#Chris Kreider imagine | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

blueskrugs · 1 year ago

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come back...be here | Chris Kreider

I don't think this can really count as demi's birthday bingo anymore but it was written with that intent so happy extremely belated bday @wyattjohnston. my life got flipped on its axis this summer, but i think I'm finally settling in again, and I did promise this fic. it's only a few months late... length: 6.6k words

This is falling in love in the cruelest way This is falling for you when you're worlds away

It wasn’t supposed to end this way. It wasn’t supposed to start this way, either.

What started as a fun summer fling turned into so much more before going down in flames.

Eleanor Cross was launched to international superstardom after being cast as the lead in a BBC miniseries. With her face splashed across every social media site and tabloid and desperate for one last normal summer, Eleanor trades the UK for New England.

Eleanor is on a run in Scalzi Park—and ignoring increasingly insistent phone calls from her agent—when she meets Chris for the first time. Really, she meets Chris’s dog for the first time, when Chris passes her in the other direction and his German shepherd happily tugs across the trail towards Eleanor. She startles to a stop.

The man holding the dog’s leash stops, too, yanking out his headphones. His dog sits, tongue lolling out. Eleanor can’t help but giggle.

“I’m sorry,” the man says. “He gets excited when he sees other people running, I’m trying to work on it.” The dog holds up a paw, and Eleanor shakes it obligingly. The dog’s owner chuckles. “Chewie says hi."

“It’s very nice to meet you, Chewie,” Eleanor says. “And—?” she trails off, looking expectantly up at the man.

“Oh, Chris,” the man—Chris—says. He extends his hand as well. Eleanor straightens back up to shake it.

“I’m Eleanor,” she says.

“You’re not from around here, are you?” Chris says.

Eleanor laughs. “Did the accent give me away?” When Chris grins and nods, she continues. “I’m just here on holiday,” she says. Here as long as she can escape the clutches of her agent, avoid signing her life away on whatever new contract they’ve negotiated for her.

“Well, I’d, uh, love to show you around some,” Chris says. “Only if you want, of course,” he adds, flustered.

Eleanor finds herself smiling. “I would like that, actually.” She doesn’t know anybody in Connecticut, and she’s found herself rather lonely, even though she’s only been in the States a little over a week. “Here, um,” she says. She unlocks her phone and hands it to Chris. “Text me, and we can get breakfast in the morning, or something.”

Chris beams at her. “That’d be amazing.”

Chris texts Eleanor the address to a coffee shop not far from the park, and that’s where they meet up for breakfast the next morning. He’s already waiting at a table in the crowded cafe when Eleanor steps in. She shoots him a smile and waves; Chris waves back over the rim of his coffee mug.

“Sorry I’m late,” Eleanor says as she finally slides into the seat across from Chris, coffee and pastry in hand.

Chris shakes his head. “You’re not late, I’m just always early.” He sets his coffee back down. “What brings you to Connecticut, anyway?”

Eleanor sips her coffee and regards Chris. She bites her tongue before she says something like, “You must not watch much television.” Or have any social media. Eleanor’s “disappearance” has been everywhere since Couriers of Dusk became an online sensation—and since she missed a cast event and her agent couldn’t provide an excuse. That had been nearly two weeks ago. So far, no one in Connecticut has recognized her, although she’s mostly been holed up in her Airbnb with a stack of books since she landed.

Instead she says, “Oh, just wanted to get away for a while, a change of scenery.” It’s close enough to the truth, anyway.

A year ago, Eleanor was a struggling actress, being told she was too old for the roles she wanted and too young for everything else, close to giving up entirely. Then she’d been cast in Couriers, and the internet and casting directors suddenly loved her. She still wasn’t sure how to handle all the new scrutiny.

“And what about you?” Eleanor asks. “Are you from around here?”

Chris looks caught off guard by his own question being turned on him. He stalls and takes a sip of his coffee. “No, I’m from Boston.” Eleanor…vaguely knows where that is. “But I work in New York for most of the year, so this is sort of like a vacation for me, too.”

Eleanor tries to think of jobs that would allow someone to work only most of the year and be off in the summers. “Oh, are you a teacher?”

Chris blinks at Eleanor for a moment. “Uh, yeah. Of sorts.” There’s a bit of a strange look on his face, but he doesn’t say anything further. He doesn’t ask any questions about Eleanor’s career, either, so she lets the subject drop, moving into safer conversation territory.

They sit talking for so long that the morning rush ends, and the cafe tables around them empty. The dregs of Eleanor’s coffee have long since gone cold. Chris’ phone, mostly forgotten on the table next to them, vibrates suddenly with a text, then with another, startling them both.

Chris breaks off a story he was telling about his dogs. “Sorry,” he says. He picks up the phone, and Eleanor watches as he reads his messages. He swears and stands up quickly. “I’m so sorry, I completely forgot I had a meeting, and I’m late now.”

“Oh,” Eleanor says, standing up too.

“Tomorrow?” Chris says. “I haven’t gotten the chance to actually show you around yet.”

“Sure, yeah,” Eleanor says.

Chris is already rushing towards the door. He shoots her a dorky grin over his shoulder. “Same time, right here!” And then he’s out the door.

True to his word, though, he’s waiting at the same table in the cafe when Eleanor walks in the next morning. They fall into a routine—coffee and breakfast before what Chris starts calling their “Roman Holiday adventures”: sometimes they just go for a walk in the park with one or both of Chris’ German shepherds, sometimes Chris has something else planned, like a trip to the aquarium, or the lighthouse, or whatever else he thinks is interesting in the area. Almost every afternoon, Chris disappears for a “meeting,” and it feels less and less like getting ditched each time it happens.

It’s been nearly two weeks of their little routine before Chris changes things up.

“How do you feel about taking a drive into the city today?” Chris asks. He’s waiting by the counter for Eleanor instead of at their table. “It’s a longer drive, but my afternoon is free today, so I figured we could go to some museums or something.”

“Oh, I’ve always wanted to go to The Met,” Eleanor says.

Chris is grinning as he swings his car keys around his finger. “Excellent,” he says. The barista calls his name, and he grabs two coffees from her. “I already ordered your coffee, let’s go!”

Eleanor can only laugh as Chris dashes out the door. He’s still waiting for her when she steps back outside, though, goofy grin still in place. He falls into step next to Eleanor.

“You know, I knew there was a reason we got along so well,” Chris says. He takes a drink of his coffee and winks at Eleanor.

“Oh, yeah?” she says.

“I’d spend all of my free time at a museum if I could,” Chris tells her. He leans in, lowers his voice as if he’s telling Eleanor a big secret.

She elbows him playfully. “I used to go to the National Gallery in London on my days off,” she admits. It’s gotten much harder to wander around London these days.

“See? Chris says. “A woman after my own heart.”

New York City turns out to be Chris and Eleanor’s first mistake.

They’re so wrapped up in each other and the hours they spend walking through the museum that Eleanor never notices the paparazzi. They notice her, though, hiding around every corner with their cameras.

Chris drops Eleanor off at her Airbnb later that night, after dinner and a long drive home. He walks her to the front door and everything. He looks nervous for the first time since Eleanor has met him. He runs a hand over the top of his head. His hair, which had been shorn short when they met, has started growing out into little waves; Eleanor’s finding that she quite likes the look.

“Same time tomorrow morning?” Chris asks awkwardly.

Eleanor has nowhere else to be, and nowhere else she’d rather be, anyway. “Of course.”

“Uh, can I— is it okay if—”

“Oh, for God’s sake,” Eleanor says. She pulls Chris in for the kiss she knows he’s angling for. Eleanor’s hands are fisted in Chris’ shirt, just above his hips, but Chris flails for a moment, unsure of what to do with his hands. Finally, his hands settle on Eleanor’s shoulders. Chris is taller than Eleanor, and she has to pull away before her neck starts to hurt. “Better?” she asks.

“Elle, oh my God,” Chris says. Eleanor giggles. “I need to go before I do something really, really stupid. But tomorrow? Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Eleanor says, still a little breathless. Chris steals another kiss before he runs back to his car.

Eleanor watches as he pulls away before unlocking her front door and stepping inside. She pulls her phone out of her bag for the first time in hours, and finally sees all of the notifications on her screen. She peers at the top one—a tweet from TMZ.

“Oh, shit,” she says, slumping against her closed front door.

There’s a magazine sitting on the table that Chris is sitting at when Eleanor reaches him the next morning. It’s sitting face-up, one of their paparazzi photos staring accusatorily up at Eleanor. She’s already seen it, and the half dozen others included in the spread—her agent had called her, and emailed her, and texted her with them before 7 AM. Eleanor and Chris holding hands walking into the museum, standing close in front of exhibits inside The Met, Chris’ arm around Eleanor’s shoulders as they stroll through Central Park in the early evening.

Chris has his arms crossed and is staring stonily at the magazine. Eleanor flips it over without looking at it.

“You’ve been lying to me, Elle,” Chris says.

Eleanor splutters. “I’ve lied? You told me you were a teacher! Not some hotshot professional athlete.”

Chris scoffs. “You’re the one who said I was a teacher—”

Eleanor rolls her eyes and cuts him off. “And you didn’t correct me!” They’re beginning to attract stares. Eleanor refuses to look around. She wonders how many cameras are pointed at them right now. “I’m leaving.” It’s Chris’ turn to splutter. Eleanor talks over him. “You can follow me, and we can talk, but I’m not fighting with you here.”

She scoops up her bag, her coffee and her croissant, walking out the front door of the cafe without bothering to wait and see if Chris is following her.

He does follow, swearing under his breath while he collects his own coffee and that damn magazine. Eleanor keeps walking.

“Elle, wait,” he says. He reaches for Eleanor’s wrist, but she yanks it out of his reach. She still doesn’t stop walking. Chris huffs, still a half step behind her. “Can we start this conversation over?”

Eleanor turns and spins on her heel so quickly that Chris has to pull up short to avoid running into her.

“I don’t know, Chris, it started out so strongly the first time.” Chris winces a little. “I especially liked the part where you called me a liar.”

‘Why didn’t you tell me?” Chris asks softly.

Eleanor laughs, and Chris looks stunned. “You’re not serious. Didn’t it occur to you that there might have been a reason I escaped to the States? I wanted a normal summer before I end up in whatever big contract they’ve found for me, and telling one of the only people who doesn’t already know who I am, ‘Oh, hey, by the way, I’m an actress, you might have seen my show,’ kinda ruins that.”

Chris looks a little sheepish now. “I, uh, don’t watch much TV,” he admits.

Eleanor laughs again. “I’ve gathered as much.” She pauses. “Why didn’t you tell me you played hockey?” she asks. “Isn’t it the exact same idea? How often do you meet someone who doesn't know who you are and doesn’t care?”

Chris shrugs. “Not very often, but more than you might think.”

“And what were you thinking, bringing me into the city where you play?” Eleanor asks, exasperated.

“I was thinking that I’m not usually tailed by paparazzi!” Chris sighs. “Can we try this again?” At Eleanor’s hesitation, Chris continues. “I’ll start. My name’s Chris, and I play for the New York Rangers.”

A woman walking down the street near them does a double take. Eleanor bursts out laughing.

“My name’s Eleanor, and I don’t know the first thing about hockey.”

Chris grins at Eleanor. “Works for me.” He offers a hand to Eleanor. “Walk with me?” Eleanor doesn’t hesitate this time, taking Chris’ hand and letting him pull her along, pull her in close. “You know, now that I think about it,” Chris says as they walk, “I remember some of my teammates talking about your show earlier this year. I just never really got around to watching it.”

