “You both have more food on you than anyone else.”

“Well, she’s not wrong,” Oshie muttered and you were barely able to contain the laughter that bubbled inside you.

“Now, I suggest you get going as your down to four minutes.”

“But I haven’t even got to eat yet,” Vrana whined.

“Call room service.” You then told a few of the staff to clean up the mess and close off the conference room until the morning, then turned to the two culprits that were picking food off themselves to the side. “Come with me.” They turned and followed you up to your suite, which had basically become your makeshift office. Once you were inside, you turned to both of them. “Now, tell me what this is about?”

“No way you have a pool table,” Wilson stated. God, men could be so simple-minded at times. They got so easily distracted.

“Yes, Tom, it’s a pool table. Now can we focus on the matter at hand?”

“I’ll play you? Whoever wins has to follow through with the bet.” Pasta immediately said, as if you weren’t even in the room.

You stuck your thumb and index finger in your mouth, squealing out a high-pitched whistle for the boys’ attention. They both turned in your direction then. “Now that I have your attention. You’re not here to play pool. You’re here to tell me what the hell happened in my conference room and how it will never happen again.”

“You know you’re even hotter when you’re angry.” All you could do was roll your eyes and cross your arms, at Wilson’s comment. He must have noticed your impatience, for he finally added. “Look it’s a stupid bet we had last season, that he didn’t follow through on when he lost, that’s what started the food fight.”

“I didn’t lose.” Pasta insisted. “I won, and you know it.”

“You did not.”

“Woah, stop!” You hollered as the two started to bicker back and forth. “Are you saying this can all be settled with a game of pool?”

“Yeah!” They both answered simultaneously.

“Perfect, then have at it.” You motioned to the pool table and Pasta headed in the direction only to be stopped by Tom’s arm.

“So, what’s in it for us?” He asked.

“I’m sorry what? I’m giving you the opportunity to solve your damn problem.” You fairly spat the words at him.

“Yeah, but you’re also getting something out of this. I’m just thinking that we could all get a little something out of this.” He looked over at Pasta, who seemed to catch on to his meaning.

“What exactly do you want? It’s not like I have a ton to offer, and don’t forget I can still turn you both into the league.”

“Nothing major, just a little kiss.” Why you were surprised when Tom suggested that, you weren’t entirely sure. Let’s face it, you knew they were stuck in this bubble without female companionship. Hell, you were in the same situation, well maybe not the same since you were surrounded by a bunch of hot NHLers. You just didn’t expect this so early in their quarantine here.

“Fine, but after this stupid bet is settled.” They nodded their agreement, then headed over to the pool table. You barely paid attention to the game, texting Alexis to make sure everything was running smoothly downstairs; which it was. It seemed that Pasta was stripes and Wilson was solids, and it definitely seemed like Pasta had the upper hand. When you finally gave your full attention over to the game, you couldn’t help but notice when Tom leaned over the table how nice his ass was. Both men were well-toned and muscular in all the right places and you knew it wouldn’t be a hardship kissing either of them or anything else for that matter. When David stretched out to make a shot, you noticed his tattoos and your fingers itched to trace them. To say you were getting hot and bothered by these two men was an understatement.

The game started to get intense as fewer and fewer balls were on the table. Pasta missed his shot, turning it over to Tom; who literally started to run the table. It was as if he couldn’t miss. Finally, he was down to just the eight ball. If he made the shot, he would win and the game would be over. He took a deep breath, the action making you take notice of how his shirt strained against the muscles of his chest. Lining the cue up, he took the shot, and the black ball sunk into the pocket just like he had called. A bark of laughter left Tom’s lips. “I told you I was the winner before. Pay up Pasta.”

You had to admit, you were curious how much money was on the line that would cause all this trouble. David, for his part, just shook his head and pulled out his phone. It must be a huge sum if he had to transfer it from his bank account. “What do you want me to tweet?”

“I’m sorry did you just say tweet, as in Twitter?”

“Yeah,” Tom said looking at you as if you were the one that was out of your mind and not him. This whole damn mess was over a stupid Twitter message. You literally wanted to scream, but instead, you just listened as Tom told David what to say. “All it has to say is, ‘In my opinion, Tom Wilson is the best goal scorer in the league.’”

