#adrian kempe imagine

[senditcolton]

hi I’m back with another request, this time for something different—I think it’s high time we as a community started to appreciate adrian kempe more because he is so pretty and I think he’d be so deliciously mean. so, you have free reign on introducing him to hockeyblr because I know you’ll kill it🩷

- @comphy-and-cozy

Thermostat at 69

a/n: C, ( @comphy-and-cozy )thank you for requesting this. Sorry this is soooo late but here is my first (and definitely not last!) contribution to the Adrian Kempe agenda. Hope it's as delicious and as mean as you were hoping it to be!! Word Count: 4k Song Inspo: Bed Chem by Sabrina Carpenter Warnings: heavily tattooed, tattoo artist reader. smut! Adrian being deliciously mean, degradation, praise, poolside shenanigans, slgiht choking, fingering (f receiving), unprotected penetrative sex, and probably my most depraved cumplay thus far.

There was one widely accepted rule in the world of professional tattooing: don’t fuck your clients.

Most people added the words “with” or “over” to that statement, which was good practice as well. Clients were how you made a living so it was a smart idea not to piss them off. Happy clients brought more business which brought more money.

But not fucking – in other words, sleeping with – your clients was also a good rule. No matter what business you were in, most people agreed blurring the line between personal and professional relationships spelled trouble. This was only heightened when their skin was permanently marked with your artwork.

You knew this.

But when Adrian Kempe walked into your Los Angeles studio, looking to start his newest tattoo sleeve, your portfolio caught his eye which led him to fall into your chair. And the blend of his good looks, his lazy smile, and the sounds he made when that needle hit his skin had him falling into your bed shortly after.

It was a shit idea, brought on by proximity, adrenaline, and mutual attraction – something that should’ve stopped or faded once the initial thrill wore off. But it never did. It also never progressed into something more than casual, a stalemate that you were thankful for. If genuine emotions got involved, it would spell disaster.

Simple. Physical. That made it easier to justify keeping Adrian in your life. Made it easier to cut him out of it if the need ever arose.

But here, now, laying on a lounge chair in the backyard of Adrian’s house, your sketchpad in your lap, the sound of splashing water tickling your ears, and the warm summer sun beating down on you, it was hard to imagine wanting this to ever end.

Your eyes lift from your paper as you drop your pencil to shake out your hand, chasing away the beginnings of a cramp. Through your sunglasses, you can see Adrian swimming laps or doing something equally athletic in the pool, his muscular frame appearing and disappearing over the tiled trim.

Your presence at his house in the afternoon hours indicated that the lines that defined your relationship had begun to shift but you always wrote it off as reaping the benefits of your connection: a pool, a place to relax, and more chances to drink in the sight of Adrian’s body.

Which you gladly do.

Especially as he rises from the water, hands pushing back his chlorine-soaked hair, rivulets falling down his frame. Your eyes rake over him, taking in the swim trunks that look a little too small for his muscular thighs, the ink adorning his tan skin, that gold chain resting against the hollows of his collarbones. You watch as he gathers his blond locks into that ridiculously adorable bun, securing it with the hair tie around his wrist.

Even though you know that he could feel your stare for the past few minutes, Adrian doesn’t turn his dark eyes to you until now, a smirk appearing on his face as he makes his way over to the empty chair next to you, grabbing a towel to dry his skin.

“How’s it going?” he playfully asks, peering over at your sketchbook.

“It’s not. Not really,” you respond with a faux sigh, pushing up your sunglasses to look over your sketches. They were – in fact – almost complete but Adrian didn’t need to know that. Your eyes dart back over to him, fixing him with a stare that borders on risqué.

“Keep getting distracted.”

You can feel your heart flutter when that smirk appears on Adrian’s face and you can practically see his chest lifting as he preens under your attention. It takes all your will-power not to roll your eyes at his reaction, but even if you did, the rush of arousal thrumming through your body would still come.

What can you say? You liked him cocky.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah,” you murmur, daring to let your gaze rove over his frame again before returning to his eyes. It is only then, when you feel like you have him in the palm of your hand, do you drop your siren eyes and huff. “My skin feels like it’s on fire.”

 Adrian just lets out a small laugh, not at all deflated by your demeanors 180-degree switch. That smile remains on his lips as he drops the towel in his hand, taking a seat at the end of your lounge chair.

“So sorry to hear that,” he says, his voice now laden with a gentle tease.

“I think I need another layer of sunscreen,” you declare, turning your body and grabbing the small bottle sitting on the table next to you. Your hand wraps around the sunscreen, adjusting it in your grasp before you lean back on the lounge chair. With another wicked grin appearing on your lips, you hold out the bottle to Adrian.

“Can you help me?”

The question is coy, ladened with all the feigned innocence you can muster. Hell, you even throw some batted eyelashes into the mix. Another deep chuckle emanates from Adrian’s chest, wise to your games but still thoroughly enjoying being a part of them too.

“What wrong with your hands?”

“I don’t want to get any oil residue all over my pages. Ruin all my hard work.”

The excuse comes to your lips easily as you act like that was the most obvious and only reason you wanted Adrian’s hands all over your body instead of your own. Adrian just laughs again before taking the bottle from your hands. You smile at him, happy to get your way as you lift yourself to an upright position. Adrian’s eyes watch you even as he squeezes the sunscreen into the palm of his hand. You shoot him a playful wink before flipping your body around, your back now facing him and your legs straddling the lounge chair.

The sharp intake of breath that you hear behind you makes you giggle quietly to yourself. You know you look good, the small bikini putting your own tattooed skin on full display. Adrian had previously mentioned multiple times that this was one of his favorite views. Why wouldn’t you indulge his pleasures?

Your hands reach up to gather your hair into a clip before tossing another glance over your shoulder.

“Make sure you cover all my ink,” you playfully demand. You can see Adrian’s dark eyes flow over your body, following the lines and curves of the ornamental tattoos cutting through your skin and highlighting your own natural curves. Another smile tugs at your lips as you turn back, a soft sigh escaping you when you feel the weight of him scoot closer.

“I won’t miss a spot,” he murmurs, that accented voice heavy.

The chill of the sunscreen hitting your skin feels heavenly, almost as heavenly as Adrian’s hands and you don’t stop the pleased hum that falls from your lips at his touch. You can feel his body shift as he diligently works the lotion into your skin.

It starts innocent enough, Adrian’s hands smoothing over your back, against your shoulder blades and down your spine. But soon, his touch starts to wander. It’s exactly what you were hoping, exactly what you expected. Although, you do have to admire his commitment to keeping up the ruse of applying your sunscreen, his hands only following the path of your tattoos.

They dance around the curve around your shoulders, pressing into your collarbones before lifting to just barely cup your throat before retreating.

They wrap around your ribcage, fingers gliding just barely underneath the cups of your bikini top, his thumb just a whisper over the swell of your breasts before vanishing.

They follow the ridge of your spine down before spreading across your lower back, sneaking underneath the strings that held your bottoms onto your frame, strong fingers pressing into the muscle of your hips. It isn’t an encouragement to lean back but you take it all the same, your head coming to rest against his strong shoulders.

