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happilysmythe · 2 months

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❥ 𝙡𝙤𝙫𝙚 𝙡𝙖𝙣𝙜𝙪𝙖𝙜𝙚

trent frederic.

word count: 2.2k

warning: explicit content

"you the medication when i'm feeling anxious" — ariana grande

- - -

“D’you think anyone would notice if we went to the bathroom at the same time?”

Your head whipped around to face Trent, who had his face buried in his phone, scrolling through his music. The nonchalant expression that was present on his face made you wonder if he even said anything to begin with.

“Sorry?”

“You heard me.”

“Trent, we’re…we’re on a plane,” you pointed out timidly, “with your teammates.”

A soft chuckle left his lips; an action made to taunt you. And taunt you, it did. You loved him, but god, he had a way of making you feel utterly embarrassed sometimes.

“Never done that on a plane before?” he asked you, turning his head ever-so-slightly so he could see you out of the corner of his eye.

“Actually, yes, I have.”

Your comment piqued his interest. “That so?”

“Once. And it sucked. Royally,” you told him promptly, looking back down at the magazine between your hands. “So I’d prefer not to have to do it again.”

“Tell you what,” he spoke, standing up from his seat, placing his phone down and reaching his hand out. “Try it, and if you hate it again, we’ll pretend it didn’t happen.”

Truthfully, the offer seemed enticing. Hell, Trent was your boyfriend. You should’ve trusted that he’d know what he was doing. And shit, there wasn’t much in the world that you loved more than the way he fucked you—hands on your waist, your neck, lips touching every last inch of your body.

“Fine,” you reluctantly agreed, standing with him and allowing him to guide you toward the bathroom. Shamefully, you walked down the aisle, following closely behind your boyfriend.

“God, I feel like they’re all looking at us.”

He laughed. “The last thing they’re doing is paying attention, babe. Trust me. Just keep walking.”

You finally reached the door, on it a small plaque with the word lavatory engraved into the metal. A prompt check of his surroundings was made before he nudged the door open, holding it in place as his hand pushed you inside by the small of your back. The door clicked shut behind you and he locked it, then made his way over to you.

“There’s…a lot more room in this one,” you swallowed.

“Just enough,” he mumbled before leaning down and pushing his lips to yours.

Every time he kissed you, your body gave into him, and this time was no different. Every worry, every disapproving thought you had vanished in an instant. He was intoxicating; so fucking irresistible, and your mind struggled to conjure up an excuse or reason to stop, even though you could’ve rattled off near thousands before.

He knew exactly what he did to you, and that was why he proposed that little deal in the first place. There wasn’t a doubt in his mind that you’d accept his offer.

His tongue slipped into your mouth, meeting yours and slowly tangling with it. You relished in the feeling as his hands slid down to your waist, feet taking slow steps backward, hands pulling you with him.

He sat on the closed toilet cover and pulled you into his lap in one swift motion, hand moving to your front and sliding up, palm flattening on your stomach.

“Is this okay?”

His voice was a quiet rasp. You looked down to find his eyes already looking up at you, waiting for your response. As far as he knew, you were still on the fence.

But you already knew that you were far from it.

You nodded sharply, giving him the go-ahead. He took this and slid his hand down from your stomach to your inner thigh. As he moved his hand up your thigh, the cold surface of his ring grazed your skin, eliciting a soft whimper from your throat.

He loved the sound of your moans. They fueled his ego, showed him what he did to you. Just how good he made you feel, even when he had yet to try.

He was thankful you’d chosen to wear a thin dress that day; he didn’t have to be burdened by pulling anything off. Instead, he was able to push the fabric of the dress slightly up your legs, granting him easy access to the lacy underwear that drove him positively nuts every time he saw it.

His face was buried in your neck within seconds, lips leaving soft kisses as his fingers reached the lace and pushed it aside. Slowly, he dragged his knuckles across the skin, the cold touch of the metal adding to the sensation. He grinned as he felt your hips roll slightly. You were struggling to keep still, and he knew it, which was why it was all the more sweet for him.

“Not so bad, is it?” he cooed, tongue grazing just under your jaw.

“No,” your response weakly sounded, “it’s not.”

“Mm,” he agreed, then pulled back and brought his hand up to his face briefly.

Your eyes widened with shock when spit left his mouth and hit his fingers, leaving them shiny as he rubbed them together and slid them back between your thighs. Then, it was the sound of another faint moan falling from your lips as he carefully pushed them into you, making sure to keep you as quiet as possible.