“Maybe that’s for the best,” Eleanor says.

Chris knocks his cup of coffee against Eleanor’s playfully. “So no dates to watch the show together with popcorn, got it.”

“Absolutely the fuck not,” Eleanor laughs. Then, “Wait, is that what this is?”

“What? Dating?” Chris asks. He shrugs, jostling Eleanor’s hand that he’s still holding. “I mean, yeah?” They walk a few more steps in silence. “Is—is that okay?”

Eleanor pretends to think about it. “I suppose it is.” She points the last bite of her croissant at Chris. “You better start taking me on more real dates, too, though. No more of this coffee shop bullshit.”

Chris pretends to look offended for a moment before he softens. “We can do whatever you want.” He takes a sip of his coffee. “We are continuing the coffee shop thing, though. I kinda like it."

They do continue the coffee shop thing, almost every single morning before Chris rushes off to whatever training session he has in the afternoon. They continue their other adventures, too, and the weeks pass in a blur of sunshine and laughter and Chris. A morning at the Maritime Aquarium. A hike up in Naugatuck State Forest that is much more Chris’ speed than Eleanor’s. A trip back into the city to wander around the Museum of Natural History, then another to go to the Bronx Zoo. Both of those trips land them squarely in the gossip news cycle for a week, but Eleanor finds that she doesn't mind too much.

Chris even invites Eleanor to his house for dinner a few times. Eleanor learns that Chris is a fantastic cook, and it’s also where they really get a chance to get to know each other. Safe from others overhearing their conversations, Eleanor asks Chris all kinds of questions about hockey and growing up in Boston, and Chris asks her about working as an actress and living in England. It’s nice—the way Chris’ eyes light up when he talks about his family, or the way he’s patient and doesn't laugh at Eleanor’s inane questions about hockey.

They settle in to watch a movie most times, after they eat dinner, an empty bottle of wine sitting on the kitchen counter. Chris starts to tease Eleanor about watching Couriers of Dusk, but those taunts end quickly when Eleanor threatens to turn on YouTube videos of Chris’ highlights instead.

Those movie nights only devolve into making out once or twice.

Chris changes their routine up on Eleanor in late July. Another month of Eleanor ignoring texts, phone calls and emails from her agent, trying her best to ignore the fact that her summer is dwindling.

Meet me at my house in the morning, Chris texts one evening.

He refuses to answer any of Eleanor’s further questions, so she arrives at his house the next morning utterly clueless as to what he’s planned.

Chris is waiting for her at the front door. He’s in the middle of shooing someone who must be a younger teammate out the door—the Rangers shirt is a dead giveaway—but he waves when he sees Eleanor. The other man winks at Eleanor as they pass on the front walk, but he doesn’t stop to chat.

Eleanor doesn’t even get to ask before Chris is saying, “Teammate. He came by to work out this morning.” He leans down for a quick kiss. One of the dogs barks excitedly from inside—Eleanor is pretty sure it’s Binks—but Chris pulls the door shut behind him. “You ready to go?”

Eleanor raises an eyebrow at him. “Ready to go where, exactly?” she asks. She lets Chris take her hand and guide her to his car.

“You have to go to Coney Island,” Chris says. He opens Eleanor’s car door for her and steals another kiss as she ducks into the passenger seat.

“Oh, I have to, huh?” Eleanor echoes once Chris is also in the car. All she knows about Coney Island is from that Taylor Swift song. “And why is that?”

Chris shrugs, half-focused on backing out of his driveway. ‘’It’s just one of those places everyone should get to go to.” At Eleanor’s skeptical look, he adds, “We’ll ride the Ferris Wheel and walk the Pier, I promise it’ll be fun.”

Eleanor still isn’t quite sure she believes him, but she settles in for the now-familiar drive into the city. Chris doesn’t even complain when she picks up his phone to fiddle with the music playing over his Bluetooth.

“I don’t know the last time I had this much fun,” Eleanor admits breathlessly hours later, spinning into Chris’ side as the sun begins to dip.

Chris chuckles and steadies Eleanor with a hand around her waist. “Worth it after all?” he teases.

Eleanor tips her chin up for a kiss. Chris obliges with a soft smile. “More than,” Eleanor says quietly when they part. “Truly, I don’t know the last time I’ve had a day like this.”

She had spent the better part of the last year and a half filming the two seasons of Couriers, and she certainly had not had the freedom or luxury of spending a day gallivanting around. And gallivant they had: they’d done everything from wander the shops to riding the Ferris Wheel to racing each other in go-karts and teeing off in a round of mini golf. Chris is sunburnt across his nose, and Eleanor is absolutely exhausted.

She can’t remember the last time she was this happy.

Chris leads Eleanor down the boardwalk and onto the beach. Eleanor munches on the edge of her ice cream cone, thoughtful. It’s not late enough that the beach is empty yet, though the families dotting the sand have grown sparse. Eleanor simply slips her hand into Chris’ and tangles their fingers together. They continue walking until they reach an empty section of beach.

Eleanor drops Chris’ hand and dashes forward until the dark water washes over her toes. It’s cold, even this far into summer, and Eleanor shivers. She glances back over her shoulder at Chris. He’s settled into the sand a few paces back, watching Eleanor with a smile on his face. Eleanor shivers again.

“C’mere,” Chris calls softly. Eleanor doesn’t need any convincing. She steps back up the beach and sits in the sand next to Chris. He wraps an arm around her shoulders, and Eleanor leans into him.

It’s darker now, and quiet all along the beach. Eleanor hates to break the silence.

“My agent has another job lined up for me,” she whispers. She doesn’t look up into Chris’ face.

Chris squeezes her shoulders. “Elle, that’s great.” Eleanor hums noncommittally. When she doesn’t say anything further, Chris asks hesitantly, “Isn’t it?”

It’s supposed to be great. She’s booked for a lead in some new movie franchise that’s supposed to be a blockbuster. Eleanor should be ecstatic. But, “I’m not ready to leave.”

She’s certain she’ll be on the next flight back to London as soon as she stops dodging her agent’s calls and accepts the role.

“Oh,” Chris says.

Eleanor can’t help but laugh, but there’s no humor in it. “Yeah, oh.”

They haven’t ever talked about it—the future, what happens when the summer’s over—but Eleanor isn’t kidding herself. There is no future; this relationship has always had an expiration date. Chris doesn’t say anything.

They sit in silence for a little longer, listening to the waves coming in. Eleanor eventually flops backwards into the sand, stretching her arms out above her head. The sky is dark, only a few stars visible between scattered clouds. Chris shifts, too, turning and propping himself up on one elbow. His other hand brushes the exposed skin of Eleanor’s stomach.

“Do you think I could sleep here?” Eleanor asks.

Chris wrinkles his nose. “I’d advise against it.” His fingertips wander higher, brushing against her ribs. Eleanor squirms and giggles breathlessly. She watches as Chris’ eyebrows shoot up. “Elle, are you ticklish?” he asks.

Eleanor tries to tug her shirt back down, shoves uselessly at Chris’ hand. It’s too late; Chris has discovered a weakness, and even in the dark, Eleanor can see his wicked grin.

Eleanor stifles a shriek as Chris straddles her, but she does yell a little when his fingers dig into her ribs. She squirms again, even as Chris kisses her quiet. He forgets that he’s supposed to be tickling Eleanor, instead turning the kiss slow and deep. His hands grip Eleanor’s sides. Eleanor sighs into the kiss and melts into the sand.

She doesn’t know how long they’ve been lying there when Chris pulls away. He doesn’t go far, brushing his nose against Eleanor’s as she tries to catch her breath.

“Elle,” Chris gasps. “I think I’m in love with you.” His hands slip underneath Eleanor’s shirt again. She doesn’t try to push them away.

Eleanor doesn’t say anything foolish like, “I think I love you, too.” She slides a hand around the back of Chris’ neck and pulls him back down for another kiss. It’s answer enough for now.

They stay like that for several more long minutes, lost in each other. Chris’ hands keep exploring Eleanor’s body—along her ribs, over the cups of her bra, down her stomach—leaving goosebumps in their wake. There’s an unspoken question there, and Eleanor sits up, lets Chris pull her shirt over her head.

When she realizes he’s caught staring, she knees him gently in the side. “Chris,” she says softly. “Take me home.”

Chris shakes himself and gets off of Eleanor. He brushes the sand off his knees before offering a hand to Eleanor. He pulls her close for another lingering kiss once she’s standing, the hand not holding her shirt sliding around the small of her back.

Eleanor makes a face as she tries to shake the sand out of her hair. Chris only laughs at her.

“Can I have my shirt back? Please?” she asks.

Chris holds it out of her reach. “For another kiss.”

Eleanor rolls her eyes and tugs Chris down for a kiss. He hands her her shirt back with a smirk. She rolls her eyes again as she shakes it out and pulls it over her head. “Because you haven’t already had enough kisses.”

Chris offers her a hand. “Thought you said something about taking you home.”

Eleanor takes his hand and lets herself be pulled back towards the boardwalk.

Chris keeps an apartment in the city. He’d explained it once, a few weeks back, that it's much easier during the season to be closer to games and practices. Eleanor is thankful for it now. She’s not sure she could bear the long drive back to Connecticut with Chris’ hand burning on her thigh. Not to mention the sand in unsavory places at the moment. Chris may have been right about not sleeping on the beach.

Chris all but drags Eleanor through his building lobby, into the elevator, to his front door. Eleanor doesn’t even get to pause and take in the lavish apartment building Chris lives in, too busy being intermittently led by the hand and pressed up against the nearest wall for a make-out break. It’s a wonder they make it through the front door with either of them still clothed.

Chris is already tugging at Eleanor’s shirt again as they stumble down the hallway. It’s dark in the apartment, and Eleanor swears when she stubs her toe on something. It’s enough to get Chris to pause and flip a few light switches.

He looks sheepish, flushed and rubbing the back of his neck. “Sorry, got kinda carried away, I guess.”

Eleanor reaches to reel him back in. “I don’t remember telling you to slow down.”

They make it to the bedroom without further incident, and after that everything passes in a haze of carelessly strewn clothes and Chris’ hands on her bare skin.

She wakes in the morning with a jolt. It’s full daylight outside Chris’ windows, and the twisted sheets on the other side of the bed are empty. Eleanor’s phone must have died some time in the night, and she fishes it from her bag, mixed up in the pile of her clothes. She plugs it into the charger on Chris’ side of the bed, leaves it to turn back on.

There’s a sick feeling in Eleanor’s stomach that she can’t place as she pulls one of Chris’ shirts on and treads carefully down the hall. She half-fears finding the rest of the apartment empty—Chris gone, leaving Eleanor to find her way back to Connecticut on her own.

She breathes a sigh of relief when she rounds the corner and finds Chris sitting at the breakfast bar in the kitchen, but that relief dissipates fast when she sees the furrow between Chris’ eyebrows.

“What’s wrong? Has something happened?” she asks, rushing over to Chris.

His face brightens for a moment when he notices her, but it darkens again quickly. He swivels on his stool to allow Eleanor to step between his legs, absently leans in for a kiss. One of his hands wraps around Eleanor’s hip.

“Chris, you’re worrying me,” Eleanor says again.

That’s when she sees Chris’ phone, unlocked and face-up on the counter. When she sees her own photo staring back at her—shirtless on the beach with Chris the night before.