You hear a quiet hum vibrate from Adrian, his touch moving along the curve of your body, the strings of your bikini still stretched over his large hands. It’s only when his palms are securely over the cut of your hipbones, his middle fingers resting perfectly in the crease where your thighs meet your torso, do his movements stop.

“Need anything else from me?” he whispers, his breath scorching the shell of your ear. Your eyelids flutter open, connecting with his darkened stare, that fucking smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

And with that, you knew you were done for.

You should’ve known it from the beginning. The two of you always ended up like this; you all bold and bratty at the start and all Adrian had to do was touch you and you melted like ice cream on a summer’s day in his hands. It would be annoying if both of you didn’t enjoy the game, the dance, the tease. True, he was yours to command and control but only when he was in your tattoo chair. Anywhere else, you relinquished yourself to him.

“I should probably keep sketching,” you murmur, trying desperately to hold onto any modicum of strength, pretending that you hadn’t already become weak under his attention.

“Are they for a client?” he asks, his fingers flexing against your skin, sending another rush of heat through your body – a heat that had nothing to do with the sun still beating down on the two of you. You gently shake your head, looking up at him with your eyes wide and pleading.

“Then they can wait.”

The sigh of relief that escapes from you is almost immediately swallowed as Adrian captures his lips in yours, one of his hands moving to rest over your pubic bone, his fingers reaching lower. You whine into his mouth as his fingers slip over your clit, down between your folds.

“So wet already,” he mutters, gently caressing your heat, forcing more of your arousal to slicken his skin. “And I’ve barely even touched you. Such a desperate little slut.”

There is a delicious rush of shame that runs through you, one that makes your cheeks heat as you bury your face into the juncture of his neck. You hear his dark chuckle vibrate against your back, his other hand disappearing from your thigh before reappearing around your neck. His elegant fingers press against your jawline, forcing your eyes to reattach to his.

“Getting all shy on me now? Like this wasn’t the reason you called me over,” he teases, his now soaked fingers lifting from your center to press against your clit.

You whine as he starts to circle the sensitive nub, the pressure delectable but just shy of enough. Your hips buck at their own volition, silently begging for more, causing another laugh to fall from Adrian.

“There’s my girl,” he whispers, that quiet praise just spurring you on more. “Always so needy.”

Adrian slowly increases the speed and pressure of his fingers against your clit, the sensation causing more arousal to pool in your bikini bottoms, bottoms that Adrian hadn’t even bothered to remove. You dare to look down and the sight of his hand disappearing beneath the fabric made you feel even more desirable, like he wanted this so much that he didn’t want to waste any time with the removal even though all he had to do was untie the two bows on your hips.

You’re slowly reduced to whimpers and whines as Adrian continues his ministrations, your lips slightly agape in breathy need, your eyes constantly tracing his face, the lazy cocky expression never leaving, even as he purposefully takes you apart.

A shift of his fingers has you whining, the calloused tips now pressing almost directly against you, sending white hot jolts of fire through your body. The sounds that emanate from you are an amalgamation of curses, pleas, and Adrian’s name, only spurred on by the feeling of Adrian’s hard length pressed against the base of your spine.

“That’s it, alskling,” he mutters, the grip around your neck tightening just enough to hold you in place against him as your body begins to writhe. “Just like that.”

You whine, chest heaving as one of your own hands grip the side of the lounger while the other finds purchase on Adrian’s arm resting across your chest. The heat that flows through you makes your body feel on fire, Adrian’s movements between your thighs never ceasing. You can feel your eyes start to roll back, nearing the crest of that pleasurable peak. Adrian presses a gentle kiss against your temple, a sharp contrast to the sinful things he is doing with his fingers before his sultry voice hits your ear.

“Come for me, prinsessa. Remind me why I never want you to leave my bed.”

The demand is clear and you are helpless to do anything but obey, your body spasming as your orgasm washes over you. Adrian holds you tight against his chest, only your hips moving to chase his hands as he works you through your high, groaning at the feeling of your release flooding from your pussy.

“So fucking beautiful,” he mutters into your hair, fingers flexing against your throat as your body slowly begins to still. You look up at him, your eyelids heavy and your breathing light, wanting to feel his lips against yours again. Adrian reads your silent plea, kissing you deeply and the warmth fills you from the inside, content and satiated, even as his hand withdraws from the apex of your thighs.

You think it’s the end of it, your desires reached and Adrian’s hands disappearing from your body. It takes a decent amount of strength to lift yourself upright, the sweat that had collected on your shoulders from where they were pressed against Adrian’s chest beading down your back. You can feel the weight of Adrian’s body vanishing from the lounge chair and you are about to follow suit.

Until – right as one of your knees presses into the mesh fabric of the lounger – you feel Adrian’s hand grip your shoulder and carelessly throw your body forward. You manage to catch yourself, your arms resting on the top of the chair as you glance over your shoulder.

“Adrian, what are – ”

The question dies on your lips when you feel Adrian’s hips press against your backside, the weight of his dick against your now soaked bikini bottoms forcing a choked moan from your chest.

“You think I’m gonna let you tease me and you’re the only one that gets any pleasure from it?” he muses, that dominant edge appearing in his accented words.

“But you like it,” you attempt to quip, although the words sound more like a whimper as his hand traces down the ink adorning your back before gliding over the curve of your ass.

“Yeah, I do,” he says, hand tugging the material of your bikini to the side, exposing your cunt, glistening in the summer sun with your prior release. “But I like the feeling of you wrapped around me more.”

Adrian only gives you a moment to register his words before you feel the silken head of his length pressing against your slit. You whine as he pushes into you, a string of Swedish curses falling from his lips.

“Fucking love the way your cunt feels after you’ve come. So wet and tight for me.”

His name leaves your lips in a desperate whimper, your chest heaving at the sensation of Adrian deliciously and deliberately stretching you open. Your hands grip the top of the lounger as you press your hips back, taking him deeper. You can hear his chuckle pierce the air before he sharply thrusts forward, his body now flush against your ass, the length of him fully sheathed inside of you.

“Fuck,” you spit out, the feeling of Adrian filling you so completely that you couldn’t understand how you were ever satisfied before him. Adrian responds with a similar curse, one of his hands gripping your hip and the other finding a place next to yours on the back of the lounger.

You can feel the heat of him washing over you as he withdraws his hips, the sensation of him pulling out of you almost as delectable as the feeling of him pressing into you.

Your head drops down, forehead pressing against your arms draped over the top of the lounge chair as Adrian begins a steady rhythm. His grip on your hip is strong, pulling your body back to meet him with every thrust, the depraved sound of both of your sweat-slick skin slapping together combining with the mutual moans and filling the humid summer air.

“Such a perfect view,” you hear Adrian mutter, more to himself but the words do make another rush of arousal run through you. “Such a pretty fucking thing.”

Even if you wanted to respond, you don’t think you could, the sheer feeling of pleasure erasing all coherent thought from your mind.