Your hands gripped his shoulders for stability, nails tearing at the fabric of his shirt that you couldn’t wait to take off once the two of you got home.

He kissed you again, his mouth stifling the moans threatening to break loose as he slowly moved his fingers up and down. With them, your hips moved once more, bringing that cocky grin back to his face again while he continued to move his hand.

He didn’t plan on making this last for long—oh, no—he had other ideas. This was only him getting you ready for him, and truthfully, you practically already were from the start. There wasn’t much time for fooling around, or else the two of you would begin to run the risk of getting caught.

So his fingers were gone almost as fast as they came, the loss of his touch prompting a whimper to escape your throat. “Trent, why—”

“Shh,” he demanded, cutting you off, and you couldn’t help but sit in confusion.

A part of him enjoyed seeing you so needy. The satisfaction of making you squirm with just the denial of his fingers brought him the sense of control that he desperately needed. And he loved how quick you were to listen to his every word.

But he always made sure to reward you; he wasn’t the type to take without giving.

And it didn’t take long for you to piece together what he was doing once you noticed his hand fumbling with his pants. Soon, you found your hand moving down to wrap your fingers around him, pumping him slowly, earning a low groan of approval. With all of the times he’d been vocal about how much he loved that feeling, he didn’t even have to say it.

But, of course, he did it anyway.

“Fuck,” he rasped, “you’re so good.” He moaned again, hands molding to your waist and beginning to adjust your position. As he lifted you, your hand began to carefully line him up with you, and he sucked in a breath.

“Wait,” he paused. “Did you—”

“I never miss a day, Trent,” you quickly responded, cutting him off. “You’re good.”

He nodded sharply, then tightened his grip on your waist and lowered you onto him, the sound of mixed moans filling both his and your ears. You leaned forward slightly, placing both hands on his shoulders again as he shifted in your stomach, effectively rendering you unstable.

He loved filling you bare; he felt every bit of movement that way. Every sensation when you’d come apart around him. Not to mention it was a much easier cleanup to tackle.

“God, you feel so good,” he mumbled as he pressed a kiss to your lips.

“So do you.”

His eyes flitted up to yours as he squeezed your waist, silently asking for your approval to start moving. Of course, it was a no-brainer to you—a hard yes.

So you finally lifted yourself up slightly, then slowly sunk back down. You allowed his firm hands to guide you as you moved up and down, walls constricting around him in the process.

By now, your dress had ridden up your body; the fabric now sat just above your stomach, bundled up at your ribs. You could now feel his large, rough hands bare on your skin, cold ring digging into your side. And not only was he able to see how the lacy underwear—which you knew he loved—hugged your hips, but it also exposed the print of a small bulge in your stomach.

That just so happened to be the shape of his tip.

He could see the movement—every last inch of it—and he loved it.

It wasn’t just the visibility that you loved. It was the way his dick felt buried inside of you, filling you up with ease and hitting every single fucking spot imaginable. How deep he reached. It felt like he was made for you—you’d told him so countless times during sex—and this time proved to be no different.

For a moment, you forgot that you were on a plane with the rest of his professional hockey team. And when you let a moan slip that might have been just a tad bit too loud, Trent made sure to bring you back down to reality.

“Hey.”

Your head snapped up and aligned your gaze with his, your hips still grinding slowly. “Don’t be too loud. You don’t want to get us caught,” he cooed, giving your hips a squeeze.

You nodded sharply and buried your face in his neck as soft whimpers continued to spill from your lips. He sped up your movements slightly with his hands, a groan escaping his throat and humming against your mouth.

“Trent, fuck,” you mumbled weakly.

He felt you clench around him as he started to hit the sweet spot inside you, signaling to him that you were close. He finally removed a hand from your waist and brought it between your legs, thumbing the area gently and bringing you closer. Your reaction to the added sensation was telling—weaker, needier moans that were relentlessly pried from your throat.

“Like that, mm?”

“Yes.”

Finally, you tipped over the edge, his finger keeping up its pace and working you through your release. The moment your head began to lift he enveloped your mouth in another kiss, tongue slipping past your lips once more.

With a low groan into your mouth, he followed, spilling into you, the warmth beginning to spread throughout your stomach slowly. He moved his hand back up, this time finding purchase on your stomach to feel his gradually slowing movements under his palm.

You could feel the mixture of your releases between your legs, threatening to escape from the place you were joined. But luckily for you, it remained only there and inside.