“I swear I had no idea,” Chris says. “I thought we were alone, I wouldn’t have—”

“Chris, it’s—” Well, it’s not exactly fine, is it, Eleanor thinks. “I know,” is what she says instead. “I have to—” Her phone, still in the bedroom. She runs back down the hall to it, collapsing on the bed. Her screen is flooded with notifications—her agent, her mother, her social media accounts.

She frantically swipes through them. Demands for Eleanor to call her agent. Links to the photos, in case she missed what all the fuss was about. Half-joking, half-scandalized messages from school friends and former co-stars. More irate messages from her agent, and four missed calls.

A one-way flight ticket back to London, dated for the day after next.

Eleanor swears under her breath again. Chris has made his own way down the hallway and is leaning against the doorframe, watching Eleanor nervously.

“Is everything okay?” he asks. Eleanor gives him a flat look. Chris grimaces and sits carefully on the bed next to Eleanor, rubbing her back.

It’s comforting, actually, and Eleanor lets herself lean into it for a moment before she says, “We need to get back to Connecticut.” She has to stop herself from calling Connecticut home. It’s certainly begun to feel that way after the last few months with Chris.

But it could never be home. Eleanor has always been running away from her life in London. She just couldn’t run fast enough this time.

Chris looks like he wants to argue, like he’d rather hide in his condo until this whole mess blows over and the gossip cycle moves on, but he just nods.

They hadn’t really been in the condo long enough to make much mess, but Chris makes the bed and Eleanor idly tidies the rest of the room. They’re both stalling.

“Shall we?” Eleanor asks at last, when there’s nothing left to pretend to pick up. Chris takes her offered hand without a word.

Neither of them say much of anything on the long drive back to Connecticut. Chris offers to pick up breakfast sandwiches, but Eleanor’s not sure she can stomach anything right now. They keep driving. Chris holds Eleanor’s hand across the console as he drives, some audiobook playing lowly over his car’s Bluetooth.

When Chris pulls up in front of Eleanor’s Airbnb, neither of them move to get out. The clock on the dashboard taunts Eleanor, reminds her that she’s out of time. This stolen summer has been stolen from her. After a few long minutes, Chris sighs and turns off his car. He opens the door and climbs out, and Eleanor clambers to open her door and follow Chris up the front walk.

He waits patiently while Eleanor fumbles with her keys and tries to unlock the front door. He grabs at Eleanor’s arm before she can push the door open and step inside. She turns, tries to memorize his face, the way he looks at her.

When Chris kisses her, it’s gentle, one hand cupping her jaw, his thumb brushing her cheek. Eleanor clutches at Chris, his wrist, his hip, the back of his neck. She’d turn the kiss desperate, funnel every emotion she feels into it—frustration, longing, love— but Chris gentles her every time she tries. Finally—too soon—Chris pulls away with a sigh. Eleanor’s eyes burn suddenly with tears she refuses to let fall.

Chris opens his mouth to say something.

“Don’t,” Eleanor says first, afraid she already knows what he’s about to say.

Chris ignores her. “I love you, Elle.”

“You’re not supposed to say that,” she says. “Please don’t say that.”

Chris smiles ruefully. “I know,” he says.

“I wish this were different,” Eleanor says. She’s not sure what else to say. In another lifetime, maybe it could be different.

“I know,” Chris says again.

Eleanor’s phone starts ringing suddenly. She chances a glance at the screen; it’s her agent again, surely checking to make sure Eleanor is getting ready to head to the airport.

“I need—”

“Yeah, of course,” Chris says.

Eleanor pushes the front door open at last. She doesn’t watch as Chris walks back to his car and drives away.

Eleanor didn’t bring much with her on her escape to the States, and it doesn’t take more than a few hours to shove her meager belongings back in her suitcases. She finds traces of Chris all around her little house. A book she bought on a date. A Rangers sweatshirt she doesn’t even remember stealing. A museum map.

She considers leaving it all behind, the way she’s leaving Chris behind. In the end, it all ends up carefully packed away amongst her clothes.

In the morning, Eleanor flies into Heathrow. Her agent meets her at the gate. She lectures Eleanor the entire way through baggage claim and into the back of a cab, waiting to take Eleanor back to her flat. There’s a stack of papers and a pen thrust into her hand—the contract for the new films her agent has booked her. She’d read it on her laptop the night before, along with a few pages of the script. She signs without looking any closer now.

By all means, Eleanor should be excited. She can’t muster up any passion for anything right now.

She’s given strict instructions to “forget that stupid boy.” Eleanor doesn’t bother protesting that Chris is neither stupid nor just a boy, or that she probably won’t ever forget Chris and the most perfect summer she spent with him.

Before they’ve reached her flat, Eleanor’s phone begins to blow up again. News of her new contract must have hit Twitter. She turns her phone off and shoves it deep in her purse.

When Eleanor finally turns her phone back on before bed and sifts through all of her messages, there aren’t any from Chris. She guesses she shouldn’t be surprised, but she’s still disappointed. She’s not supposed to talk to him anymore, not supposed to be in love, she reminds herself, tossing her phone to the other side of the bed. It slides across the sheets and hits the carpet with a dull thud.

The next weeks pass in a blur. Eleanor meets her new co-star, Zach, the man her management will paint as her new boyfriend for the next several years.

“So that you’ll forget that hockey player,” her agent tells her, yet again. “And maybe so will everyone else.” Eleanor just forces a smile and tries not to flinch when Zach takes her hand and they step outside.

Filming starts; Eleanor never hears from Chris. She wears his Rangers sweatshirt into the studio one day, mostly by accident, and winds up in the gossip cycle for a week. She sees her own topless beach photos cross her timelines more than a few times.

It all dies down—the hype for the films, the gossip around Eleanor’s relationship status—but Eleanor still misses Chris every day. As hockey season starts, Eleanor starts checking the Rangers’ social media accounts for glimpses of Chris. It just makes her more heartsick.

In January, they send Eleanor and a few of her co-stars to New York to do a bunch of press junkets. She considers texting Chris—a warning, a plea to meet up—on the flight over. She goes as far as opening up their long-since abandoned text thread and starts typing out a message.

She never sends it. Instead, she falls asleep with her head on Zach’s shoulder and wakes up as they land in JFK to find that her agent had taken a picture of them and posted it to Eleanor’s own Instagram story. Eleanor takes a moment to be thankful that Chris doesn’t have any social media of his own.

On the third day of their little press tour, Eleanor slips away in between sessions to find a coffee shop. It’s mid-morning, and the shop is quiet enough when Eleanor steps in that she feels calm for the first time in days. She breathes in the smell of fresh coffee and bagels and lets her guard down.

She’s about to step up to the counter to order when someone bumps into her on their way out of the shop.

“Sorry—” Eleanor starts to say, at the same time as the man who bumped into her. Eleanor stops short. “Chris?”

The man does a double take. He hadn’t noticed Eleanor, but he’s gaping at her now, iced americano in one hand and bagel breakfast sandwich in the other. “Elle?”

Someone clears their throat behind Eleanor. She still needs to order.

“Let me buy you a coffee,” Chris says, already reaching for his wallet again. He sticks the sandwich in his mouth to dig it out of his pocket, and Eleanor stifles a giggle. Eleanor takes his coffee from him before he can drop something. They step up to the register together. “Vanilla or caramel?” Chris asks Eleanor.

“Uh, caramel,” Eleanor answers.

Chris turns back to the register and orders an iced caramel latte and cinnamon roll before Eleanor can say anything else. She follows Chris to the side to wait for her order.

“Do you have somewhere to be?” Eleanor asks. Chris seems to be in no hurry, casually taking his coffee back from Eleanor and leaning against the wall with his ankles crossed.

“Huh? Oh, no, we just finished morning skate, and I wanted to pick up something to eat before heading home.”

Home, the apartment Chris keeps in the city. They must be nearby. Eleanor suppresses a shiver when she thinks about Chris’ hands on her body in that very apartment.

She should probably be a little worried, she supposes, that some wayward paparazzi will come across her standing in this coffee shop, but she can’t really bring herself to care. She steps closer to Chris under the guise of getting out of the way of another patron, lets her elbow press against his.

The barista calls Eleanor’s name, and she has to stop leaning against Chris to grab her coffee.

“What brings you to New York, anyway?” Chris asks. Eleanor’s sure he knows better, but she thinks he almost sounds hopeful as he carefully follows her out of the shop.

She doesn’t look at him as she says, “Press tour,” over her shoulder.

If Chris responds, it’s lost in the bustle of the street beside them. They stand awkwardly for a moment. Eleanor hates every second of it.

She wants nothing more than to pull Chris close and kiss him again, to hell with the media and her agent and anyone who sees. But she sighs and says, “I should get back, they’re going to be looking for me." She’s not sure when she was supposed to be back for the next media session, but she’s probably cutting it close.

Chris smiles at Eleanor, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Which way are you going? I’ll walk with you, I have to head back to the Garden for my car.”

Eleanor points up the street, back from where she came. At least, she’s pretty sure that’s the direction she came from. She suspects Chris is just going to walk with her no matter which way she goes. Chris grins again, and this time it’s a little more real.

They fall into step together. Eleanor chokes back the words that are burning her throat—I miss you, I wish you’d call, I think I’m still in love with you. Eventually, the building Eleanor’s supposed to be in comes back into view.

“I could run away again,” Eleanor suggests, only half joking. Beside her, Chris laughs. They’re approaching the doors. It might be Eleanor’s last chance, so she steels herself and says, “I miss you, Chris.”

Chris stumbles like he missed a step. “Elle, you can’t say that.” He grips Eleanor above the elbow, steers her to the side.

Eleanor suddenly feels defiant. “I can say whatever I want.”

Chris rolls his eyes, but it doesn’t sting. Eleanor recognizes the fondness there. “And what are we supposed to do?” Chris asks. “They’ve got you in a relationship with your co-star now, and you’re across the ocean.”

Eleanor doesn’t ask how Chris knows the relationship with Zach is fake. “I miss talking to you.”

Chris softens. “You can always call me, baby.”

“You’ve never called,” Eleanor argues.

“I didn’t think you’d answer,” Chris admits. “But I miss you, too,” he adds. “I think even the dogs miss you.”

Eleanor laughs. If she wasn’t late before, she definitely is now. Fuck it, if she’s already going to be in trouble for being late, might as well make it worth it. It’s reckless and a little dumb, but Eleanor loops her arms around Chris’ shoulders and pulls him close to her for a kiss.

She catches Chris off-guard, but he responds quickly, the condensation from his iced coffee soaking into Eleanor’s shirt at the small of her back where Chris presses his hand. The kiss doesn’t last more than a few seconds, too long and not long enough.

“I love you,” Eleanor whispers as she pulls away.

“I know,” Chris whispers back. He takes a step away. Eleanor itches to reach out to him again. “Goodbye, Elle,” he says, louder.

“Eleanor!” someone yells from the front doors. It’s time to go.

Chris has already turned to walk away.

Eleanor hopes no one can tell she’s been crying when she settles in front of the camera for her next interview.

#cait writes things #chris kreider fic #chris kreider imagine #nhl fic #nhl fanfiction #nhl imagine #hockey fic #hockey imagine

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senditcolton · 2 years ago

Text

You Should Come & See Me

summary: what you and Chris had was casual; no strings attached. that’s what worked the best for the both of you. and when the stress of the holiday’s comes around, you know just who to call to help you unwind.

songs: x x x word count: 7.5k (+ edit) warnings: smut! unprotected, oral (m+f receiving), and creampie/cum play

You sigh, pushing through the door of your apartment, your feet starting to ache in your heels. Dropping your purse onto the island, you walk to your bedroom, already beginning to remove the bobby pins that had been faithfully holding your hair in its intricate updo.