A gasp is torn from your lips as you feel Adrian’s hand fall from its spot on your hips, curling around your body before sneaking down and pressing against your clit.

“A-Adrian,” you whimper, the pressure of his calloused fingertips against the sensitive bundle of nerves setting your body ablaze. “Fuck, its – it’s too much.”

Adrian responds with a small hum, seemingly in understanding but instead of removing his fingers, he simply stops all movements, pressing his hips flush against your ass. You whine – this time in disappointment – and you feel the heat of him cascade over you as he leans down, his chest hovering mere millimeters from your back, the warmth of his breath hitting the shell of your ear.

“Is this better, prinsessa?” he asks and you can hear the tease in his words, him fully knowing that it isn’t. Even in your first rendezvous’, Adrian somehow had an insane innate understanding of your body, your pleasure, your needs, and he regularly took advantage of that ability.

You whimper, the sudden stillness making you keen as your pussy flutters around him, your core pulsing against his fingers.

“I can feel how much you want it,” he whispers, his voice dipping deeper into an almost growl. “Always so fucking desperate.”

You can only manage to let out another whine, his name falling from your lips in a drawn-out plea.

“Come on, alskling. Take it. Show me how much you want my cock.”

 Like every time before this one, his demand makes you desperate which makes you comply. You rock your body forward, a moan falling from your lips at the renewed sensation of him sliding against your walls, his fingers still maintaining pressure on your clit. Driven by the need of Adrian – of the pleasure he could provide – you press back with a fervor, practically slamming your hips back to meet his.

“Fuck, there’s a good girl,” Adrian moans, the heat of his words muffled as he buries his face into the juncture of your neck and shoulders. His praise just spurs you on, your hips circling as you continue your rhythm against him.

The pressure coiling within you continues to build, your breathing becoming staccato. The only noises coming from your mouth are half-uttered whimpers and moans. You were so close, you could feel it. But you needed more. You needed him.

You somehow find the strength to lift your head, looking behind you, your gaze landing on his pulled-back blonde hair, his lips still pressing kisses into your shoulder blades.

“Adrian,” you manage to whine out, the syllables extended with pure want. The sound calls his attention to you, those sultry eyes lifting up to meet yours and that sight makes you moan again. “Need you,” you whimper, your lips moving into a soft pout and Adrian – like always – reads your desire with an ease that makes your head spin.

His hand falls the top lounge chair to cup your jawline, a soft brush of his thumb against your supple skin a sharp contrast to the way your body is still writhing underneath him. He pulls you closer, until his lips are only a whisper away from yours, your eyes fluttering close.

“Come for me, prinsessa,” he whispers. “Prove that your all mine.”

The quiet demand is what finally sends you over the edge, your orgasm pulsing through you. Any moan that falls from you is swallowed by Adrian lips and tongue pressing against yours as your body trembles with the force of your release.

Adrian wastes no time taking over your rhythm, fucking his hips into you as the aftershocks of your orgasm still linger. Your tear your lips away from his, a shriek escaping you as Adrian uses your body to chase his own release. Your breathing is fast and shallow, tears pricking at the corner of your eyes as Adrian takes what he wants.

“Feel so fucking good,” he grits out.

You only respond with another stuttered whimper before a gasp is torn from your mouth as Adrian’s body suddenly and completely vanishes from yours. Another surprised breath is forced from you when Adrian’s strong hands grip your hips and flip you over, your back crashing against the lounge chair.

Your eyes dart up to land on Adrian, his body towering over you, silhouetted by the afternoon sunlight. Your gaze trails down, across his taut muscles of his chest and stomach to where his hand is wrapped around his hard cock, stroking a quick rhythm against the smooth skin glistening with your release.

“Want to come seeing that beautiful face,” he mutters and even in your post-orgasm haze, a soft smile appears on your lips. Your hands lift, cupping your breasts as your mouth gently drops open, tongue pressing against your teeth, a silent encouragement. You can see Adrian’s eyes darken, his pace increasing until his groan cuts through the summer heat, hot ropes of his cum hitting your chin and splattering across your decolletage. You moan, your tongue darting out to collect the creamy release as you stare up at Adrian, his own breath slowing.

Adrian’s eyes finally open, those piercing irises looking down at you, dancing over your skin now marred with his cum. You let out a soft giggle, the sound of it pulling Adrian fully back to the present moment, a smile appearing on his own face.

“Well,” he muses as he lifts himself off the lounge chair. “I don’t know if I was very helpful with applying your sunscreen.”

The joke makes your smile grow wider before it turns wicked, your finger dancing over your breasts, gathering more of Adrian’s release on your fingertips.

“That’s okay,” you tease, lifting your fingers to your lips and dipping them into the warm cavern of your mouth, sucking them clean before popping them out. “I think I like this better.”

You can see a flash of renewed interest dance within Adrian’s eyes in response to your teasing before he extends a hand to you.

“Join me in the shower?” he offers, his upturned palm and the subtle promise of more beckoning you.

“And ruin all of your hard work?” you quip, not quite ready to give in. “Seems a little wasteful, no?”

Adrian doesn’t respond at first, choosing to wait until you finally place your palm in his. With his strength, he hauls you off the lounge chair and onto your feet. You watch as his eyes dart down to your chest, his cum now pooling in your collarbones. A gasp falls from you as his head darts down, tongue extending to press against your body, lapping up his own release from your skin. His mouth follows the curve of your throat before jumping to your lips. You moan as he presses his tongue against yours, the tang of him filling your mouth as you whimper, your knees growing weak before he pulls away.

“We can always make another mess later.”  

a/n 2: this was hastily edited after a very long day at work so I apologize for any mistakes/repetition/etc. but I just had to get it out because y'all have waited long enough (especially you C, since I kept torturing you with mentions of it in our messages)

taglist: @laurenairay @fallinallincurls @solros-world @svexhenthusiast @jjgsunflower @alexxavicry

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[comphy-and-cozy]

Dear god - Adrian Kempe

Pairing: priest!Adrian Kempe x Reader (f)

Summary: After a tough breakup, what better place to turn to for support than the church? AU.

Word Count: 4.3K

Warnings: Brief reference to drinking/drugs, religious guilt, extreme sacrilege, desecration of a confessional booth, etc. Smut (18+ ONLY). Unprotected sex, oral sex (m + f receiving), fingering (f receiving), degradation, spanking. Think Fleabag hot priest but if he was a hockey player. If this is going to offend you, please do not proceed. Your media consumption is your responsibility.

Author's Note: Blame @senditcolton on this delicious, deranged, blasphemous beauty of an idea. I'm so sorry. And a huge thank you to Nik, Rickie and my beloved discord fam for answering all of my religion questions 📿✝️ I'm not Catholic but I tried my best!

MOODBOARD ← BACK TO MAIN MASTERLIST ← BACK TO 'SO CLOSE TO WHAT' MASTERLIST

The breakup left you broken in every sense of the word. No matter where you went, reminders of Rob followed you everywhere—on the 405, at the coffee shop, in the shower.