“Done,” Pasta announced shoving the phone in Wilson’s face. You had to lean over Tom’s shoulder so that you could see it as well, for you still couldn’t believe your entire conference room was in shambles over something so juvenile.

“Well, now that, that’s settled boys, I assume I won’t have any more problems from the two of you in my hotel.”

“Oh, you still have your part of this bargain,” Tom said, gliding the back of his finger down your arm. You suppressed the shiver the sensation gave you.

“Alright, who’s first then.” You were never one to back down from a bet and this was no exception.

“By all means,” Tom motioned for Pasta to go first.

David took a step toward you, wrapping a strong arm around your waist as he pulled you close to him. Your hand pressed against the rock-hard muscles of his chest before making its way to the back of his neck. He brushed a lock of hair from your face, then placed his hand gently on your cheek to caress it before his lips came down on yours. The kiss was gentle, yet firm at the same time and you opened tentatively so that he could slide his tongue into your mouth. His hand which rested at your back pulled you in closer and you went willingly. You had a feeling if Tom wasn’t watching this would turn into something more than just a kiss. But Tom was watching and waiting, and you weren’t willing to give David anything more with an audience. So you gently broke away, allowing him to chase your lips with a few last kisses.

“You may have won the little pool match Wilson, but I doubt you’ll win anything more with this one here.” Why did everything have to be a competition?

You turned toward Tom, fully expecting him to take you in his arms and kiss you senseless. Instead, he grabbed you around the waist only to whisper low in your ear. “Another time princess, maybe when we don’t have eyes on us.” He released you then but then turned back. “I will be back for that kiss you owe me.” With that the two left your suite, leaving you a bit dazed and breathless, and longing for that kiss as well.

Shaking yourself, you brought yourself back to the present and what needed to be done at the hotel, instead of daydreaming of what kissing Tom Wilson would be like. A quick call to Alexis told you that all the players had eaten but there were still a few milling about in each of their designated workout areas. You slipped out of your business attire and opted for a comfy pair of leggings with an oversized shirt to make one more round through the hotel before calling it a night.

You ran into Carly in the lobby. “So how’d everything go on your end? Any outlandish requests for something to be brought in?”

“Not so far. I think the Pens want some extra gym equipment, but I’ve got it covered.”

“I knew I put the right woman in charge.”

“Speaking of being in charge? What the hell happened with Conference Room 3?” You rolled your eyes.

“Food fight.”

“Oh, I heard that. I also heard you took two of them to your room?” she wiggled her eyebrows at you suggestively before elbowing you in the ribs.

“Had to get everything straightened out.”

“And…”

“And maybe, I might have kissed one of them.” She gave you a mocked look of shock.

“Nothing else?”

“Not at the moment, though I do owe the other one something, and let me tell you I won’t mind paying off that debt at all.” Just the thought of Tom holding you had you hot and bothered. “And on that note, I’m going to finish up down here before calling it a night. I think Tim has the night shift tonight if anyone needs anything.”

“Yeah, he does. He’s back in the office, making sure things are ready for breakfast. I just told him I was done for the night. I’m heading off to bed, don’t have too much fun down here.”

“Me, what about you, Car? There’s not some hot NHLer waiting in your room?” She headed for the elevators but turned back to answer you.

“Not tonight, but tomorrow could be a whole other story.” With that, she was gone as the elevator doors slid open and shut again.

You headed off to make sure the conference rooms were fine. When you noted that everything was in place, you went to check on the workout rooms. They were supposed to be cleaned periodically throughout the day, but with being open twenty-four seven; you wanted to make sure housekeeping wasn’t slacking. A quick walk past the Capitals and Pens rooms showed that no one was in there and they were spotless. As you went into the Flyers' workout facility, you could see someone inside. You tried to cough discreetly as to not scare them, but they didn’t hear you. The room had a few mirrors around it, but he happened to not be looking in any of them as he was doing squats with some free weights. He had his shirt off and a tight pair of shorts on, that let you see every muscle as he crouched down working on his quads and other various leg muscles. A few droplets of sweat had formed on his body and you itched to dry them off for him. Your mouth went dry the longer you stared at him as you were trying to make out the tattoo on his arm. It was at that moment that he caught you staring, a knowing smiling crossing his face. “Sorry…” you stuttered out after being caught red-handed.