Your company’s holiday party had ended moments ago and while you loved to dress up and mingle, you were also glad that you could relax and maybe drink a glass of quality wine. Having a high paying job in the beautiful city of New York was something that you never took for granted but God, the bigwigs who ran the company had no taste when it came to alcohol. Thankfully, there was still a bottle of Chardonnay left over from the last time Chris Kreider visited your apartment.

You were open with your life but Chris was one of your dirty little secrets. No one knew that you were hooking up with the star left winger of the New York Rangers, not even your best friend and roommate.

It wasn’t like you were trying to hide your relationship because… there was no relationship. It was just sex. That may sound callous but it was worked best for both of you. Chris was at the height of his hockey career and you were too busy focusing on furthering your own career to even entertain the thought of a serious relationship. But everyone has needs and you weren’t about to turn down the easy opportunity of amazing sex. And Chris was amazing in bed.

The first time you met him was by complete happenstance. You were both out for the night and ended up in the same bar. He was extremely attractive to you; he felt the same way. And after a few drinks and some flirting, you found yourself falling into bed with him.

Chris was attentive, never once leaving you unsatisfied, focusing his attention on you: your desires, your needs. Sex with Chris was addictive and soon you both realized there was no reason to go back to the way things were before. That is how you two came to this arrangement.

If there was ever a need, each of you could contact the other. There was no pressure, no guilt if one refused; the communication between you two was open and honest. You both ended up sexually satisfied without the messy distractions that came with a public relationship. It worked.

Once in your bedroom, you kick off your heels and turn on the TV. You quickly locate the Rangers game, turning it on for some background noise while you got ready for bed. You found yourself watching hockey more since you met Chris and although you still didn’t fully understand the intricacies of the game, that was alright because the only reason you really watched it was to catch a glimpse of Chris.

You wiggle out of your dress, letting the fabric fall to floor before hanging it on the hook by your door to get it dry-cleaned the next day. You had started to walk towards the bathroom when Chris’ name sounded from the tv, drawing your attention.

“A big hit from Kreider on Hughes!” You turn and sit down on the edge of your bed, your eyes now focused onto the screen. “And now here comes Severson, getting into Kreider face. He did not like that hit. And the gloves have been dropped!”

You watch as Chris spins around the ice, Severson’s jersey firmly grasped in one hand as the other curls into a fist. The roar of Madison Square Garden is deafening even from the speakers on your tv. Suddenly, Chris lands a quick succession of punches and avoids Severson’s retaliation. After a few more swings, Chris manages to pull Severson down onto the ice and the officials pull the two apart. You watch Chris as he is lead to the penalty box, the crowd’s cheers humming in your ears. A familiar warmth ignites in your lower stomach as you take in Chris post-fight.

He has that intense look on his face and a cocky glint in his eyes. A look that was oh so reminiscent of the one he would often wear while he was on top of you, his chain dangling in your face as he pounded into you, turning you into a moaning mess. You cross your legs, trying to relieve the tension now curled in your body.

You fall back onto your bed with a sigh, debating whether you should message Chris as you stare up at the ceiling. It had been a few weeks since you last saw each other and you loved Chris after a game. The passion, intensity, and focus that he had on the ice still lingered in his body for a while after the final whistle and he channeled it so beautifully into the bedroom.

Fuck it, you thought, lifting yourself up from the bed and padding into the kitchen. Pouring a glass of wine and grabbing your phone from your purse, you make your way back to the bedroom. After shimmying out of your underwear, you lay across your bed, snapping a few pictures: you needed Chris to know how much you wanted him.

But it had to wait until the game ended so afterwards, you lean back against the headboard and impatiently sip your wine, eager to hear the final buzzer sound.

~~~

A deep breath falls from Chris as he settles into his locker room stall. It was a hard-fought game and while he was happy it ended with a Rangers win, he was ready to go home and let the energy still running through his body slowly drift off. At least, that was the plan, until he saw your name across his phone screen.

i saw you fight tonight Message received Monday, December 5th at 9:38pm

Chris smirked, knowing you too well to realize that there was something more that you wanted. Something that you wanted from him.

Oh yeah? Message sent Monday, December 5th at 10:01pm

yep you are so fucking sexy when you fight Message received Monday, December 5th at 10:05pm

Chris is about to reply when he sees the three little gray dots pop up on the screen. He waits until your next message comes through. And nearly chokes when the picture pops up on his screen.

It was you curled up on the bed, artfully posed so that nothing was completely exposed but it revealed to him that you were completely naked. Your hair was still slightly curled and fell over your shoulders beautifully. You were flashing a small smile at the camera at Chris noted the cherry red lipstick painting your lips.

have any more of that stamina left for me? Message received Monday, December 5th at 10:06pm

Chris curses under his breath, trying to compose himself so none of his teammates noticed how much you affected him.

Fuck baby, you’re going to be the death of me. I’ll be over as soon as I can. You better still be wearing nothing when I get there. Message sent Monday, December 5th at 10:07pm

Chris watches as the gray dots once again flashed across the screen before another picture pops up. This time it’s a close up of your face, you playfully biting your finger and Chris could see the diamond earrings he gave you dripping from your ears.

do I have to take these off too? Message received Monday, December 5th at 10:09pm

No. Those stay on. Message sent Monday, December 5th at 10:09pm

~~~

The sound of a knock on your door echoing around your apartment causes your heart to start beating faster. You pull the robe you threw on a little tighter around your body before unlocking the door and swinging it open. The instant your eyes connect to the body now standing in front of you, you feel yourself go slightly weak in the knees.

He looked good, but then again, he always looked good. Your eyes danced over his frame; his muscles hidden by the coat he was wearing to fight off the December chill. His hair was a little unruly, no longer styled and you fought off the urge to immediately bury your fingers into his curls. Your eyes finally connect to his and you notice his own eyes dancing over your body in the exact same way. He locks his gaze with yours and a cool smirk appears on his face.

“I thought we agreed that only the diamonds would stay on,” he questioned, the dark tone settling itself deep in your stomach.

“Did you really think I would open my front door completely naked?” you quip back, an equally devilish grin appearing on your face. “I don’t think so, baby.”

You turn away from him, leaving the door open in a silent invitation, one he quickly understands. You register the sound of the door closing and locking behind you as Chris enters your apartment. Before you can take another step, you’re stopped by a pair of hands landing on your hips and pulling you back. Your body connects with Chris’ and you can’t help the soft moan that escapes you as you feel him pressed against your backside. A shiver runs down your spine as one of his hands traces up, playing with the edges of the robe pulled over your chest, teasingly dancing along the fabric that you knew he was holding back from tearing away.

“Are you testing me?” he breathes into your hair. “I’ve had a very long day and a very tough game.”

“Aw, you poor thing,” you coo, turning yourself around in his arms, being sure to keep your body pressed against him. “Well, if you’re tired, we don’t have to do anything and you can just go home.”

“Why do you always have to be such a goddamn tease?”

You don’t reply, instead choosing to lift a hand and brush the hair back from his forehead. You can see Chris visibly relax as your fingers tangle deeper, his eyelids slightly fluttering as he continues to look down at you. The same smirk you were wearing when you answered the door creeps back onto your face as your grip tightens around his curls, Chris’ breath hitching as you tug his lips closer to yours until they were barely touching. Your empty hand traces down his chest, ducking underneath his open coat before settling on his erection, straining against the material of his dress pants. You relish the low groan that rumbles deep from his chest as you gently palm him.

“That’s why,” you whisper, your lips just scarcely brushing against his.

The next sound that comes from Chris is one that would best be described as growl as his hands reach down to grasp the back of your thighs, lifting you off the floor. He swallows your gasp, pressing your lips against his and your legs instinctively lock themselves around him. In a split second, you are pressed against the nearest wall, Chris’ hips grinding deeply into yours.

“Is your roommate expected to be home anytime soon?” he asks in between kisses.

“She’s visiting her family for the entire weekend,” you reply, still somewhat breathless from his actions.

“Thank god.”

Not even a second after those words were uttered, you feel Chris’ fingers grip the edges of your robe and pulls, or perhaps more accurately rips, it open. You don’t have any time to react as Chris pulls you back in for another desperate kiss and you can feel his hands running across your newly exposed body, pushing the remaining fabric away from your form until your robe is hanging in the crooks of your elbows. You kiss him back with a fervor as both of your hands now tangle in his hair, tugging him closer to you even though there was hardly any space between your two bodies.

Chris tears his lips away from yours, pressing them across your jawline and down your neck, pausing only to suck hickeys into your skin, marking you the way he always did when you two were together. Your pulse jumps underneath his lips and a quiet gasp escapes you as you feel his hands trace up your ribcage and land on your breasts, cupping them in his palms. You are certain he can feel your heartbeat and you moan as his fingers move slightly, now teasing your nipples, sending jolts of electricity down your spine and straight to your core. You pull his head away from your neck in order to crash his lips back to yours and he gladly swallows all your noises.

You tear your hands from his hair and start to trace them down his neck, across his broad shoulders. They sneak under the collar of his heavy winter coat only to hit the collar of his suit jacket and you can feel the soft cotton of his dress shirt underneath that. You whimper out of desperation, wanting to get your hands onto his skin. Your hands find his tie and with practiced fingers, undo the knot before practically ripping it from him. You feel Chris’ chuckle against your lips but you are past the point of caring as your fingers return to his chest and start to undo the buttons of his shirt. You manage to unbutton at least five before your desire becomes too much and you sneak your hands underneath the fabric, finally feeling his warm skin beneath your fingertips.

You take your time, your hands dancing across the planes of Chris’ chest, sneaking down to feel his abs clenched both in the effort of supporting you and in response to your gentle touches. You start to hastily tug his shirt out of his pants until your fingers dip lower, hooking through his front belt loops. With a sharp tug, you pull his hips forward, lifting yours to meet his and Chris breaks away from your lips with a moan as he feels your bare center grind against him. Your legs tighten around him as your hands return to his shoulders and his lips return to your neck. Your fingers grip the collar of his coat as you attempt to push the fabric away from his frame, if only to lessen the number of layers between the two of you. But you are too impatient, his coat is too heavy, and with a sharp huff, you realize how unfair this situation is: you almost completely naked and he still fully dressed.

A small chuckle escapes Chris and you can feel him smile against your skin at your frustration. He pulls away, locking your eyes with his as he smirks down at you.

“Having trouble sweetheart?” he laughs, his condescending tone both infuriating you and turning you on, a combination you never thought would work together.

“You’re wearing too many clothes.”

“Well, I could say the same thing to you, since I clearly remember asking you to be naked when I came over. So, consider this payback,” he shoots back at you, his lips returning to their spot on your neck. Another whine escapes you as Chris continues to kiss your skin and a shudder runs through you as his teeth just barely scrape over your pulse point.

“How about this,” he whispers, breaking away and making eye contact once more. “I’ll forget about your mistake if you head to the bedroom and wait for me, exactly how I expected to find you. And in return, I’ll get rid of some of my clothing on the way to meet you. What do you think?”

You lean your head back against the wall, pretending to think over his proposition before you glance back at him with a smirk.

“I think I’ll take you up on that deal, Kreids,” you reply and laugh at the frown that appears on his face at the use of the nickname. He pulls your lips into his and you can feel his annoyance at your incessant teasing poured into the kiss. You kiss him back as he pulls your legs from around him, keeping a hold of the back of your thighs until your feet finally hit the floor.