Once the two of you finally calmed, your head fell to his shoulder, heavy breaths exiting through your parted lips as his arms wrapped fully around your waist, pulling you into him. He pressed small kisses to the side of your head as he let his breaths slow with yours, and the both of you chose to remain silent.

“See?” he finally spoke. “Not so bad.”

“No,” you replied softly, then lifted your head and smiled at him. “Not with you.”

He smiled back and pressed a gentle kiss to your lips, then settled his hands on your hips again. Carefully, he lifted you off of him and allowed you to fix yourself while he did the same. He gripped the fabric of your dress and gently slid it back down your body. Finally, you stood up, reflexively reaching out to grab him when you realized the need for stability.

“I’ve got you.” He stood up with you and pulled you in, his fingers pushing a strand of hair behind your ear.

“You go out first, mk? I’ll come out in a few.”

“Okay,” you agreed softly.

He leaned down and kissed you for the last time and loosened his grip on you, allowing you to walk out of the bathroom and timidly make your way back to your seat. He waited for a few minutes, checking his hair in the mirror and wiping his hands clean of any mess left on them.

You saw him coming back out of the corner of your eye and looked up, watching him closely as he sat back down next to you. Your hand subconsciously stuck out, silently asking for him to take it in his and he obliged without hesitation, thumb gently grazing the skin.

Not long ago, he’d started to notice how you would tend to become needier after sex—you only wanted to be closer to him—and he thought it was just about the sweetest thing, even now.

Your head rested on his shoulder and he turned, kissing it softly as he continued to hold your hand in his.

“Think you’d do it again?” he asked, his voice a near whisper.

“Definitely.”

#boston bruins #hockey #fanfic #trent frederic #trent frederic smut #trent frederic fic #hockey fic #nhl imagine #trent frederic x reader #trent frederic imagine #boston bruins imagine #boston bruins fic

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nhl-stories · 3 months

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Body and Mind– Trent Frederic

Summary: Trent is more than just a warm body, but he's not sure how to show Alyssa that

Author’s Note: I originally planned for this to be absolutely FILTHY, still some filth but I lost steam. Freddy is the most requested player I've had recently so hope this hit the spot for some of you, I didn't really know him before but love that he's this cute muppet-voiced boy who could also murder someone.

Word Count: 2.3k

Album Series Masterlist

Gettin' my hands dirty while I beat out the kinks

At first, he liked it.

How could he not? When it made him feel so invigorated, blood roaring in his ears like a sold-out crowd at TD Garden.

And it’s not like he hates in now. It’s sex, really good sex at that. But mostly he’s just tired.

Is it too much to ask that Alyssa stays in bed long enough for the sweat to dry? Maybe even cuddle? Maybe talk in bed until they both fall asleep?

Maybe if it’s not too much bypass the sex entirely, watch a movie on the couch, eat a real meal together, leave his apartment.

But he’s too afraid to ask. Afraid he’ll lose her entirely if he brings it up that he wants more than the physical.

So instead, he compartmentalizes. Turns off his mind and lets his body enjoy.

///

Alyssa pushes her way into his place like a heat-seeking missile. Her lips are on his before he can really register her at all. She comes in this way most of the time; it still knocks the wind out of him every time.

“That fight was hot,” she runs a finger over the mostly healed cut on his nose.

Trent doesn’t have time to respond with words because she has a hand down his shorts before he can speak.

She moves kisses down his neck, he can feel his face flush even though his blood is racing in the opposite direction.

“I can’t believe I had to wait two days to do this,” she’s sinking to her knees, yanking his shorts down as she goes, her warm mouth enveloping him in one fluid motion.

“Fuck,” he grits out, he balls his fists to stop from yanking her hair so soon.

Of course, that’s not what she wants.

“Babe, fuck my face,” she says looking up at him, a look so innocent it would be believable if it weren’t for the way she kept stroking his shaft with expert precision.

Trent gingerly threads his fingers through her hair, thinking about asking if she wants to move so her knees won’t be on directly on the hardwood floor.

He doesn’t, because that’s not what she wants.

When he still doesn’t respond like she wants, Alyssa puts her hands over his and tightens his grip, pulls his hands to show him what she wants.

And maybe he should be proactive: tell her to get up so he can carry her to his room, so he can take his time, kiss her with passion instead viciousness, be gentle for once. But he’s weak, especially with her tongue sliding velvety around the head of his dick.