“I’m not.” He dropped the weight down on the bench beside where he was working out before grabbing a towel and wiping off the sweat on his body. “Did you come to use the equipment or did something else bring you here?”

“Something else,” you realized the mistake as soon as the words left your mouth. “I mean…I was…” In a few short steps, he was standing in front of you and suddenly you couldn’t quite remember why you were there.

“Something else works for me.” He leaned his hand against the wall behind your head; his body so close you could feel the heat coming off of it.

Taking a deep breath, you tried to compose yourself, as you didn’t need this man to get under your skin as much as he was. “I was just making sure everything was fine in this room. I didn’t mean to disrupt your workout. I’ll let you get back to it.”

You made a move to back out the door when he grabbed your hand. There was an electricity in his touch and had you both looking down to where his hand touched your body. “Don’t go…I mean, I was done…” It was nice to see he was just as flustered as you were for a moment. It put you both on an even playing ground after you’d been caught staring at him. “I’m Travis by the way, most people call me TK.”

“I know.” You replied, before adding. “Konecny from the Flyers.”

“Well, now you have me at a disadvantage.”

“I’m (Y/N). I manage the hotel.” You said almost extending your hand to shake his and then realizing that wasn’t acceptable at the moment.

“Oh, so you’re the one in my little handbook to call if I have any problems.”

“That’s me. Here to help you in any way I can.” You let the innuendo hang in the air a bit and you saw its meaning wasn’t lost on him.

“So if I told you there was a problem in my room, would you send maintenance to come look at it or would you do a thorough inspection yourself?” Oh, he was smooth, you had to admit that.

“Well, it wouldn’t make sense to call maintenance when I’m right here, now would it?”

A raise of his eyebrows was your answer back before he went over and grabbed his shirt and belongings. “Then I think we should definitely go check out that problem.” His hand went to the small of your back as he led you out of the room and to the elevators. “I’m in room…”

“Five-twenty,” you supplied.

“Should I feel special that you know that?”

“Do you want the honest answer?” He shook his head yes. “No, it’s my job to know who’s in what room. In case you haven’t noticed this whole thing is kind of a big deal. I have all my I’s dotted and my T’s crossed.”

“So you know every guys' room number here?”

“It sounds a little pathetic when you put it that way.” Maybe pathetic wasn’t the right word, but desperate was one you didn’t want to use.

“No, I’m actually impressed.” He tilted his head looking over at you as you pressed the number five in the elevator. “So if I asked you what room Brad Marchand was in you’d say?”

“That I can’t tell you that, but it’s in the teens and about three floors up from you.” He chuckled softly and you realized you liked the sound of his laugh.

The two of you walked in silence the rest of the way to his room. Thankfully, there weren’t any players milling about in the hallway. “This me.” He said when you were in front of his door. He fumbled with the key, then opened it.

“What seems to be the problem? TV not working? View not to your liking?” You teased and he caught on quickly.

“Actually, it’s the mattress. I swore I heard it squeak earlier.” He tossed his t-shirt and keys on the dresser.

You moved to the bed, pressing on the mattress. “Hmm, seems fine now.”

He grabbed at your waist then, pressing you close to his body. “But see, I’m a very active sleeper. You can’t get the full effect unless you’re on the bed.” He tossed you back onto the mattress and a giggle escaped your lips. Travis crawled on the mattress then, stalking his way up your body. “Didn’t seem to do it then either. I think we’re going to have to give it a thorough workout.”

“But of course, I mean I want you to be completely satisfied with our hotel service.” A half-smile appeared on his face for a split second before his lips were crashing down on yours. His lips were soft yet sure, and you opened immediately for him; his tongue sweeping inside to tangle with yours. He was a good kisser, that was your first thought, and you wouldn’t mind just doing this all night. But then he was pressing his hips into your body and realized you wanted more. Your hands glided up his back, feeling his slightly damp skin from his workout.

He finally broke the kiss, both of you needing air. His hands gathered your shirt, but then he stopped himself. “Can I?” You moaned out a yes, wanting as little clothing between your bodies as possible and he hauled you up so he could take the oversized shirt off. “This is pretty.” He commented, while lightly tracing the lace of your bra. “I think I’d like it better off though.” Travis hands worked around to your back unclasping your bra and toss it to the side. “Fuck, these are perfect,” he breathed out as he drank in the sight of your breasts. His mouth was on them then, taking a peaked nipple in his mouth and swirling his tongue around it. A moan left your mouth and you could feel yourself growing wet as he continued to lavish your breasts.