You tried everything: booze, drugs, men, women, therapy—none of it could banish him from your head for more than an evening. And then you’d wake up, usually feeling worse for the wear, and the memory of his touch, his voice, his scent would flood back into your system and the agony would set back in.

You’re not sure where the idea to return to church came from, but you find yourself making your way to the St. Joseph Cathedral in Los Angeles. It’s been a few years since you were a regular attendee, and since you’re arriving well before evening Mass, you’re hoping that there won’t be a huge crowd that will recognize your very delayed return.

Fortunately, the nave is almost empty save for a few solo congregants scattered throughout the numerous pews. It feels strange to be here, feeling like there are whispers following you, judging you for your extended absence from the pews—you’re sure that’s just the religious guilt gnawing at your conscience.

And then you hear your name, with a lilt at the end like the speaker can’t believe it’s you.

You turn and you’re greeted by a familiar face. “Father Adrian. It’s good to see you.”

He’s smiling, as handsome as ever. His long hair is tied back into a neat bun, the sleeves of his black shirt rolled up to his forearms. You always liked Father Adrian; he had a more approachable energy than the others, his casual nature much less intimidating than the stoic Father John that you grew up with.

You’ve changed, but so has he. He looks older, more comfortable in his skin; he’s filled out his form a bit more than before. He looks good.

“How have you been?” he asks.

Pausing, you contemplate how you want to answer his question. The familiar sharp throb in your chest returns, along with the flash of Rob’s face. But you plaster on your practiced fake smile and manage, “I’ve been fine. And you?”

Father Adrian smiles knowingly, like he can see straight through your lie, but he humors you anyways. “I have been well, thank you for asking.”

You manage some small talk for a few minutes, pausing when the last of the congregants bids him farewell on their way out.

Once the large wooden door shuts, the sound echoing slightly in the marble ceiling of the church, Father Adrian turns back to you. “So, are you going to tell me the truth? Why are you really here?”

Your gaze shifts to your feet, feeling a mix of shame and guilt at his call out. “I… had a really bad breakup. I’ve taken it pretty hard—I’m not doing very good. I’m a little desperate, to be honest.”

Father Adrian’s smile is wry. “You must be, if you’re turning to the church for help.”

There’s levity in his voice, and you let out a soft chuckle. The action feels strange, almost unnatural—you can’t remember the last time you let out a genuine laugh.

“I’m sorry to hear about your breakup,” he says. “It sounds like you’ve been having a tough time.”

You nod, glancing down at your feet. Now that you’re here, standing in front of him, saying it out loud, you wonder why you ever thought this was a good idea. This was stupid, you think, reaching for your bag and ready to make some excuse to leave—

“Would you like to go Confession?”

Your eyes follow his motion toward the booth. You hadn’t even thought of it as an option, but now that he’s offered it, you contemplate. There had always been something cathartic about confession, releasing your sins and laying yourself bare in the privacy and anonymity of the confession booth.

You’ve tried everything else. Why not?

So, after you nod your assent, he gestures for you to lead the way. Drawing the curtain shut, you take a breath, feeling the familiar weight of Rob resting heavy on your shoulders and in your heart. You sit down, and you hear Father Adrian take a seat on the opposite side of the divider.

“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned,” you say, making the sign of the cross. “My last confession was… a long time ago.”

Father Adrian is quiet on the other side, waiting for you to continue. Your voice wavers, but once you begin talking, the words spill out like a tidal wave. The lump in your throat forms quickly, and before you can stop them, the tears are pouring out, too.

“Please,” you cry, “I want to forget about him. I need to forget about him.”

With the dam of your feelings broken, your deepest, most vulnerable thoughts cascade out into the empty space, absorbed by patient, listening ears on the other side of the screen. You nearly choke on your sobs, breath stuttering in your throat until your words are replaced by short, staccato gasps of air.

The tears slow, like a breath of sobriety flashing through you when you realize that you’ve been babbling nonsensically for who knows how long. There’s silence on the other end, and you take a shaky, sniffly breath, wiping your eyes and praying that your mascara isn’t running too badly.

You shift on the wooden bench, the silence nearing an uncomfortably long length. Embarrassment sinks in and your brain races for a formal response you’re supposed to give at the end of a confession, but there is none.

“Beg.”

Your eyes shoot to the dark, screened window where his voice comes from; you’re sure you had to have imagined that. “S- sorry, Father?”

There’s a soft swish on the other side of the barrier, like he, too, is shifting in his seat; you swear you can hear his breath quicken. “You want to forget about him? Beg for it. Beg Him for it.”

You sit in shocked silence. And then you find yourself sliding off of the bench, finding the hard, wooden floor where so many confessions have taken place. Settling on your knees, you clasp your hands in front of you and squeeze your eyes shut. “Dear God—please help me forget about him. Please. I can’t do this anymore.”

The sound of heels clicking on the floor beside you reaches your ears and moments later, the thick velvet curtain is ripped to the side. Father Adrian is standing, looking down at you on your knees, his frame so large it nearly covers up all of the light from the nave behind him.

“I can help you forget about him.”

Tears line your eyes again. “Please, Father.”

Father Adrian’s lips are on yours before you have a chance to take a breath, hot and insistent. It takes an embarrassingly little amount of time for you to give in, accepting his kiss and returning it. You feel the curl of his smile against your mouth as he helps you to your feet and backs you up, creating space for him to step into the booth with you. He tears away from your lips to tug the curtain shut, wrapping the two of you in secrecy and the promise of sin.

You wouldn’t have been able to remember your ex’s name if God herself asked you. All you can see is him, the crisp white collar distinct even in the dim light. The weight of a thousand worries is no longer pressing on your heart, your mind only able to echo one word: “Father.”

His smile is dark, darker than you’ve ever seen it, and he smirks down at you. One large hand comes to cup your chin, a thumb running along your jawline. The touch makes you shiver with desire.

“I can help you forget about him,” he repeats. “But first, you have to repent.”

You can hear the sound of his belt buckle followed by a zip and a soft whoosh of fabric. Sinking to your knees once again, your hands grasp in front of you, coming into contact with bare, taut thighs. A quick assessment in the dark brings your hand to a firmer appendage, and your body blazes.

Part of you is expecting to be struck dead as your fingers wrap around him, stroking slow and tentative caresses over the velvety skin. Bringing your mouth closer, your tongue drags over his length, and the low sigh of approval directs you to repeat the action. Obediently, you do, the weight of him heavy along your tongue. Once his tip slips past your lips, it isn’t long until its working its way toward the back of your throat. Another low moan echoes quietly inside the walls of the confession booth, thick fingers carding through your hair.

“Eyes on me,” he commands, tilting your head back to allow you a better view. With the change in angle, the control also shifts; Father Adrian holds your head still and presses his hips forward, slipping the tip of his dick over your tongue and back down your throat. Your jaw hinges to accommodate his more than generous size, eyes watering slightly at the tight fit.