The two of you break away from each other and even though neither of you wanted to spend any time without your bodies pressed against one another, you both knew that you would end up tangled together soon enough. You start to turn away and wander down the hall when you hear the heavy fabric of Chris’ winter coat being shucked off. You glance back to see him place the material over the back of your couch, his hands going to grip his suit jacket next. He notices you watching him and he freezes, raising one of his eyebrows at you, silently telling you that he wasn’t going to continue until you held up your end of the bargain.

You sigh, playfully rolling your eyes as you turn back around and continue your journey to the bedroom. You can still feel Chris’ eyes on you so you decide to tease him once again as you tug at the ribbon around your waist, unraveling the knot that was just barely holding your robe onto your body. You shrug the material off, letting it fall to the floor and you can hear the quietest of moans sound from behind you. You flip your hair as you look back at him, his eyes now dancing up and down your naked figure. When they finally connect to yours, you shoot him a playful wink and let your giggle be the last thing he hears before you disappear around the corner into your bedroom.

After pushing the door closed behind you, you wander into the comforting four walls, eyes dancing over the slightly rumpled sheets on your bed.

“Wait for me exactly how I expected to find you.”

Those were his parting words before he sent you here. And you knew exactly what image Chris had in his mind: you seductively laid across the bed, bare and exposed to him, like the pictures you had sent less than an hour ago.

However, while that might be what was dancing through his head, you knew what he really wanted. The two of you found yourself in this situation too often to pretend. That was the truth. And the truth felt – tasted – sweeter than any fiction.

After finding the center of the open space in your bedroom, you lower your body down, knees sinking into the plush carpet. You adjust so your legs are spread, resting back on your heels as you wait, facing the door, listening intently for the sound of footsteps.

They come quicker than expected and you perk up, arching your back to put your chest on display, hands resting delicately on your thighs. You feel your heartbeat pulse as your eyes follow the movement of the door handle being pushed down before the door swings open, revealing Chris.

And his reaction to seeing you on your knees before him was worth the wait.

You blink up at him, your best doe eyes tracing his broad frame. He was still clothed but at the very least, there was only one layer now separating his skin from you. The winter coat and suit jacket were gone, leaving him only in his slacks and white dress shirt, still rumpled and partially unbuttoned from your earlier actions.

The initial shock fades from his face, relaxing into that quiet confidence that attracted him to you in the first place. He waltzes over to you and you have to stop your body from raising up to meet him, instead letting your eyes stay locked to his as he stops mere inches in front of you.

Chris’ hand reaches down, tracing over your jawline and you preen under his delicate attention, eyes fluttering close.

“This… wasn’t exactly what I had in mind,” he mutters, fingers still stroking your skin. Your eyes open, your eyelids hooded as you glance up at him, a slight smirk threatening to appear on your lips.

“You don’t have to lie to me, baby,” you reply, letting your words flow like the wine you had been drinking, crisp and buttery as your hands reach out to his legs, trailing up his thighs. “I know all you were thinking of on the drive here was my cherry lips wrapped around your cock.”

Your heart trills at the sound of the half hiss, half groan that falls from Chris as your hand finds the familiar place on his groin, adding the barest amount of pressure against his length, feeling him hard and wanting. Chris’ thumb moves from your jawline to your lips, tracing your red pout, slightly pulling at your bottom lip.

“Such vulgar words coming from such a pretty mouth.”

“Maybe you should fuck those words right out of this pretty mouth.”

“Is that what you want me to do?”

“I want my mouth on you, one way or another,” you reply.

“Well darling, it’s right there waiting for you.”

Chris smirks down at you, a smirk which you return and with his concession, your hand glides over his bulge once, lifting to wrap around his belt. With a quick sequence of movements, you manage to unbuckle the leather, slipping it out of the silken loops and discarding it to the floor without care. You hear Chris chuckle above you, a half-muttered impatient falling from his lips but you don’t bother to quip back, too focused on undoing the button and zipper of his pants.

And yes, perhaps you were a little impatient. But not impatient enough to not tease him back.

The movements of your fingers shift directions, moving from the silky material of his dress pants to the soft cotton of his shirt, undoing the last few buttons before sliding your hands up his abdomen, feeling his muscles tense underneath your fingertips. You reverse your movements, hands descending and as soon as you hit the waistband of his boxers, you hook your fingers underneath and pull them down along with his slacks, finally exposing his length to you.

Chris was beautiful. Every single part of him. But you swore that his cock was one of the prettiest you had ever seen; tall and hard and it was all because of you.

You feel Chris card one of his hands through your hair, placing it at the base of your skull as a gentle guide, a quiet encouragement. It is easy to give in, leaning forward to messily press a line of kisses along the length of him, some of the scarlet paint from your lips transferring to his skin. The soft groan he makes spurs you on as you come to the head, giving it a small lick, collecting the salty taste of his precum onto your tongue before you envelop him.

The moan that falls from Chris’ lips is anything but quiet as you take more of him, hollowing your cheeks around him, your tongue tracing the map of the veins that you had familiarized yourself with ages ago. The noises that come rumbling from Chris’ chest echo around the room and make you desperate as you continue your motions. You pull off him, moving to press more kisses into his skin, one of your hands keeping the steady rhythm against him as the other moves to cup his balls.

“Fuck, baby, I need your mouth back on me.”

“Now who’s impatient?” you laugh.

As soon as your words register, you feel the quiet hand that had been resting at the back of you head tighten, fingers tangling in your hair. A gasp is all you manage when Chris pulls you back, directing your gaze up to him, his eyes blown dark.

“Do you want to repeat that, sweetheart?” he asks, his voice low and you can’t stop the shiver that runs through you at how easily the power was able to jump and shift between you two.

“Maybe you were right,” he continues, his voice smooth with an edge of condescension that just makes you keen more. “Maybe I should fuck those smug words right out of that pretty mouth of yours. Would you like that?”

The response you give isn’t verbal but is eager nonetheless as your mouth immediately drops open, eyes wide and needy looking up at him. A chuckle rumbles through Chris at your reaction. You soon feel the incessant press of his hand guiding you forward and you don’t waste any time before wrapping your lips around him again. Chris gives you a slight moment before pushing you further and you relax your jaw to accommodate him.

“Ready?” he asks and you eagerly moan around him in confirmation, your hands coming to rest on the back of his thighs. “You look so pretty like this,” Chris muses as he starts to thrust into your mouth, gently at first but slowly increases his speed.

You whine against him and the additional sensation causes Chris to move deeper, the head of him hitting the back of your throat, making you to sputter around him. Chris pauses for a moment, letting you catch your breath before you move against him, a quiet encouragement for him to continue.

The glide of him in your mouth, the weight of him against your tongue, all of it was heavenly and you made sure to savor every feeling. You moan again as Chris’ speed increases, becoming rougher and more desperate, tears pricking in the corners of your eyes as you keep your eyes locked on him, the praise falling freely from his mouth.

“Fuck, you are so perfect for me. So goddamn perfect, taking me down your fucking throat. Fucking hell sweetheart.”

You whine again, desperate to make him cum, tears falling down your cheeks as Chris continues his brutal pace. It only takes a few more moments before Chris’ hips still and you gag slightly when you feel the stream of hot cum hit the back of your throat. But you breathe through it, greedily swallowing all he gives you, tongue still working around him as his body goes lax.

Eventually, Chris’ pulls you back and guides you off him, his hand moving from the base of your skull back across your jawline until his thumb finally presses against your bottom lip, swollen and slick.

“So beautiful,” he hums and you gently suckle his fingertip for a moment before pulling away with a smile. Chris’ eyes darken and before you can blink, he is pulling you off the floor before crashing his lips into yours.

You moan eagerly into his mouth, arms wrapping around his shoulders as Chris pulls you closer, deepening the kiss before walking forwards. You let him blindly guide you until you feel the back of your legs hit the edge of your bed. Chris is gentle in laying you down, keeping a strong grip on you as he lowers you onto the sheets.

He removes his hands from your body and lifts himself up, shrugging off his shirt; the last of the material clinging to his body, finally making him bare as you. The two of you silently appraise each other until you finally break the silence.

“Is this more of what you were expecting to see when you came over?” you tease, a blatant reference to the photos that were the catalyst for this entire night.

“One of the few positions I pictured you in,” Chris murmurs.

“What else did you picture?” you ask, the building anticipation making you breathless. Chris’ only response is a smirk, one that had your heart fluttering in your chest.

This time, it is Chris that drops to his knees and it isn’t long until you feel the heat of his palms seeping into the delicate skin of your knees. The strong press of his hands makes your legs fall open, even though he wasn’t met with much resistance on your part. As soon as his eyes connect with your soaked cunt, another groan rumbles through him as his hands move upward to grip your thighs.

You sigh, head falling back against the sheets as you feel Chris’ lips press against your inner thighs, his kisses trailing higher and higher, closer to where you needed him the most. A gasp rips from your chest when he throws your legs over his muscular shoulders, his grip on your hips pulling you down closer to him.

“Do you want to know what I thought about on the way here?” he asks, knowing his question would be rhetorical as you were too wound tight with anticipation to give a coherent response. “I thought about doing this.”

The instant those words were spoken, Chris moves forward, his mouth finally connecting to your core. A loud moan escapes you as you feel his tongue glide in a bold stripe up your slit, hips bucking up involuntarily.

“God, you’re so fucking wet for me,” Chris murmurs, removing his mouth from you, much to your displeasure. “Did sucking me off get you this turned on, sweetheart? Did you like having my cock in that pretty, perfect mouth of yours?”

“I like it better when it’s inside of me.”

“All in good time,” he replies, his mouth reattaching to your center. You throw your head back, a hand reaching down to tangle in his curls. You can feel Chris all over you, tongue delving into your folds, lips attaching to your clit as your hips roll to aide him in his movements. Chris moans as he continues his ministrations against your core, the vibrating hum pulling even louder moans from you in response. The breaths you take are short, staccato, the space in between them filled with whines and whimpers as Chris continues to work you over, the only other noise echoing around the room was the obscene sound of Chris eating you out like a man starved. Which, considering the amount of time since you last saw him, might be true.

He craved you as much as you craved him. But still, you needed more.

You tighten your fingers in his curls, pulling them a little harsher than before, tugging him upwards. Chris is reluctant, moving only a centimeter or two to focus his attention on your clit, tongue flicking over the sensitive bundle of nerves and you swear if he stayed there a single moment longer, you would fall apart. And as tempting as that sounded, you wanted to feel him seated deep inside of you first.

“Chris, stop. Stop,” you whine, tugging his hair again and Chris finally removes himself from your core, his chocolate eyes glancing up at you, the glimmer of concern reflected in his pupils. You silence that worry with a smile, pulling him up the length of your body to capture your lips in a desperate kiss. Your tongues clash and you can’t stop the moan at the taste of yourself. Chris pulls away, his face hovering over yours, the doubt gone from his eyes but a silent question still there.

“I didn’t invite you over just so you could spend the night with your head between my thighs,” you say, the wicked smirk still pulled across your lips.

“You seemed to be enjoying it,” Chris laughs, returning your grin with one of his own.

Instead of responding to him, you pull him down to your lips again, slightly catching him off guard as you kiss him deeply. Chris gives in, letting you take the lead and it is then that you hook a leg over his hip and using all your strength, flip him over.

His back hits your sheets as a surprised huff escapes him, his curls haloing out around his head. You lift your torso up, straddling him, the power once more in your hands.