Snaking your hands around his neck, you drew him back down onto the mattress with you. He rolled you both onto your sides, his mouth coming back to yours so he could kiss you again. Neither of you was in a rush, as your hands ghosted along his chest and his played with your nipples. Time sort of stood still, as the two of you just laid there kissing slow and sensually. After a while, Travis pushed you back against the mattress, your legs on either side of his waist. He flexed his hips into your clothed core and you felt a rush of wetness between your spread legs. He continued to roll his hips into you, as his mouth alternated between your breasts. You lay there panting and moaning with each flex. “TK…” you finally breathed out. “Stop teasing.”

“Oh baby, you haven’t seen me tease yet.” As if to prove his words, he sat back on his legs and started to remove your leggings. He only rolled them halfway past your hips, then brought the waistband up before snapping it back down on your core. Heated flooded you there and the moan that left your mouth was almost obscene. “You like that?” and he repeated it one more time before stripping of you of both your panties and legging. “Fuck yeah you do. You’re soaking.” He didn’t have to even touch you to see how wet you were. He wasted no time, inserting two of his fingers in you as his mouth sucked on your clit. You about came off the bed. He continued to work his fingers in and out of your body as his tongue made kitten licks on your nub. You could feel your body tingle as the orgasm started to build. It hovered there, just beyond your reach and you threaded your hands in TK’s hair urging him on; only to have him stop.

“Travis…” you whined out.

His eyebrows shot up. “That’s teasing babe.” You groaned in frustration as his fingers left your pussy. “Don’t worry, I’ll make it better in a sec.” He pushed his shorts down his hips, then kicked them off. His mouth coming up to cover yours and you could taste yourself on his lips. With one smooth glide forward, his cock pushed into you; your hips rising up to meet him. “Fuck you feel good.” He moaned out, then started to pump in and out of your body. It was a slow pace at first as he was building up a rhythm for the both of you to follow. “Yeah babe, that’s it.” He praised as you met each of his thrusts. The combination of his teasing beforehand and steady pace, had you back on the edge in no time. Travis leaned in close to your body, your faces merely inches away. “Come on baby…I know you’re close….” He sped up then, his cock hitting that sweet spot perfectly. “That’s it.” You went to scream as a wave of pleasure washed over your body, but he captured your mouth swallowing the sound down as he came with you. He pumped inside you a few times, just reveling in the feel of your pussy clenching around him, before breaking the kiss so you both could breathe. When he was finally spent, he collapsed onto his side, rolling you with him. “That was…”

“Mmm, I agree.” You whispered back. “Though I don’t think your mattress has any problems.”

He laughed and you felt the vibrations in your body, as he held you close to him. “Who could tell with all your moaning.” He teased back then flicked your nose.

“Me? I wasn’t the only one.”

He shrugged a shoulder as if he didn’t want to admit he was just as loud as you. “Hope the walls are thick here.”

“They’re decent, just don’t give me away if Hart asks you any questions in the morning.”

He laughed out a, “never.” You pecked him on the lips, then started to get out of bed. “Where are you going?”

“I’ve got things to do.”

“Things or other people?” You couldn’t quite tell if he was teasing or jealous.

“Things… but you have my number if the mattress suddenly starts squeaking again.” You gave him a wink as you shimmied on your leggings and threw on your shirt.

He grabbed your hand and brought you down so your face was inches from him. “I have a feeling it may act up again.” His lips were on yours kissing you hard and fast.

“I’ll be waiting for your call.” With that you headed out the door, quietly shutting it before walking down to the elevator. Well, day one was definitely interesting. You couldn’t wait to see what day number two would bring.

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chaotickryptonitetree · 4 months

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ode to the maybes that make up the good stuff (us) | trent frederic

hes so underrated and I needed a reader who wasn't a genius (because I cant relate to smart people and why is the reader always smart??).

You were running late.

And it–sort of–wasn’t your fault?

Okay, it was your fault for oversleeping. But then your exam ran over the allotted time (they hadn’t even been passed out when you stumbled into the lecture hall, panting from sprinting from your parking spot, still blinking sleep from your eyes). And then your row was the last row to be dismissed. And yeah, it wasn’t really your fault.