In the dim light, you see a smile flit at the corners of his lips at the sight. His eyes, dark and fierce, watch the way his length pushes between your lips, flushed and wet with spit. You blink away your tears, feeling a droplet slip out, sliding down your face.

“Good girl.”

The low praise makes you shiver, a throb of arousal thumping sinfully between your thighs. Father Adrian pulls away to reach for the buttons on your cardigan. He pauses. “May I?”

You look up and your eyes meet his. It’s intense, his heady gaze, and the keen attention he has on you makes you dizzy. In answer, your hands reach up and you begin to unbutton them yourself. You shrug it off, leaving only the lacy bralette that was hiding beneath the light knit.

He breaks his stare, looking down to admire the sight of you. His hands move to run over your breasts, feeling them in his palms; your nipples harden at his gentle touch. Based on the way his dick twitches, you assume he can feel it.

“Gorgeous,” he says, and the compliment makes you preen.

You reach for his length again, eager to touch him once more, and he chuckles. “You like to be praised. Is that because it’s me, or because it’s God?”

“What’s the difference?” you ask, wrapping your hand around him again and earning a stutter in place of a retort.

And then, as if a flip switched, Father Adrian resumes control once more, gently pulling you up to stand. You can hear his heavy breath as he directs you to turn around, encouraging you to bend forward. His body presses up against yours, the rigidity of his hard-on rubbing into your ass while he leans forward and purrs, “The difference is that God can’t fuck you.”

A smile blooms on your face, your hips swiveling against him, feeling the weight of his cock against your ass through the thin, breezy material of your skirt. His low chuckle echoes in your ear as his hands reach for the hem of your skirt that’s past your knees—a respectable length for church despite the very disrespectful things you’re doing inside it—and dragging it up your legs, holding it in place at your upper thigh, exposing your bare legs and mostly bare ass in the very cheeky underwear you’d decided on. You aren’t sure what gave you the instinct to wear lace today, but you’re glad you did.

Despite the darkness in the booth, you still feel the heat of his gaze on your ass. “You wore these to church?”

The irony drips off your frame as you say, “I wasn’t expecting them to be seen by anyone.”

Father Adrian hums. “Take them off.”

You do as you’re told, fingers hooking into the sides and shimmying the lace down over your hips. He drops to his knees behind you, nudging the bunch of your skirt to signal for you to hold it in place; he wants his hands free. You can feel the scruff of his beard scratch against the sensitive skin on your ass, his lips dancing near where you want him, but not quite there.

“Please, Father,” you whine.

He groans at that, and you’re rewarded with his mouth pressing against your folds. He groans again, this time at the taste of you on his tongue, and the vibration of it against your entrance elicits a moan from you.

Your pussy throbs with want just from the feeling of his hot breath against it; the spasm it gives when he drags a finger through your dampness, plunging his tongue between your folds is enough to make you cry out in pleasure. Father Adrian hums, pleased, his mouth moving so expertly on your cunt you wonder how much practice he’s had.

“Fuck,” you moan, dragging your hips over his mouth.

“Watch your language in the confession booth,” he scolds while he brings his finger up to your clit. You can barely huff out a chuckle—surely both of you will be smote any moment now—before that same finger dips inside you and you moan out again. “That’s it, baby. You want more?”

“Please, Father,” you beg, desperate to feel more of him. His tongue dances with his fingers, teasing you and coaxing more arousal from your already weeping lips.

Father Adrian’s finger slips to your entrance, pressing into you slowly until he’s two knuckles deep. Another moan falls from you, and soon he’s added another finger. “You’re dripping, baby. Only sluts get this wet.”

The statement makes you whine, heat radiating in your cheeks, and your hips roll against his face, seeking out more friction. Your action earns a sharp slap against your ass and the loss of his mouth against you. His low voice asks, “Are you a slut?”

“Only for you, Father,” you whisper, pushing back. He spanks you again, this time on the other cheek; a whimper of pleasure leaves your mouth, wordlessly begging him for more.

“Good girl. Now be a good little slut and come on my face.”

Before you have a chance to open your mouth to respond, he dives back into your center, lapping at your folds with fervor.

“Fuck, Father,” you cuss, no longer able to hold it in. He doesn't scold you this time, only increases the pressure of his tongue. You should be embarrassed by how quickly your orgasm approaches, why your fucking priest’s tongue in your pussy is what does it for you, but all you can focus on is seeking it, seeking more, seeking him.

You come with a cry, fingers clutching at the walls of the booth, shaky legs buckling as the waves crash into you. His eager tongue laps it up, warm and wet against your leaking pussy.

And you want more. Surely, you’ll be struck dead soon for the filthy, delicious sin of lust, so you might as well go out with a bang.

“Fuck me, Father.”

Behind you, he freezes, and for a moment you’re terrified you took it too far—oh my God, you freak, you took your priest fucking fantasy too far—but then he’s standing and you hear the clink of his belt hitting the floor.

“Having it in your mouth isn’t enough for you? Want it in this slutty, dripping little cunt too? Want your priest to fuck you until you come on it?”

Heat burns your cheeks—and another part of your body—at the filthy words pouring from his mouth. Your voice is breathy when you say, “Yes, Father.”

“Ride it.”

He sits, hands reaching for your hips and dragging your body toward him. His lips press against your chest, mouthing at the lace of your bralette before his hand tugs one of the cups down, then the other. He licks at your nipples, teeth grazing them until they can tug gently at the hardened buds. At the same time, his hand pulls your hips into him; he gazes up at you with dark eyes as his fingers hook into the waist of your skirt, tugging the material down to pool at your feet. You’re almost completely exposed, while he has his entire garb on; the contrast heightens the power dynamic in the booth, along with the throb between your thighs.

Father Adrian drags you closer, encouraging your knees to straddle his legs. He hums at the position, admiring the way you look perched on his thigh. His lap is taut, muscles lithe beneath your body, and that delicious length bobs against your stomach like a tempting and sinful invitation.

Your breathing goes ragged when he pulls away from your chest, hand snaking between your bodies to fist at his length. A whimper leaves your throat when he glides the tip through your folds, collecting the wetness so he can slide over your clit.

“So wet for me,” he purrs, though his tone is not one of reprimand, but of desirous approval. “Leaking down my cock like a filthy whore. Is there something else you need to confess?”

He presses the very tip into your entrance; not enough to feel more than the pressure, but enough to drive you nearly insane with desire. You squirm, hips desperately seeking out any more friction, but his arm wraps tightly around your waist, holding you in place. “Ah, ah. What is your confession, little dove?”

Your cheeks burn, wondering how he can see directly through you to the deepest circle of your innermost private thoughts; you get the distinct sense that he can read your mind like a diary. “I—I’ve had a crush on you for a long time.”

Father Adrian’s mouth curves up into a smile against your collarbone. He rewards your vulnerability with another dip inside you, this time just the slightest bit deeper. “Is that so?”

“Mmhmm,” is all you can manage with how unbearable the teasing is; you’re sure you’ll burst any second now—from the blasphemy or the insatiable need for release, you aren’t sure.

“Think about this?” he asks. “Did you think about sitting on my cock while I was up there giving the homily?”