She takes him back into her mouth, a little deeper than before. He tightens he grip in her hair and feels her hum around him, egging him to do more. He gives a few shallow thrusts; she moans as she swallows him down.

“Lys, god,” tugging lightly

She pulls off a line of spit keeps her connected, he lets out a whimper.

“Seriously, really give it to me. I want it,” then she’s back to the task at hand.

He feels himself at the back of her throat and he can’t stop himself from thrusting forward. She gags, but keeps going, nose brushing up against his pelvis.

It’s enough for him to disconnect from his brain entirely, giving into what she wants.

He pulls her head back and forth, almost vindictively. Relishing the sloppy wet sounds and the occasional moan that rips from Alyssa’s throat. It doesn’t take long to send himself over the edge, letting her hair go just as he comes.

She pulls off, some of his come dripping down her chin, she uses a finger to catch it and swallow it down the with rest.

Her mascara is a little runny with tears, he thinks she doesn’t wear waterproof mascara for this exact effect. She stays on her knees while she catches her breath, looking up to give him a dazed sort of smile.

“Fuck that was good,” her voice is gravelly and Trent thinks he could go again already.

He doesn’t need to say anything because Alyssa is already pulling off her shirt and going towards his bedroom.

///

“Can I order a pizza or is it a no cheat meal night?”

Alyssa is putting her hair up in a ponytail as she looks out the window. She only put her underwear back on and Trent feels a weird sense of domesticity in it, the fact that she’s so comfortable in his space.

“No, um go for it,” he blushes when she turns around and catches him staring, as if they hadn’t just had sex.

“Great, I’m starving,” she goes to retrieve her purse from where she tossed it by the front door.

As she breezes by, he sees the faint marks of his fingers around her neck.

Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if she would have stayed some anonymous girl he hooked up with.

When they first met, Trent was just getting used to having casual sex. He always felt vaguely nauseous with no strings attached, he liked cuddling and kissing with no motives, but learned it didn’t make him a bad person to give into his carnal desires with no intentions of catching feelings.

Then he met Alyssa, who introduced him to rough sex. To pulling hair, to throwing a girl against a wall, or wrapping a hand around her throat. When she first asked him to pull her hair harder, to come on her face, it felt so at odds with everything he had been taught about how to treat women.

Then he got the feeling of letting go, the rush of losing control for just a little bit, the mix of being wild and powerful was addicting. He didn’t know he could feel that way off the ice.

But in between rounds, when Trent cleaned her up with a warm washcloth, or ordered food to refuel, or put ice on the bruises she begged for him to give her, they got to know each other.

And now he wants both, the cuddles, the hair pulling, the kisses, everything.

Alyssa flops on the couch as she scrolls through her phone picking a pizza place. Trent flops down half on top of her, resting his head on her naked breasts. He plants a gentle kiss to her sternum; it’s one of the only times she lets him be soft, when they’re in the limbo between orgasms.

She runs her fingers through his hair as she types. Moving her nails down his neck before gently rubbing his back. He sinks into the sensation, taking a moment to imagine having this after a tough loss. Just two people enjoying each other, no sexual tension.

“How are your niece and nephews doing?” She asks because of course she remembers intimate details about his life even though she seems so blasé about everything outside of the bedroom.

But it gives him another chance to live in his fantasy world, gush about his family, ask Alyssa about hers. Sometimes he can pretend he’s getting his cake and eating it too.

///

It’s a stupid idea, but he’s trying to think positively, hope for the best.

He invites Alyssa to a game, and to go out with them afterwards if they win. She’s not sitting by any of the other partners as far as he knows, but he hopes being around them after a game might make her reconsider their relationship status. That meeting the group he spends most of his time with is a selling point for making a commitment.

He realizes how completely idiotic that thinking is about ten seconds in when Alyssa slips something into his pocket while hugging him congratulations.

He turns beet red trying to shove the black lacy panties deeper into his pockets before anyone else notices.

It doesn’t get better from there.

She leans into him in the corner of a booth and holds his hand. He has a moment of butterflies at the simple intimacy before Alyssa ruins it by moving his hand between her legs. She presses his fingers against her wet folds, like she wants to start the foreplay in front of most of his teammates.

It’s November, she shouldn’t even be wearing a mini-skirt with how cold it is.

“Freddy, you didn’t tell us you had a girlfriend!” Marchy makes smooching noise at the pair.