Speed-walking back to your car, you weighed your options. Your meeting would take you 20 minutes to get to with the mid-day traffic. And it was the kind of event where it was no use showing up late–might be better to just not show up at all.

And then you passed your favorite coffee shop, and the wheel practically turned into the parking lot itself. Your boss would understand about the final and you could get notes from someone else later. Finishing that class called for a break–and as you turned off the ignition, you allowed yourself your first deep breath all morning.

The perfect cure to a hectic morning was a fresh start and an almond-milk latte.

The bell jangled as you opened the door–hit with the familiar smell of roasting beans and gingerbread muffins in the oven. Your exhale was cathartic.

“Hey, welcome in!” The barista greeted you as you stood in the doorway, walking to join the line. For a random weekday, it was quite busy. You gave your order to the barista politely and walked to the only empty table left.

You criss-crossed your legs in the booth, pulling out a book from your bag. Time–only interrupted by a swift hand placing a drink on your table and walking back to the counter–warped as your turned pages, eager to escape the craziness of the morning and happy to have a medium in which to do so.

Sunlight streamed through the windows, illuminating small flecks of dust in the air. Condensation dripped down the side of your glass, collecting in a ring on the wooden table. The only noise to fill your space was the crisp turning of pages and background chatter filling in the blanks.

Until it wasn’t.

“Excuse me,” said so quietly you thought you had misheard, you didn’t look up until someone cleared their throat. “Hey.”

You looked up, squinting slightly from the sun. There was, in fact, the shadow of a very tall person standing near the edge of your table. Trying not to let your disappointment show, you dog-eared the page and closed the book gently. The background chatter roared on as you set your head on your hand, looking up at the voice from before. His face was still skewed by the harshness of the sunlight through the windows.

“Sorry–didn’t hear ya…can I help you?” you spoke slowly, evenly to the faceless man. He coughed again, pausing too long to be normal given the circumstances.

“Um, yeah…no, that’s alright!” He answered awkwardly. He then seemed to realize that he hadn’t truly answered the question and sighed. “Was wondering if I could share this table with you?” He seemed to be nervous about your response so he quickly spoke again. “You’re the only one with a spare seat.”

Luckily, you were in a good mood and didn’t have any emotional attachment to the other side of the booth. “Go for it,” you said with the wave of a hand. “I don’t mind at all.”

You could feel his smile in his exhale. “Really?” His voice was light and relieved, even as he sat down and moved his bag inside the booth before he slid in. You hummed in response, turning back to your book, head in hand. He respected your quiet, and the sound of him pulling notebooks and pens from his bag faded to background noise as you fell back into your chapter.

And yet again, a drink being set down disturbed the peace. Your head flitted up, clocking the barista setting down a cold brew in front of the boy across from you.

And then you got a good look at the boy across from you.

He was big. Like big enough where you could see every muscle indented in his long sleeve shirt (not that you were staring or anything). A pretty blush painted his cheeks daintily, full mouth quirked to the side as he fiddled with the straw wrapper. Big, brown eyes met yours and widened when he realized you were already looking at him.

“What?” he asked softly, plunging the straw into the drink and swirling slowly–ice clinking against the glass.

“Nothing,” you closed your book again, shrugging slightly. “I just didn’t realize that you were handsome.” His blush deepened, creeping up his neck and to the tops of his ears.

“Oh,” he fidgeted with his hands–which were easily the size of his face–”I wasn’t expecting you to say that.”

You leaned into your hands more, endeared by his sudden shyness. “Well, it’s true.” You smiled as he tried to keep eye contact. “What’s your name, handsome?”

He bit his lip, cracking his knuckles nervously. “Don’t wanna tell ya.”

“And why is that?” You cocked an eyebrow.

He smiled–a little less shy, eyes like amber in the sunlight. “So then you’ll have to keep calling me handsome.”

You laughed into your palm. “I’ll call you pretty regardless, promise,” you held your pinkie out as a mocking gesture, “just tell me.”

“Trent,” he wiped his hands on his sweatshirt and wrapped his pinkie around yours, “that’s me, I mean–yeah, my name.” He didn’t let go before you did, introducing yourself softly with a smirk. He felt like had a certain warmth–a comfort–wrapped around him like the blanket on your childhood bed. He felt kind.