Now you’re confident he can read your filthy thoughts—maybe that’s what he’s doing with his intense gaze, peering into your soul. Hot shame blankets your body, conflicting with the sheer pleasure you feel at his tip probing gently against your most sinful area. This isn’t why you sought out the church, but since the opportunity presented itself, you’re accepting is as a sort of divine intervention.

A sharp slap to your ass pulls you out of your thoughts, the sting sending delicious shock waves through your body. “Answer me.”

Your voice lowers to a whisper. “Thought about sucking you off on the pulpit.”

“Is that all?” He gives another lift of his hips, pressing himself another inch inside.

“I—I’ve thought about you while I touch myself,” you confess, the last part of your sentence scarcely more than a whisper.

“Self pleasure,” he comments with a hum. “That’s a sin, you know.”

The irony dripping off of his words is almost enough to make you laugh. He doesn’t give you time to respond, though, pulling himself completely out of you so abruptly that your whimper echoes off of the wooden interior of the confession booth. A punishment for your sin.

Father Adrian stills, looking up at you, perched half-naked in his lap, his erection glistening with your own arousal bobbing at your entrance. “I have a confession, too.”

His intense stare returns, and this time you feel like he might swallow you whole if you let him. The heat between your bodies is sweltering; your pussy throbs with want. His mouth makes a sloppy path up your neck to the base of your jaw before his lips tickle the shell of your ear as he whispers, “I’ve thought about you while I touch myself, too.”

He doesn’t give you a chance to respond before he’s pressing back into you, sheathing himself inside you completely this time. The surprise elicits a cry, what can only be described as a pornstar moan, your hands clutching at his shoulders for support for where your legs tremble with the pleasure. He pulls out, no longer in the mood for teasing when he thrusts upward again with a groan.

“So tight,” he grunts out. “Good girl.”

With the help of his hands, you begin to ride him, sliding up and down his delicious length. Your breasts bounce in front of his face, giving him an eyeful while you seek out more pleasure. It’s wrong, so wrong, and yet the pleasure is something you've never felt before, the forbidden nature of the act elevating the ecstasy that comes with it. Maybe Lucifer was onto something.

“Give me your hands,” he commands in a low voice. He collects your wrists together, holding them in place behind your back and giving you another expectant eyebrow raise. “Keep riding it, baby.”

And you were taught that when your Father tells you to do something, you do it. Your legs carry you up and down, pistoning him in and out of your aching pussy. Low sighs fill the booth, accompanied by his soft grunts that you yearn to keep pulling from his gorgeous mouth. Your mind trails to how much you shouldn’t be doing this, and every time, as if he can sense it, his free hand grips at your ass in encouragement; a silent command to keep going.

So you do, giving in to the sinful pleasure, feeling that delicious, bubbly warmth rise in your body. The bundle of nerves that brushes against his pelvis with every rock of your hips is sensitive, aching to be touched.

“Father,” you manage to say, voice shaky, “may I touch my clit?”

Attentive eyes land on you, a small smirk gracing his face at your question. “You close? Gonna gush all over me?”

You nod, not trusting anything more than a desperate whimper to come out. He doesn’t answer, and you swallow your huff of frustration.

“You may not,” he finally says, and this time you do whine like a petulant child. Your release is so close, just over the horizon, and your only instinct is to chase it.

“But I can.”

Father Adrian releases your hands behind your back, freeing up his extra hand to snake between your bodies. One palm trails heat over your stomach, your sides, your breast, while the other finds a home at the place where you two connect. With slow, steady intention, he presses the pad of his thumb against your clit, circling it while your hips resume their pace.

In an instant, the temperature between you grows to a scorching heat, white hot pleasure radiating from where he touches you. Your movements become more frantic, your release finally a tangible distance away, edging ever nearer.

“Fuck, Father, don’t stop,” you pant, using the sound of your skin against his like a metronome, counting down the strokes until you reach euphoria.

And he doesn’t, keeping his diligent, steady strokes of your clit until your body shudders and the world around you shatters. Your hips falter, trembling with the force of the orgasm that rips through you, a loud cry echoing against the walls inside the booth. “Oh, God—”

A buttery, liquidy warmth fills you as your climax courses in violent tidal waves, eventually subsiding. Once your vision returns and your breath slows back to normal, you look down at Father Adrian, whose hand has stilled along your pelvis. A self-satisfied smirk rests on his face. You can feel him, still achingly hard inside you, twitching when you roll your hips over him again for good measure.

“Can I help you with that, Father?”

The thought of him coming inside you, filling up your bare pussy—oh, God, you just fucked your priest raw—makes you shiver, but before you can even suggest it, his arms are lifting you off of him. He slips out of you, a sigh of disappointment huffing out of you at the loss.

“On your knees.”

They’re wobbly, but you obey. It’s your original praying position, only this time, Father Adrian remains sitting on the bench, his erection soaked in your cum standing proudly in front of your face. His hand grips himself loosely; the sight makes your mouth water.

“Open wide, baby.”

You do as you’re told, and a few strokes later, hot spurts coat your tongue and your cheeks while he lets out a low, guttural groan. He pants long after the cum on your cheek drips down while you swallow the salty liquid on your tongue. “Good girl.”

The next moments are uncertain but not quite awkward as he tucks himself back into his pants. Glancing down at you, he collects a drop of cum from your cheek with his finger, feeding the last bit of it to you. “Can’t waste it.”

You suck the digit, quickly swallowing the last drops of him. Then, he offers his hand to you, pulling you up on shaky legs.

“Feeling better?”

All at once, you realize you haven’t thought about Rob since you first walked into this booth. Father Adrian wiped his memory clean, sanitizing it and putting guardrails around it so you can look back and observe, but don’t linger.

You nod. “Thank you, Father.”

He smiles, pulling back the velvet curtain to let you out first. “I’ll tell you a secret: sometimes the best cure is sin.”

Taglist (message or comment to join!): @lam-ila @ashloveshockey @cellythefloshie @smileysvech @senditcolton

@fallinallincurls

[ladylooch]

Could you write a synopsis for Barzy or Kempe inspired by this excerpt from Taylor?

Your past and mine are parallel lines

Stars all aligned and they intertwined

And taught you the way you call me baby

Kempe!!!!!! Jumping for joy at writing a lil snip for our Swede 😘

I love this song. It's such a mature, in depth way to look at past lovers. Some of T-Swift's best work.

You know you shouldn’t stare… but you can’t help it. She’s right there. The girl who left Adrian when he went to the U.S. to live his dream of being an NHL player. She had been the one, is what he told you one night on Hermosa Beach. You had been laying in the sand, drunk, listening to the waves crash into the earth. You thought maybe you should be gutted by the thought. But you even knew then you were the one. The 4 carat engagement ring tells you now too.

“Babe.” Adrian chuckles, reaching across the table to stroke your hand. He notices your obvious interest after he pointed her out to you.

“She is so beautiful.” Adrian looks at you like it’s a trap. It’s not. She is stunning. And so Swedish. He looks back down at the menu.