“I’m going to enjoy this even more,” you quip with a roll of your hips. The feeling of your soaked folds gliding over his cock causes a simultaneous moan to be released from both of you. You circle your hips a few more times, content to tease Chris again. You know it’s working when you feel his hands come up to grasp your hips in an attempt to coax you into sinking down on him.

A small giggle escapes you at his desperation but you don’t let him suffer for long. You lift yourself up just enough to reach between your thighs, gripping Chris’ length and moving your hand in a few languid strokes until you line him up with your center and finally sliding him into you.

You moan as you feel your walls stretch around him, accommodating his length and size and you can feel Chris’ hands tighten on your hips as he responds similarly. It didn’t matter how many times you did this, how many nights you spent with your bodies intertwined, this moment always felt like heaven.

There’s a momentary pause after he is fully sheathed inside of you, your head falling back as a gentle sigh falls from your parted lips. Your eyes finally open to glance down, connecting back to Chris’ eyes to find him smiling up at you, his own eyes staring up at you with such awe, as if you were the most exquisite creation in this world. One made just for him.

“Sweetheart,” Chris whispers, his hands pulling your hips forward to grind against him. “I need you to start moving. Please.”

His honeyed voice is music to your ears, a melody twinged with that yearning that always made you feel powerful. And who were you to not follow the request of someone who desired you that deeply?

You plant your hands on the expanse of his strong chest, using him to steady yourself as you lift yourself up almost entirely off him before lowering yourself back down, feeling the vibrations of Chris’ groan rumble in his chest at the sensation of your tight walls around him. You continue your movements, settling into a rhythm that has you moaning as you circle your hips, Chris’ palms warm against you skin as an encouraging guide.

Soon, you feel one of his hands disappear from the place on your hip and reach up, his elegant fingers tracing over your collarbones, up your neck, before cupping your jaw. His thumb stretches to press against your plush bottom lip, smearing the remnants of the cherry red lipstick around your mouth before his hand moves again. He caresses your jawbone, moving back until his fingers hit the waterfall of diamonds still dangling from your ears, the jewel-encrusted strands slipping against his calloused skin.

“I need to buy you more jewelry if this is where it gets me,” he muses, his sentence a little stuttered at the feeling of your hips still rolling against him.

“I wouldn’t mind a necklace,” you tease but the chirp quickly dies when Chris’ hand falls downward to wrap around your throat with a gentle squeeze.

“Careful what you wish for,” he hums and you want to laugh again, wanting to tell him that his hand was exactly the necklace you had imagined. But any retort was silenced as Chris’ hand tightens around you as you feel him shift, moving his hips upward to thrust into you. He continues, pulling the most exquisite sounds from your lips as the two of you move in tandem, your release beginning to build at an almost excruciatingly slow pace. But you still need more.

And as always, Chris seems able to read your mind.

“Lean back for me sweetheart,” he whispers, the tone of his voice changing into something darker and you knew the dynamic had switched once again. You weren’t complaining though as you tilt your body backwards, your hands reaching behind you to find purchase on his thighs in order to prop yourself up.

You hear a deep groan fall from Chris as your core is exposed to him, the angle of your body giving him a perfect filthy view of where the two of you are connected. You swear you can feel your skin ignite from the heat of his gaze on you and that fire only increases when he thrusts upward once more, this new position making him hit that spot within you that had made your body weak.

“Fuck, baby,” he moans, his eyes still glued to your center, watching as your cunt swallows every last inch of him. “You look so good like this. Look so good taking my cock in that tight little pussy.”

You have no response except for more moans, your whines heightening in pitch as Chris continues his movements, your desperation causing you to move your hips to match his thrusts, that release that you were chasing promising to come crashing over you soon.

Chris’ hand falls from its place on your neck to trail down the front of your chest, following the path between your breasts, stopping momentarily to tease your nipples pebbled in the low lamplight of your bedroom. You whimper, the sound high and tight in your throat as you feel his fingers continue their descent, tracing every curve.

“Oh fuck,” you cry out as his fingers connect with your clit, adding the barest amount of pressure but just enough to make you clench around him, causing an almost animalistic growl to be pulled from Chris’ chest. He doesn’t stop his actions, his skilled fingers continuing to rub against you, aided by your own slickness, your hips faltering as that tightness in your stomach builds and builds.

“Are you going to cum, sweetheart?” Chris grunts as he feels your walls flutter around him. “Come on, I want to feel you fall apart around me.”

It doesn’t take any more coaxing from him for your orgasm to hit, the waves of pleasure crashing over you almost violently as your body stills, a cry falling from your lips. Chris continues the pressure on your clit, prolonging your release as your entire body trembles above him before removing his hands from your center.

Both of his hands fall to grip the inside of your knees and using all his strength in a maneuver that even you can’t wrap your head around, you feel yourself falling backwards until your spine connects with the sheets. Chris is quick to come hover over you again, placing your legs around his hips before pressing his length against you once more, the feeling of him easily sinking into you taking whatever remaining breath you had out of your lungs.

“Fuck, Chris,” you whine as he begins to move his hips, falling into a forceful rhythm that renders you speechless, helpless to do anything else but lie back and let him take what he needs, which you do gladly. The feeling of him pounding into you coupled with the lingering sensitivity of your previous orgasm makes your walls pulsate around him, driving him closer to his own release.

Somehow, you find enough strength to lift your arms to tangle your hands into his curls once more, pulling his face towards you until your foreheads are resting against each other, your eyes connecting.

“Please baby,” you whisper, “please cum. I want it, I want to feel your cum inside me.”

Your gentle pleas are what finally pushes him over the edge and the two of you let out mutual moan at the feeling of his cock throbbing, the warmth of his release spilling deep into you. There is a pause as the two of you catch your breath before Chris plants his hands next to you, lifting himself off you, a small whimper being pulled from your chest as his length slips out of your oversensitive folds.

You feel his body weight disappear from the mattress and your legs instinctively close, collapsing together to one side. You think that’s the end of it – it’s how your nights together usually end, the both of you feeling satiated and satisfied.

At least, that’s your belief until you feel one of Chris’ hands grasp the back of your knee once again.

You feel him pull your body towards the edge of the bed, your heavy eyelids opening to see him standing in front of you.

“Chris, what are you –”

The question dies on your tongue as Chris drops to his knees on the floor and throws you legs over his shoulders and the feeling of déjà vu is entirely justified as you find yourself in the exact same position as you earlier this night.

Chris moves forward, his broad shoulders forcing your thighs to fall open even more and your whimper when you feel his breath hit your glistening center.

“I finish what I started,” he mutters before pressing a hot open-mouthed kiss to your core. The feeling of his tongue against you has your body tensing, a strangled gasp coming from your chest. Chris pulls away for a moment, his hands running soothingly over your thighs.

“Is this too much?” he asks and you shake your head, the absence of him somehow worse than the sensitivity of him moving against your ruined cunt. “Words, darling. I need to hear you.”

“No. No, it feels so good, please keep going Chris,” you manage to whine out. You see the flash of a small smile before Chris is connecting his lips to you once again.

“Fuck baby, we taste so good together,” he hums, his tongue delving into your folds as another moan falls from you as Chris’ tongue traces every crevice of your pussy. “Do you want a taste?”

You breathe an affirmative and whine as you feel Chris collect a mouthful of your combined cum before he lifts himself up. He crashes his lips into yours and you moan into his mouth as the tang of the mixture glides across your tongue. You swallow every drop, licking your lips when Chris pulls away, causing a chuckle to rumble through Chris at your actions before he falls back to his position between your thighs.

Always the attentive lover, you can tell Chris is being a little gentler in his movements as you are still sensitive from your previous activities but it doesn’t really matter because that very same sensitivity heightens every sensation he makes against your folds and before you know it you feel the band in your stomach tightening once again.

“Chris, please,” you beg, not entirely sure what for, his mouth moving sinfully over your soaked folds.

“Come on baby, give me one more. I know you got one more for me,” he whispers against you, lips closing around your clit, his tongue flicking in that exquisite way that made your second orgasm of the night come swiftly, practically slamming into your body. Your legs tighten around Chris’ head as rock against his mouth with a loud moan, your cunt clenching and forcing more remnants of his cum from your spent pussy. Chris’ only response is to place a muscular arm across your hips, pinning you down as he gladly laps up your release, slowing his tongue to draw out your high for as long as he could.

Your body finally relaxes and Chris presses one last small kiss against your core before lifting himself up to hover over you again, kissing you deeply. Your hands blindly tangle into his hair and hold him close to you, a few more whimpers being pulled from your chest until Chris breaks the kiss.

“Do you need anything?” he asks, hand brushing the hairs clinging to your skin away from your face.

“No,” you reply, fingers playing with his curls. “I’m good. Thank you.”

“Thank you,” he says, kissing your forehead before untangling himself from your grasp and disappearing from the bed.

You lay back against the sheets for a moment, catching your breath before you roll over, eyes finding Chris as he wanders around your room, gathering the clothes that were scattered in every direction.

“Can’t stay the night?” you ask, knowing it was never really part of your arrangement but never seen as a taboo thing between the two of you.

“Have to get ready for a road trip tomorrow,” he replies, slowly redressing, his warm skin vanishing from your sight once more. You only hum in acknowledgement, lifting your body up to sit on the edge of the bed, your sore muscles protesting every movement.

You reach up, gently removing the backings from one of your diamond earrings and placing it down on your nightstand as you begin to ready yourself for bed. You repeat the process on the other side and out of the corner of your eye, you see Chris standing there, his eyes attached to you.

“What?”

“Do you really want a necklace?” he asks and you can’t stop the breathy laugh that falls from you.

“I mean, if you’re offering” you reply, a teasing smile pulling at your lips. “Although, I will let you know that your hands do make the prettiest necklace.” Your smile widens as you see Chris’ look falter for a moment before he is returning your grin.

“I figured you’d like that.”

“I did. But,” you continue, your tone remaining at that playful pitch, “can’t have your hands around my throat all the time so, jewelry is a good second.”

“How about gold?”

“I could work with that.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

#nicole writes #chris kreider fic #chris kreider imagine #chris kreider smut #new york rangers fic #new york rangers imagine #nhl fic #nhl imagine #hockey fic #hockey imagine #la petite mort

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comphy-and-cozy · 1 year ago

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50 w Kreids :)

this turned way spicier than I was anticipating so enjoy xoxo

celebrate 1K with me

Prompt: #50 "Why would I stop when it gets me what I want?"

Pairing: Chris Kreider x Reader (f)

Word count: ~550

Warnings: implied smut but still very intimate spice so 18+ ONLY. Voyeurism, fingering (brief), heavy tension.

The night sky is clear, the beach quiet save for the distant sound of waves crashing on the shore. There's a slight breeze in the warm air, but you're plenty cozy lounging in the hot tub of the vacation home Chris rented for a friends' weekend in the Hamptons.

Everyone else has either gone to bed or is sitting by the fire on the other side of the house. Except for Chris.

Chris, who's taking slow sips of his beer, gazing at you like a predator stalking its prey. The feeling of his eyes on you alone makes goosebumps erupt across your skin.

“Do you like my bathing suit?” you ask nonchalantly, toying with the strap sitting over your shoulder. "It's new."

He hums, taking a long swig of beer, then eyes the tie between your breasts. “Actually, I think that part is better off.”

“No,” you feign shock. “You think so?”

“Know so.”