The best beginnings always begin with that–a kindness.

…

The next time you saw him, you were embarrassed. Your advisor had suggested that you enroll in a supplemental class during the night after a particularly hard semester academically–and as much as it hurt your ego, not going would hurt it more.

So, you went to the class, despite feeling stupid. Eager to make yourself small, you chose a seat in the back corner, hood up as you got out your supplies. Maybe no one would recognize you, maybe you’d just be able to take the class and then slip out the door when it was over. No harm, no foul.

But of course you could never be so lucky. Your eyes darted to the door just as he walked in–as sturdy and solid as ever. His backpack straps fought to keep the muscles of his shoulders and neck contained. The indentations of his triceps made his long sleeve flutter around him.

And you were definitely staring–for much too long, you guessed–because your gaze drew his attention to your corner. His eyes smiled before his mouth as he made his way over to you. He looked–relieved?

“Thank god,” he sighed as he slid into the chair next to yours. “You’re here.” You searched his face for any sign that he was teasing, making fun of you in any way. At all.

But you couldn’t find it. Still, you were tentative. “Yeah.” Really awesome conversation starter. He didn’t seem to mind.

“I was scared that I wouldn’t see you again,” he pulled out his glasses and opened up his laptop–the light reflecting off of the lens artificially, “lucky me.”

You opened your mouth to say something but were interrupted by the professor introducing themselves and projecting the syllabus. You turned toward the front and tried to tune in.

But it was hard. Not because the class itself was going to be a challenge–it was only supplemental after all–because he was distracting.

Distracting you with how cute his rosy cheeks looked under his glasses. How he mouthed words after the professor said them before writing them in his notes. How he nodded his head and actually paid attention the entire time. He was just trying hard.

And it was alarming how endearing you found that. So, yeah, you half listened for the lecture–but it was intro stuff anyways. As you packed up your back, he let out an exhale and let you out to the door first, holding it open with his wide palm.

“So, what do you think?” He asked, matching your pace as you walked to the parking lot. It was dark–and far colder than when you had entered the building a few hours earlier.

“Hmm?” You hadn’t quite heard him–too busy watching him push his glasses up into his hair, making it stick up arbitrarily all around his head. He smiled a sideways little smile.

“What do you think of the class?”

“Oh,” and you were embarrassed again, “it’ll be fine. I could use a GPA boost,” you admitted. He nodded, even though you could guess he couldn’t relate.

“I’m sure you’ll do great,” he said, even though he didn’t know you, “you’re smart.”

You pinched your face together. “You don’t know that.”

He smiled, shoving his shoulder into yours good-naturedly. “Yeah I do,” he was closer in your space now, “can tell by the way you talk.”

You looked up at him–not convinced–but he was already looking ahead. “Which car is yours?”

Nodding toward your car, parked away from all the others, he cracked his knuckles. “Cool, I’ll walk you there.”

“Oh please,” you scoffed, “I’ll give you a ride, but only because you’re being so cute tonight” He smiled–like he knew you’d ask.

“I bet you say that to all the boys.” He waited for you to unlock the car.

His face was blushy from compliments and the cold. “Only the cute ones,” you said as you stepped into the car. He shook his head.

…

Laundry day in a college dorm just might be the 5th circle of hell. Every machine is taken, none of them work right, and there’s always someone who dumps clothes on the ground–essentially making the room itself a battlefield.

But at 2am on a Tuesday night–it was peaceful. Sure, there were still the clothes littering the ground like an overgrown garden, but the scent of fabric softener seemed to soften the air around you; low tumble of the machines a gentle lullaby as the campus stilled around you.

Sitting atop the washing machine you were using, you waited for the cycle to be done. Stars interfered with the inky-black sky as it shone through the windows. And you watched. At this hour, there were no expectations, nothing to do, no one to impress. Just the silence around you.

And then the door opened. And of course it was him.

Hidden behind a large basket of clothes, looking adorably soft and sleepy in pajama pants, was Trent (again!). He didn’t seem to notice you as he sorted his clothes–large hands deft and meticulously parting darks and lights. You just watched.