“Too bad she is dumb though.” You wait for his blue eyes to meet yours again. “Can’t believe she let you go.”

“She didn’t want to live in L.A. I respect that.”

“Oh, I do too. But I would have fought like hell to keep you. Would move anywhere to have you in my bed. And I’m so glad she didn’t.” 

Adrian chuckles, sitting up to kiss along your fingers. 

“Would have left her the second I met you anyway.” His last kiss lingers on your wrist, right over your sputtering heartbeat. His eyes lock on yours again. “Knew we were meant to be, babe. After you, it couldn’t have been anyone else.” 

He keeps your hand in his, but goes back to the menu like the subject is closed.

You look back across the restaurant at the stunning blonde, in her gorgeous designer dress, looking so cool and casual with a glass of chilled white wine. She's with a group of equally cool friends. You should feel jealous or intimidated by her, instead you feel thankful.

Your gazes connect and you cheers your wine glass to her. She doesn’t know you, but she returns the gesture, then returns to her conversation with her friends.

It’s a silent acknowledgement between two very different women: Thank God he wasn’t for you.

[puckpocketed]

byfield shoutout on pdocast ep from march 14th!!! players that have been thriving to keep an eye on down the stretch!

HELLO!! I listened to it the other day finallyyy getting around to a transcript. He's so good. He's gonna be SO good, I just feel it.

I did a highlight reel of his game vs Washington - the game they talk about here - sooo much of it was him tracking back, being defensively responsible, doing WORK on the penalty kill. He's really come into his own as a center this season.

Once Jim Hiller figures out we need to explode the power play units (28th in the league. HELP) I imagine Byfield will get time on pp1. He scored the overtime winner just hours ago. A true all-situations, 200-foot player. AND an absolute darling!!!

Transcript under the cut!

Players That Have Been Thriving To Keep an Eye on Down the Stretch, The Hockey PDOcast (link)

21:43 - 26:05

[START TRANSCRIPT]

DIMITRI FILIPOVIC: Alright next guy on my list here, I got one final one before we go to break. Let's do Quinton Byfield. So I think last time you and I chatted, we talked about the Kings within the context of Kevin Fiala, specifically.

Now, Byfield has been playing with Fiala and that and that duo has been awesome. We saw a little glimpse for a couple games with Adrian Kempe on that line, and they were unbelievable. More recently, we've seen them with Alex Laferriere.

175 5-on-5 minutes for those three, they're up 11-3, 62% of the shots, 62% of the expected goals. Now, Byfield started the year super quiet, right? And I think it was incredibly disappointing based on what he did last year.

He only had 3 goals in his first 30 games; 13 goals, 25 points in 35 games since then; since the start of February, 16 points in 15 games, has a goal in five straight.

And you watch a lot of those goals, but especially what sticks out to me is the overtime winner last weekend against the Blues and just what a weapon his shot is when he uses it.

It's got incredible velocity, able to pick his corners. It's a legit threat, it's not one of these sort of muffins, or kind of tap-in goals. Like, he's getting full marks for the goals he's scoring, and I think that makes it kind of disappointing, or tantalizing, that he shoots as infrequently as he does.

For whatever reason, just unwilling to just fully unleash it, prefers to be a bit more of a playmaker, especially with playing with Fiala. Makes sense because Fiala is often the trigger man and much more confident in that role.

But, given the success, I think there's hope, especially since this guy is only 22 years old. And it feels like we've been so rushed or critical in determining what he's going to be as a player, whether he's going to live up to the hype.

The way he's played recently has been awesome. That trio just destroyed the Capitals on Thursday night in an impressive 3-nothing home win, and so if he keeps this up, it genuinely changes the outlook for the Kings, in my opinion. It gives them a bonafide top scoring line.

And I just wanna keep seeming him shoot more and more, because it's always a treat to see it, and it's obviously been wilidly effective here recently.

CHRIS MEANEY: I couldn't believe the trade rumours surrounding him, and you never know what's real and what's not...

DF: Yeah, I never bought that for a second, that would have been crazy! [they speak over each other some]

CM: It's like, there's no way the Kings move off from this guy! And you're right, a slow start, y'know, but he played on the win last year, for the most part, with Kempe and Kopitar. And he's a natural center, so maybe just...

Of course as a young player, it takes a little bit of time to adjust. I mean, it's an important position, especially in your own end, defensively. And yeah, I saw what you saw, he was willing to feed Kevin Fiala. We did talk about Fiala and all the shot attempts he's had.

But yeah 11 assists in 8 games in February, where he averaged over 20 minutes per game. And now here in March, he doesn't have an assist, he's got the five goals you alluded to through the seven games, so evening out a little bit - great call by you.

The Kings, too, we have a cheat sheet scheduled the rest of the way, looking at fantasy hockey playoffs, the Kings have a lot of home games remaining. They are a strong home team. That was an impressive win, as you mentioned, against the Washington Capitals.

So yeah, Quinton Byfield and Fiala's [owned] (?), but Byfield is actually still out there in some of the shallower leagues out there, 18, 10 team leagues, and I just think it's a no-brainer to roster this guy.

DF: Well, we were talking about Cozens' kind of motivation or incentive to play your hardest down the stretch, something we may take for granted. I feel like, especially as we get to these final 10, 15 games of the season, I think the incentives are there for a lot of young guys regardless of their team's level, because they're just, like, they're looking to get more reps and build off of the development they've had within the season.

Some guys might start getting shut down or having their minutes limited, or they're banged up at this point and aren't going to be themselves. This King's team has an incredible amount of incentive the rest of the way.

They're one point up on the Oilers now for second in the Pacific, so if they are gonna play them for a fourth straight year, I feel like having home ice would be incredibly important considering they're 22-3-4 at home, with a +36 goal differential, which is by far the best in the league. And, as you mentioned, 12 of the final 18 regular season games at home gives them an opportunity to keep building on that.

So just talking about, sort of, favourable environments and guys set up to succeed, it feels like the way they've been playing, with a lot of these games at home that are incredibly important for them, I imagine we'll see the best of what they have to offer.

And yeah, for Byfield and Fiala, that's continuing to do what they do. I mean, so much speed, so dynamic together. And if it involves Byfield shooting a little bit more, then that's just gravy, so I love watching those guys play.

[END TRANSCRIPT]

I've said it before but it feels like this season the Kings took a massive gamble on bringing up a bunch of the kids they developed and giving them expanded roles. I was looking at everything during offseason and thinking we were going to regress, and I would have to be okay with that.

Like, checking back at the projected roster, the plans to change their systems, the fairly tame offseason acquisitions (depth players, and Foegele who NO ONE expected to be having this kind of year with us), making Byfield play center full time in the NHL (learning on the job), giving Laferriere, Spence, and Turcotte all this time and opportunity... I was happy for them, but it still feels like a miracle we're here. Everything that could've gone right went right, barring that injury in preseason - but even then the kids filled in spectacularly!! <- YOUTH MOVEMENT!!!!