You're helpless under his heady gaze, unable to resist the hold he has on you even from across the hot tub. You don’t know why, but suddenly you’re untying the bikini top, letting the fabric float away in the water.

The corners of Chris' lips turn up slightly as he watches the white straps bump against the wall.

“What about the bottoms? They’re so cute.” It comes out before you even have a chance to think better of it, instead the teasing proposal enough to elicit a further smirk from the man sitting across from you. He's pleased, smug, like he's got you exactly where he wants you. You suppose he probably does.

He acts like he's thinking long and hard about the predicament, and with the way his eyes glean at even the distorted view of your tits under the water, you think it's safe to assume he's thinking plenty about you removing all of your clothing. Then, with a dramatic shrug he says, "Think they gotta go too, darlin’.”

But you can't make it quite that easy. You have to at least push back a little.

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea. Anyone could walk by.”

“I think you’ll find that it’s a great idea.”

It's short and sweet but no less convincing. You bite your lip, then glance around to make sure no one is coming. The silence assures you, and soon you’re slipping off the bottoms of your bikini, joining its mate in the corner.

His eyes grow warm, molten even, as he tugs you closer by your waist. Your knee bumps against his thigh, firm and muscular, while he pulls you into his lap. Gentle fingers brush past your entrance, making you shiver when his knuckle nudges your clit.

Chris teases you for a moment, toying with your slip before he dips a finger inside. You suck in a breath, tensing up.

“Chris, stop!” you whine, shoving his hands away playfully. Then, more seriously, you add, "Not here."

“But darling, why would I stop when it gets me what I want?” he says with a smirk.

"Because if you get me inside, I'll be completely naked in your bed."

He contemplates for a moment, then leans over to grab the extra towel he set on the bench beside the hot tub, tossing it at you. "You make a good point. Let's go."

#chris kreider fic #chris kreider imagine #chris kreider blurb #hockey imagine #nhl imagine #hockey fic #c's 1k celly #m00nlightdelights #asks

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harlowhockeystick · 1 year ago

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Congratulations on 2k! 🎉 I would love for you to create a moodboard based on Chris Kreider and a cosy winter date please? 💛

✨ moodboard

j’s 2k celly!

#my asks #my mutuals #j’s 2k celly #chris kreider #chris kreider imagine #nhl imagine #nhl fake post #nhl fake instagram #fake post #fake instagram

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cuylleed · 3 months ago

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NHL players

I only write for the New York Rangers, I write on both tumblr and Wattpad, just message me on here for the player and scenario, and if you want smut or fluff, only if you want me to write someone

#hockey #new york rangers #nhl #nhl players #will cuylle #matt rempe #nhl imagine #artemi panarin #will cuylle smut #chris kreider smut #matt rempe smut #x reader #female reader #fem reader #fluff

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razzle-dazzle97 · 1 month ago

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yall i need the 2017-18 hockey fanfic community to help me. my favourite fanfic of all time from the nhl fandom is called casino night horror and it was from the hockey fanfiction website (like it was called hockeyfanfiction.com). i found the fic in the hockeyfanfiction tumblr archive but whenever i click read more, it takes me to the hockeyfanfiction.com website (i hyperlinked the archive search for the fic) and then no fics are found on there.

PLEASE does anyone know how i can access the entire story??? there’s 9 chapters and i only remember reading up to the 3rd or 4th chapter and i really really really wanna finish it.

i appreciate if anyone has any info or can get this post some traction so the right people can find it

#nhl #hockey #new york rangers #hockeyfanfiction #hockey imagine #hockey writing #hockey fic #hockey fans #hockey fanfiction #brady skjei #chris kreider #henrik lundqvist #nhl imagines #nhl fandom #nhl fanfiction #nhl fic

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cellythefloshie · 2 years ago

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;; 12 Days of Kinkmas Day 12 - Chris Kreider - Baby, It’s Cold Outside

Summary: After another winter date, you invite Chris inside to get out of the cold. Part three to Kinktober 2022 Chris Kreider - voyeurism and Kinkmas Day 1 - first snow. (I would recommend reading those first!) Kinks & TW: oral sex (female receiving), protected sex, Chris has strong sexual fantasies about reader, mentions of voyeurism, Chris is back with his mildly creepy ways again and I’m living for it. Chris calls reader: Baby girl. Word Count: 4527

TAGLIST : @wingedwheelprxncess @mitchymainer @equallyshaw @starshine-hockey-girl @beccaiscold @samanthasgone

When you had made your way into the darkness of the cinema to enjoy a film, the skies had still been bright and the New York City weather warm - or as warm as it could be in the dead of winter. It had been so nice, that you had dressed up a little bit outside of your usual fleece-lined leggings and large knit sweaters the cool temperatures had restricted you to. It didn’t go unnoticed either. Chris’ face had brightened at the sight of you, his hand coming up to hide the smile that crept onto his features. He loved to see your curves - and while your jacket still kept much from his eyes, it only made him excited for the warm weather of summer that would inevitably come with each day passing. He enjoyed every moment of sitting next to you during the film, as he could glance over at you and admire how the light struck your features so perfectly and gave him a perfect view of your breasts in your low-cut blouse. He relished in every moment of it, that was until you both exited the theatre and were thrown into the frozen hell that was a snowstorm.

Chris was quick to draw you in close, his feet kicking up the snow that had built up during the two-hour run time of the film. He was quick to chill, and he was sure you would be shivering soon enough, as he tried to flag down a taxi but the roads were congested, the traffic bumper to bumper and when the cars did get to driving they were sliding through intersections. While you were both cold, it quickly became clear that the road wasn’t going to be the safest way back to your apartment, and so you walked - or rather did your best to run.

The cold hurt the lungs and sent your skin stringing and red from its winds, the run was filled with laughter. Your hands had been entwined with his entire time, and you both slipped and stumbled from time to time leaving the other to help hoist them back up. Your clothes were wet by the time you reached the apartment door, your form shivering, and he could feel every quake of it as he held you to him.

“You rush on in,” he told you quickly before his lips came down to place a warm kiss against your temple. As much as he wanted to linger, he couldn’t have you freezing, “get warmed up.” And he took a step back, moving back into the chaos of the sidewalk, letting the wind envelop him as he waited to assure you got inside safe.

“Chris wait!” You called out to him as you fumbled with your keys. “It’s cold outside-”

His heart began to hammer in his chest. Chris didn’t need to hear another word to know what you were about to suggest. You were going to invite him inside. Excitement shot through him like a bolt of electricity, he had been waiting for this moment since your first date when the first snowfall of the winter season had dusted the streets with its beauty - hell, maybe even before that when he had been a mere voyeur watching you through your windows.

He brought a large hand up to his face, running it over his cold, rosy face to hide the smile that spread over his features. It was far from coy and he needed a moment to find his composure. He moved back through the crowded sidewalk and came to stand with you beneath the awning.

“Which is why you need to get inside,” he told you firmly, his hands coming up to rest against your cold cheeks.

“I can’t have you walking home in this,” you told him and Chris could only shake his head to hide the smile that only threatened to grow.

He had yet to tell you that he lived just across the road in the towering luxury condominiums in fear that you would somehow realize that he could see right in through your windows.

“It’s not too far, really,” he tried to assure you, but you were quick to reach up and take his hands.

“Come up, have a drink and we can wait for the storm to pass,” your tone was convincing, not that he needed it.

“Alright, alright,” he told you gently and let his hands fall from your touch, “if that gets you inside - you’re shivering.”

Wrapping an arm around you, Chris kept you close as you ran your keychain over the keyless entry and felt you tremble against his strength as a gust of wind helped you both through the front door. You were both greeted by a gust of warmth. It was enough to warm his cold skin, but his dampened clothes were cold and heavy on his frame - so he kept you close as you moved to the elevator and took the ride up. It was only when the door parted on your floor that Chris freed you from his gentle hold.

Chris followed behind you, his cold hands shoved in each of his pockets as he kept his head down just enough to seem clueless as to where he was going. He may have never been inside your apartment before, but he knew exactly where he was going - to the lone apartment at the end of the hall. It was the only apartment that could possibly have windows he could see in so clearly. His heart was pounding hard in his chest as you came to the door, his body temperature rising to leave Chris to tug his tight scarf away from his neck to casually free himself from the choking feeling that suddenly had struck him as you opened the door.

He tailed in behind you, and in an instant, his lips were overtaken by a smile. Your apartment has a homey ambiance, with mismatched furniture you had undoubtedly thrifted or had handed down to you, and your tables and counters were cluttered with trinkets and plants that kept the apartment from looking too clean to be lived in. But the best part? The apartment smelled like you. The unique smell that lingered on your clothes and on your skin, it was everywhere. Consuming him in its familiarity. It felt like he had been in your apartment a million times before, and in a way, he had as he watched you through your window. He knew the layout, and where you liked to keep your favorite things - and experiencing it all now, left him breathless and standing in the doorway.

“You can come on in,” you called out to him. You had already kicked off your boots, leaving them in a heap by the door and had already stripped off your coat and put it in the closet. You moved through your pace so casually, turning on the lights to give him a better view of the living room. “I can check if I have anything dry you might be able to change into.”

Chris wrinkled his nose at your words, he didn’t like the idea of you having another man’s clothes laying around your apartment.

“I’m sure they’ll dry,” he assured you, stopping you from disappearing off into your room as he kicked off his boots, “but thank you,” he added quickly and moved for your large windows.

He was wearing a ghost of a smile as he stood behind the panes of glass and looked out at the city below. His hands slipped into his pockets as he did his best to look casual, his neck leaning back just enough for him to look out to the floor-to-ceiling windows of his own apartment building across the street. Chris is hit with a wave of relief as he sees nothing but a glare over the glass of his window. You weren’t able to see into his apartment. You would have never been able to catch him watching you.

“You have an amazing view,” but he’d argue that his own view was better.

“Thanks,” your voice was soft from the kitchen, a chorus surrounded by a symphony of clamours as you shuffled through the cupboards for two mugs, “it’s much nicer than the brick wall I was looking at in my last place-”

Chris let out a low chuckle as he moved through your living room and found the remote in the place you always seemed to leave it. From his place standing beside your sofa, Chris flipped through the channels while you prepared a warm drink. The tv cast a flickering glow through the apartment until he settled on a news network, one that had weather warnings plastered all over the screen and at its center an aging news anchor at his desk cautioning people of the risks that came with leaving their homes.

“Looks like it’s supposed to go all night,” Chris was slow to speak as he was chewing on his tongue to fight the guilt that came with taking advantage of such a situation. There was really no risk in walking across the street, but he couldn’t risk you knowing he lived so close. Not yet, anyway.

“Which is why I put s shot of Baileys in our cocoa,” you smiled as you came up alongside him, offering him the hot mug.

Chris’ smile blossomed as he took it in both hands. Its warmth removed any chill that had lingered in his body as he brought the sweet drink to his lips. He sipped it slowly as he such down to sit on the arm of the couch, a single hand reaching out to guide you to stand between his knees as you siped from your own cup. His hand lingered on your hip once he had you in just the right spot, his thumb stroking over your curves slowly.

“I hadn’t intended to intrude all night,” Chris spoke slowly, carefully.

“I’m the one that invited you in,” you reminded him pointedly as you reached out just far enough to place your cup down on the coffee table, “I don’t have an issue with you having to stay the night.”

“I can sleep out here on the couch, it’s the least I can do,” Chris suggested slowly, his leaving your hip to pat the back of the couch casually.