“Hey handsome.” You said softly as he stood to his full height, slightly startled. But once he realized it was you, he let out a relieved sigh and walked to stand across from you, leaning back on to the row of dryers.

“Late night?” He spoke lowly, even if there was no need to whisper. As if he was cautious about disturbing the peace.

You shrugged, pulling your legs into your chest atop the machine and wrapping your arms around them. “I like it,” you said honestly, “it’s the only time I get all to myself.”

He nodded in a way that made you think he understood. “What did you do today?” You asked, eager to keep him there.

He thought for a moment, looking slightly upward. Then told you all about his classes (they are interesting, but demanding), practice (just a light skate, they have a game tomorrow), and homework (he has a quiz in a few days). And you nodded, interested in anything he had to say.

You switched over your laundry as you listened to him, adding in dryer sheets and humming accordingly. It struck you that each time you spoke to him, it felt easy. You picked up right where you left off, like you were old friends. It made you smile to yourself.

“Whatcha thinkin about?” He interrupted your train of thought. Your eyes flitted up to his, sideways smirk gracing your lips.

“You,” you answered honestly, knowing that it would make him blush more. He rubbed his eye and tried to hide his delight.

“Yeah, yeah,” he rolled his eyes playfully. But when you just kept looking at him, greedily, just because you knew he’d let you, he paused–a spark of hope lighting up his face. “Really?” His voice came out small.

You tilted your head, nodding slowly. “Yeah.” He smiled like he knew something you didn’t. He probably did. “Will you tell me a secret?” You asked as he folded his clothes carefully.

He thought for a moment, as if any sudden words would break the bubble around you both. “I did laundry yesterday,” he admitted, making you smile a wide, genuine grin, “just saw you in here and wanted an excuse to come in.” His blush was a splotchy watercolor painting his tired face. “Now you tell me one.”

You pretended to think hard, emboldened by his admission. “I love it when you blush,” you said, “but I don’t think I’m doing a good job of keeping that a secret.” He shook his head, folding his last sweatshirt into his basket.

“You can’t just say things like that,” he laughed lightly, eyes bright.

“And why not?” You smiled as he stepped closer, close enough for you to see the freckles on his nose. Right in front of the dryer which you sat on. “It’s true.”

Everything about him was soft. He smelled like he had just showered, and up close you could notice how his hair was still damp at the root. “Because,” he took a gentle thumb to your cheek, showing you the eyelash he had picked up. “It’ll ruin my tough guy reputation,” he flicked it off to the ground. You shivered at the loss of contact–however fleeting it was. “The guys are already giving me shit for how much I talk about the cute girl from the coffee shop.”

You smiled. “You talk about me to your friends?” Was he getting even closer?

He couldn’t break eye contact with you if he tried, nodding. “Can I tell you another secret?” You asked gently. He nodded again. “I have a crush on this really cute guy.” He laughed, shutting his eyes and letting his forehead rest on your shoulder. He practically radiated heat.

“Oh great,” he smiled into the crook of your neck, “and I’m just supposed to go on with my night after this? Like a normal person?”

You laughed with him and brought a hand to the nape of his neck, running your fingers through his half-damp hair. “How will you manage?” You joked, voice careful.

He didn’t answer. And there you sat–atop a still warm dryer like the queen of the night, running your fingers through his hair until his arms wrapped around your back in perhaps the gentlest hug you could manage. You let your breathing slow to match his. You forgot what time it was, about your clothes.

And when he held you like something soft and good, it didn’t really matter–did it?

…

The stress of night class quickly melted into an excuse to see him two times a week (at least). You’d always get there first–and maybe you’d have an extra energy drink, just because–and then he’d stumble in a few minutes later, making a beeline for your designated corner (wearing his glasses if you were lucky).

You set down his energy drink in front of him as he unpacked his bag. His eyes darted up to clock the motion before he smiled a sideways smile. “Sweet of you,” he said softly, still bent over his bag. “Thank you,” he added, settling in his seat.

Nodding, you turned to the front–ready to dial in to the lecture. And you did! For a few minutes, before a notification popped up in the corner of your computer–an email in your school inbox. Switching tabs, you opened the email from an unknown sender.

Really cute girl next to me. Pretty nervous. Should I make a move?? -T

Smiling to yourself, you immediately typed out a response.

not sure…heard she usually goes for defensemen.