“We don’t put labels on it, I’m Alyssa,” she’s so casual as she reaches her free hand out to shake the captain’s hand, she lets Trent hand slide a little away, but keeps it high on her bare thigh.

Then she continues to charm the pants off all his teammates all while she subtly moves his fingers over her clit. Edging herself in under the table while casually joking around with his friends above the table.

He should have known she had an exhibitionist streak.

He should have known when he got up for more drinks, she would follow him.

She pulls him away from the bar and drags him down a dim hallway, he’s expecting for her to ask for a quickie in the bathroom, instead she keeps pulling him out a back entrance into a dark alley.

“I want you to throw me up against this wall and fuck me,” she whispers in his ear before giving him a sharp bite on the hinge of his jaw.

There’s a flash of desire that heats up inside him at the request, but he looks around at the dingy, damp alleyway, towards the semi-busy sidewalk at the far end.

“Lys…” he already played a tough game, he doesn’t want to play anymore games tonight, “Anyone could walk out here and see us.”

She steps closer, palms him through his pants; despite his nerves he can’t hide how much she arouses him.

“Then make it quick,” her breath is hot on his face, “I’m already close from before.”

She kisses him softly before roughly biting his bottom lip. Something inside of him roars to life and he throws her up against the bricks, maybe too hard from the way Alyssa grunts but he doesn’t care.

“Atta boy,” she smirks.

He grips her arms harder, shoving her against the wall again. This time with more authority. Her smirk falls away and her mouth hangs open in awe as she looks up at him. He gives her a bruising kiss in response.

He moves his hands down her body before lifting her up, her legs automatically wrap around him, giving him enough leverage to keep her aloft while he opens up his pants and pushes into her. Alyssa gasps in shock, like she hadn’t actually expected him to actually follow through.

It only takes a couple strokes before he feels close, the thrilling fear of getting caught pumping adrenaline through him. He buries his face in Alyssa’s neck and groans as he let’s go.

His arms burn from exertion, after effects of the game earlier, as he lets her slide down the wall.

She tucks his used member back into his pants and zips him up.

She reaches in his pocket and pulls out her panties, slipping them back on in a dirty alley, while his come drips out of her.

“Wow babe, I honestly didn’t think you had it in you for kinky outdoors sex, it was hot.”

He preens a bit at the praise and pet name.

“We should do it again some time.”

And if she asks in the future, he’ll probably do it again, because he’s the weakest man in the world.

///

They had flown back home late the night before and it was optional skate today. After losing three straight, maybe he should want to put the extra work in, but all Trent wants to do is lay in the dark and do nothing.

So of course, that’s when Alyssa shows up unannounced.

She’s sticking her tongue down his throat rather than saying hello or asking how he’s doing.

Alyssa’s been a Bruins fan her whole life, he knows she watched the games. Saw him get high sticked by Trouba, saw them drop another game in a sequence of bad games.

“Aren’t you tired?” He pushes her away.

“We haven’t even done anything”

She moves back towards him but Trent takes a step back, worried if he forcefully makes her stop, it will only spurn her to want more.

“No Lys, aren’t you tired of always pushing and biting and fighting? Don’t you ever want someone to just be gentle with you?” It feels like there’s a rock lodge in his throat, he’s so tired of the aggression all the time.

Confusion crosses her face; Trent can’t quite read if the way she scrunches her brows is a good or bad. He doesn’t even know what kind of response he actually wants to hear at this point.

“No one’s…” her tone is of disbelief, like she’s trying to connect her brain with the rest of her body, make sense of everything she’s ever known, “no one’s ever asked me that.”

“Has anyone ever been gentle with you?”

“That’s not what people want me for.”

Trent’s heart breaks a little, he reaches out and grabs her hand. Alyssa flinches at the contact even though he’s never been so tender with her.

“I want that with you,” he squeezes her hand.

The tension is still taut in her body.

“Don’t get me wrong, I like the slapping and choking and spitting a lot more than I thought I would, but after… I want to hold you. And sometimes that’s all I want to do.”

He pulls her hand up to his lips, kissing it.

“I’d kiss you softly, and take my time with your whole body, and I don’t know, I just want something soft.”

Her eyes are so wide, when she finally looks up at him, the first time he actually believes she might be innocent.

“Show me.”

#trent frederic #trent frederic fic #trent frederic imagine #boston bruins #boston bruins fics #boston bruins imagines #nhl stories #nhl fanfiction #nhl fic #hockey fic #hockey imagines #hockey fics

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