“Yeah, okay,” you nodded slowly, your face softening with disappointment - no, you were surprised, as you pulled back from the place between his knees that he had guided you into, “I’m just going to get changed for bed and I’ll bring you a pillow and a few blankets. It can get pretty cold in here at night.”

Watching you disappear into your bedroom, Chris leaned his head back with a sigh. You wanted him, he was sure of it, but he couldn’t let himself indulge in you just yet. No matter how much he craved you, or how desperately he wanted his fantasies to become a reality, Chris wanted you to feel respected. He wanted you to want it just as badly - and the two of you had only been out on a few dates now, the last thing he wanted was for you to feel obligated to sleep with him in a world where sex had quickly become a complicated way of saying thank you.

He could hear you rummaging through your drawers in the next room, and it draws his eyes back to the door that you had left open just enough for him to see the amber glow of your lamp and the silhouette of your shadow as you moved through your room. Reaching a hand up in restraint, Chris carded his hand through his thick black curls and racked away the tangles that had been brought on by the strong winter winds. He would get ready to sleep, but it wasn’t without a wandering mind. He removed each damn article layer by layer, making sure to lay them out neatly over the arm of the couch, but his mind was more focused on how he wished he was helping you out of your clothes.

You were probably changing into one of the many pairs of pyjamas he had seen you in before. Something just modest enough to keep him the gentleman he was trying to be. Just the thought made his skin crawl in all the best ways, but it did leave a nagging question on his mind. Would you be warm enough? He was nowhere near warm as he stood in the living room in nothing but his boxer briefs. Surely, you’d be left shivering as you slept alone in your bed, and it pained him to know that you’d be sleeping mere feet away in the next room. The thought left his chest aching as he settled down on the sofa and waited.

When you emerged from the bedroom, you were make-up-free and wearing an oversized t-shirt. It was so big on your frame that it almost had him convinced you weren’t wearing anything else underneath. That was until he let himself look a little too long and saw the thin fabric of your shorts playing peekaboo from beneath. In your arms, you carried a pile of blankets with a plush pillow on top, but they were quick to fall from your grasp as Chris stood up from his seat on the couch.

You both stare at each other for a moment, and Chris feels like he can’t breathe, he’s seeing much more of you than he had expected - and you of him - and all control was lost.

It only took him mere strides to close the gap between you both, and his large hands were quick to find your waist. His touch wrinkled your oversized t-shirt, his touch firm as he hoisted you up from the ground in one swift movement. Chris almost paused, waiting for you to protest, but you never told him to stop. Instead, your legs were winding around him, anchoring yourself to him as he carried you back into the bedroom.

Before he could carry you over the threshold, his lips were on yours, indulging in the sweetness of your tongue. He had kissed you before, but this time was different. He was hungry for you, and he made that clear with how he stroked his tongue along yours, and how his teeth bit down on the lower lobe of your lip and tugged it. Not hard, and not too firmly, just enough to leave you letting out a quivering gasp at its release.

Chris didn’t let go of you, not until he had carried you straight to your bed - a bed that he had only ever dreamed of getting to crawl into until now. He lowered you down onto it and its unmade blankets carefully, before crawling up onto his himself. He nearly sunk into its plush comfort, his mind a mess of imagery as it recalled all the nights he had watched you in your bed. Some nights he would stand by his window, watching as you undressed and crawled into bed for nothing more than sleep. Others, he touched himself at the view of your own hand between your legs. Now, he would finally get to fuck you in it.

He crawled up the length of your bed as you lay beneath him, your heels digging into the mattress to push yourself up with him so that you could lay among your pillows. Chris nearly cursed. He had always hated how many pillows you kept on your bed. His hand reached out, roughly knocking a series of decorative pillows onto the floor. You wouldn’t need them, not when he fully intended to occupy the space he would claim as his in your bed. Chris’ smile grew at the sight of them on the floor and with them out of the way, there was nothing stopping him from finally delving into you - that was except for your tiny pair of sleep shorts.

They looked more like panties now that you were laying out on the bed, the loose legs of the tiny shorts riding up your leg and the thin fabric gathering at the apex of your thighs and along the sweet folds of your cunt. Chris salivated at the sight, his tongue gliding down over his bottom lip as he settled in place between your legs as you watched him from where you lay on your back.

“Chris-” the tone of your voice was inquisitive.

You were asking, ‘what are you doing?’ with nothing more than his name and it left him shaking his head. Had no man ever treated you properly? What a shame it was, but a blessing all the same. He would get to be the first.

Sinking low onto his stomach, Chris dragged hot kisses up the inside of your thighs. His lips paved the way with each hot caress over supple skin, the hair of his mustache and goatee rough in contrast, earning a gentle sigh and the careful tense of your muscles as you realized just what his intentions were.

“Relax, baby girl,” he hummed into your flesh, his lips fluttering just along the hem of your shorts, “I’m going to take these off you, okay?”

Chris look up over the curves of your body as you spoke and watched as you gave off a desperate nod. With your consent, he reached a hand up and loosened the tie of the waistband with a single finger before dragging the soft fabric down your legs. Beneath its thin fabric, you wore nothing else and Chris was greeted with the glistening shimmer of your needy cunt. With his jaw jacked he settled between your legs, a single hand reaching out to admire you. His thumb stroked around the outside of your lips, stroking over the smooth skin there before dragging down. The touch of his second hand found you as well, coming up on the other side of your cunt and he spread you open with the guidance of his thumbs.

“So fucking beautiful,” he cursed, his hot breath washing over your cunt - and he felt you shutter, “do you taste as good as you look, baby girl?”

Leaning in, Chris dragged the flat of his tongue over the entrance of your core and up to your clit slowly just to get a taste. It earned a satisfied hum, a guttural growl of need at the back of his throat. You tasted better than he could have imagined. He was quick to delve back into you, one of his hands guiding one of your legs over his shoulder as his tongue began to toy with your clit. His tongue flicked over it skillfully, sucking on the sweet bundle of nerves on occasion and it coaxed a soft moan from your lips - so that was what you sounded like all those nights he could do nothing more than watch you touch yourself, but now he was the one making you moan and he was only going to make you louder.

Drawing back, Chris let out a satisfied sigh and brought a thumb to stroke over your clit in the absence of his mouth. His eyes fell on your cunt, wet with a mixture of his saliva and your need he couldn’t hold back much longer. He was going to be selfish, he needed to know what it felt like to have you wrapped around him.

Your name slipped off his tongue, and it broke you from the pleasure-filled trance he had seemed to put you in, before asking, “where do you keep the condoms?”

He watched as you pushed up onto your elbows, your chest heaving as you tried to find an ounce of composure just to be able to think. You raised a hand up, pushing your hair back out of your face so you could look around your own room. “They should be there, in the dresser,” you panted out, a single finger pointing out to the top drawer.

Chris pushed up from the bed, shamelessly moving to the dresser with no attempt to hide the bulge of his stiff cock in his boxer briefs. He wanted you to know just how big he was, and how badly he wanted you. He drew open your drawer and found back a smile when he found that not only did you keep your condoms in this drawer, you kept your panties there too. His fingers dragged over silk, cotton, and lace before settling on the box of unopened condoms. His brow quirked up, casting a half glance back your way. He had never seen another man in your place, but surely you had a use for them. Surely, men hadn’t been so stupid as to overlook someone as beautiful as you.

His hand tore at the flimsy cardboard packaging discarding it back in the drawer as he withdrew a single foil from the box. He made quick work of it, before shoving his boxer briefs down his legs. Springing up, his cock was eager and only grew stiffer as it met the cold apartment air. The warm touch of his own hand was almost too much for him as he worked the condom onto his cock.

As he did this, his eyes weren’t focused on you, but on the window and his building across the street. Any one of the neighbours could have been watching you over the last few months, just like he had been. Watching as you lived your life with little worry and little care - and now, they were going watch him fuck you.

Crawling back up onto the bed, Chris didn’t stop until he was hovering over you and between your thighs. Leaning in, he kissed you slowly to hide just how excited and desperate he was for you. He was near trembling in restraint as he reached down between your bodies and took his cock in hand before guiding himself down. The head of his cocked dragged down over the slick he had created with his tongue and guided himself slowly into your core.

Chris wanted to watch your expression as you took him. To watch the feeling of ecstasy overwhelm your features as your wall welcomed him so eagerly with their embrace, but it was all too much for him and it sent his own eyes fluttering shut. He welcomed the darkness it brought, and the calm he so desperately needed so as to not completely come undone before he got to enjoy you fully. It steadied his breath and cleared his mind, letting him focus solely on the feeling of your body beneath him.

Your skin was warm and soft beneath the touch of his fingertips as he stroked his hands up the breadth of your thighs. His hands craved to stroke over every inch of you but stopped at the peak of your thighs where the hem of your t-shirt rested. He toyed with the fabric, contemplating pulling it from your body and leaving you completely naked beneath him - but quickly decided against it when he peered down at you through his thick lashes. Chris loved how you looked draped in the oversized shirt - though he would have loved it more if it were his own. He could see every single one of your curves as the shirt fell down to the bed and your arousal only made the definition of your breasts more prominent as your pert nipples pressed up into the thin fabric. It was merely a second skin on your body that he would leave on your frame during the cold night.

Chris sunk his fingers into the sweet flesh of your hips, using the careful hold as leverage as he rolled his hips. His thrusts were deep and steady and never hastened. Not even as you moaned out his name and gripped at the linens as you grew tighter around his cock. It left him uttering curses of pleasure under his breath, his hand leaving your hips to find your wrists. He tugged at the carefully drawing you up from the bed and into his lap effortlessly, all the while not slipping from the embrace of your core. His arms wrapped around you in a careful embrace of his own, the strength of his arms helping guide you up and down the length of his cock as he let his lips return to your own. Chris kissed you slowly, and with such passion, the moment didn’t feel real.

In an attempt to remind himself that this was more than just a fantasy playing out in his mind or in a dream, Chris’ actions became desperate. His fingers clutched at your back through your shirt and he thrust up into you harder. His lips fell open against your own in a low groan, and his skin grew hot with the threat of his own pleasure. Sweat began to roll down his chest and back in beads, and he let himself draw away from your lips. He looked over your features with a faint smile, a hand raising to stroke over your cheek before he leaned in and buried his face against the supple skin of your neck. He could not risk you seeing his face, and how emotional became with the last thrust that sent him to the peak of his pleasure.

Chris let out heavy breaths against your neck as he came down from his high. His body was nearly trembling as he smiled and let himself draw back from your just enough for his eyes to find your features again. He was grinning far too wide and he knew it, but he hid it behind a soft chuckle as he cupped your face in his hands, “I take back what I said about sleeping on the couch.” And his words had you laughing too as he lifted you from him, and carefully helped you lay back on the bed. “Get cleaned up, I’ll keep the bed warm for you,” you promised him as you tangled yourself under the covers.

With his grin wide, Chris walked through your apartment naked and shameless. As he moved through it, he assured all the lights has been turned off and that the door was locked before he reached the bathroom. He discarded the flooded condom into the trash before washing himself up quickly in the sink. And while it didn’t take all the long, by the time he returned to your bedroom you were fast asleep.

Raising a hand up, he ran a hand over his jawline and smiled. Fuck, you looked beautiful in your sleep, peaceful too, and he would hate to disrupt you. So Chris crawled into your bed slowly and got comfortable under the covers and against one of the few pillows that remained. From there he drew you in so that your head was resting against his chest and he watched you with a smile for he finally had lived out his fantasy of getting to be with you - but your story wasn’t over. Not yet.

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