A response came a moment later, his shoulder shaking slightly with a laugh.

If i can beat one in a fight does that count?

Electing to close out of your email, you settled for moving your chair a little closer to him, rubbing his shoulder soothingly over his sweatshirt.

“I think you should make a move,” you whispered in his ear, reaching to take a sip of his drink. He leaned back into your touch, tilting his head down to respond.

“Do ya?” His voice was low, eyes flickering down to your lips for just a second. You nodded, removing your hand from his shoulder.

“Yeah pretty,” his eyes didn’t leave your mouth, “I really do.”

But you could wait. And so you did.

…

When he came back from away games, he was usually tired. And it was late anyways–maybe 11:30? But you were up writing an essay that was due in a few days. Your phone buzzed on the pillow near you.

Any chance you’re still awake?

You smiled to yourself, leaning back on the headboard and putting your laptop to the side.

of course, you answered, paper due soon.

And then a moment later–but could be convinced to take a break??

Three gray dots appeared and then disappeared before his response.

Was hoping you’d say that.

And then–Be there soon.

You smiled, continuing with your paper until a soft knock rapped on the door.

“Come in!” Your voice was still hushed due to the late hour. He opened and closed the door softly, placing his backpack against the wall and slipping off his shoes. Wasting no time, he slid next to where you sat at the head of the bed, knee knocking against yours. You leaned into his side slightly, loving how warm he was.

“How’s the paper?” He put his head on top on yours, looking at your computer above you. You didn’t answer, instead typing “eh,,,how was game?” into your document. He laughed, lips brushing against your hair. “Good. Got into a little fight.” He flexed his hand in front of you, knuckles raised and red. You ran a finger over the little cuts (he didn’t flinch) and wrapped both hands around one of his, rubbing your thumb over the veins on the back of his hand.

He sighed, making you smile. “You should see the other guy?” You questioned, hoping he won whatever scrum he had likely started.

He nodded slowly against your head, watching your hands work around his. “You should see the other guy,” he confirmed. And there you sat, comfortable and sleepy with a human furnace beside you. He smelled like green apples and a fireplace that had just burned through the kindling. He was cozy–everything about him. You turned just slightly, nose brushing the column of his throat. He shivered.

“I love spending time with you,” he admitted, embarrassed and not making eye contact with you–as if meeting your eyes would cause the tips of his ears to catch fire. You hummed against his neck, slightly damp from his shower. “You make me laugh and you’re really pretty and it makes me happy when you make time for me,” he rambled on, stuttering slightly.

“Yeah?” Your lips brushed his throat, prompting an embarrassing, whiny whimper from him. He looked up, giving you more space (even if he didn’t mean to).

“Yeah,” his voice was small.

You smiled into his neck, kissing the hollow of his throat, lips feather-light. “Well I like how smart you are,” you moved up, kissing just below his ear. “How kind you are to me,” his jawline, “how you blush when you’re embarrassed,” as if on cue, his ears lit up further. “Yup,” you kissed his ear, “just like that.”

You felt his breathing labor next to you–chest rising and falling quicker than before. Fixated on your mouth, he started to reply.

“Well I like–” and that’s as far as he made it before leaning in and gripping the back of your neck, pulling your lips to his in a kiss that burned.

His lips were slightly chapped, and your teeth knocked into his, but the grip his massive hands had on your face made you lean closer to him–too enamored to care. Smiling against his mouth, you swallowed the groan leaving him eagerly. His hand slid to your jawline keeping you close to him.

As if you’d ever leave. You placed another light kiss to the corner of his mouth as he caught his breath.

“About time, eh?” He smiled down at you, eyes dark and bright. You brought his knuckle to your mouth–as if your lips would make the bruises disappear. His eyes fluttered shut for a moment.

“We got there,” you laughed lightly. “Worth the wait, right, handsome?” He ran a thumb over your cheekbone–always so gentle.

He just snuggled up next to you and let his body get heavy next to yours. You felt him smile next to you. Some questions didn’t need answers. His slowed breathing as he fell asleep next to you was answer enough.

...

love you!

#trent frederic #boston bruins #nhl fic #nhl imagines #bruins #david pastrnak #brandon carlo #charlie mcavoy #matt poitras #hockey #nhl hockey #hockey stuff #nhl

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