Loved listening to this. And I'm sooo happy to see people recognising Q <33 special, special player!!! myyy basket of fresh linensss.........

[home-inspiration-blog]

Kings ‘gambled and won’ trading for Andrei Kuzmenko

Kings winger Andrei Kuzmenko can turn an interview into an excavation process, with his sentiments being gleaned through beaming smiles, unconventional phrasing and sentence construction whose creativity rivals his imaginativeness on the ice. But among his teammates, the 29-year-old Russian never stops communicating, jawing into the ear of linemate Adrian Kempe most often when frequently chopping…

[hockey-fics]

Hi, I'm dying to read a longer love triangle fic!! Id love it if William Nylander and Adrian Kempe were the two love interests in the story bc hello swedes (; I can just imagine the kings vs the leafs and they had like built up shit between them during the season and took it out on the ice you know, kinda cliché but still

I love this idea (and like all cliché ideas, to be honest) unfortunately I know next to nothing about either of these players and fear I won’t be able to do it justice

[whockeywhore]

No Risk No Reward 1.5

Jake peeled off the back of the bandage and pressed it to my side gently, running his fingers over the edges to seal it. I winced a bit and he looked up with a smile. 

“You alright?” 

“I will be.” 

“First tattoo always hurts and you picked a bitch of a spot.” He nodded to Adrian and chuckled. “This guy hasn’t even gotten a piece on his rib cage.” 

“Really? You scared?” 

“It’s self-preservation.” 

“Sure is is.” I pulled my shirt down and sat up, taking in the shop around us and all the art on the walls. I felt reckless, absolutely out of my comfort zone, and it was intoxicating. Jake held out a hand to help me down and I found my footing, reaching for my purse to grab my wallet. “How much do I owe you?” 

“It’s taken care of.” 

“What?”

“Consider it a gift. And you come back when you want your next one, yeah? Any friend of Adrian’s is a friend of mine.” 

He shook my hand and Adrian and I stepped outside, cool air hitting my face and waking me up a bit. I checked my watch and raised an eyebrow. 

“It’s almost two.” 

“You wanna head home?” 

He was close enough to feel the heat from his body and met his eyes when I looked up. A smile played on his lips and he cocked his head to one side, waiting for me to make the call. 

“Not really. But I understand if you’re tired.” 

“I’m wide awake, Morgan. And it’s up to you.” 

“I don’t want to go home.” 

“Then where to?” 

I looked around and pulled my phone out, tapping in an address for an Uber. He didn’t ask where we were going when the car pulled up, just opened the door and slid in after me. The ride was short and he smiled when we pulled up, shaking his head as we got out. 

“An arcade?” 

“A barcade. Have you ever been?” He shook his head again and grinned, grabbing the door. The place was loud and bright, flashing lights in every corner and carnival music blaring. Televisions on every wall showed various games and I nodded towards an old Kings game playing in the corner. 

“It’s a sign.” A battered pool table sat under that TV and I racked the balls as he grabbed drinks. I was chalking my cue when he returned, setting two beers on the table next to us. “Are you any good?” 

“Well, I don’t want to brag but... are you?” 

I nodded and pulled a ten dollar bill from my pocket. “Should we make this interesting?” 

He set his own cash on the table and nodded towards the table. “Ladies first.” 

Two hours later, I was leaning against the table to keep my balance. The table next to us was littered with empty bottles and he kept laughing as he tried to line up his shot. 

“You’re taking forever!” 

“Am not!” 

“Is it because you’re losing?” 

He stood up and pointed at the table, a hand on his hip as he rolled his eyes. “Pretty sure we’re tied.” 

I counted and frowned, realizing that we were in fact even, both of us waiting to sink the eight ball. I took the opportunity to lean over the table and give him a peek down the front of my shirt as he shot. 

The ball ricocheted and he shook his head, pointing at me with a scowl. “That’s cheating!”

“What?” 

“You distracted me.” 

“I did not!” 

He opened his mouth to argue but shut it a moment later, instead walking around the table to stand next to me. I bent over to take my shot and he leaned as well, wrapping one arm around my waist and the other around the pool cue. His body was flush against mine and I kept my head facing forward, my cheeks burning at the contact. 

“Don’t mind me.” His voice was barely a whisper, lips pressed against my ear as he squeezed my side. I took the shot, sank the ball into the corner pocket, and grinned wide as I turned to face him. He scowled and shook his head. 

Our faces were a few inches apart and I stole a glance at his lips, the corners lifting into a tight smile. His hand dropped and he gently brushed my backside as we both stood, still impossibly close. 

“You wanna play another game?” 

“You took all my money. I’m out of cash.” 

“You wanna get out of here then?” 

He leaned in, lips brushing mine for a brief second. He held fast and I felt the stubble on his chin brush my face. “What’d you have in mind?” 

[tessisawriter]

Not Losing Me (Adrian Kempe)

Request (anonymous): Adrian Kempe #16 💜

A/N: I have no idea what the Kings’ social media people are like: I just made them that way to highlight the problem of sexism in the workplace. If you have ever experienced sexism or harassment, please know that it is not your fault and you have every right to report whoever did that to you. Lightly inspired by Gabrielle Aplin’s “Losing Me” (link here). 

Warnings: Two swear words, angst, sexism, mention of catcalling & harassment

Word Count: 1.8k

Another night, another loss.

You sighed as you turned off the post-game coverage, knowing that Adrian would be home any minute now. The Kings had not been doing well recently, and your boyfriend was in a perpetually sullen mood. You didn’t want to make him feel worse than he already did.

As soon as you put down the clicker, you heard the telltale signs of keys jingling outside the door, a string of curses, and finally, the lock turning. The door burst open, and Adrian came stomping inside. There was a wild look in his eyes that you had never seen in the seven years you knew him.

“I’m so fucking sick of losing!” Adrian exclaimed, throwing his hockey bag down on the ground.

Your heart hurt for him. You stood up, walked over to him, and wrapped your arms around him in a bone-crushing hug. You whispered in his ear, “I know, babe.”

Adrian’s body tensed and he pulled away from your embrace, but you still kept your arms around him. “No, you don’t, Y/N—all you do is study, and work, and study some more! You have no idea what I’m going through!”

“I’d beg to differ,” you responded, keeping your voice calm. “We do completely different things, sure, but frustration is central to both of our jobs. When I hand in a paper that I know is subpar, I feel like a loser.”

Adrian’s eyes darkened. “Are you actually trying to compare grad school to being a professional athlete?” The venom in his voice cut through you like a knife. “Come on, Y/N, get real! I not only have to play games five times a week, but I also have to stay in perfect physical shape and put the puck in the net! Grad school is child’s play.”

The last comment made you snap. The floodgates opened, and tears started streaming down your face. “Don’t you dare tell me that what I do is child’s play!” you screamed. “I know you’ve been down lately, so I’ve tried to be as understanding as possible, but you just crossed the line!”

“Really? You’re going to throw a temper tantrum now?” Adrian’s voice was dripping with snark.

You were overwhelmed by your emotions, but “That’s it, I’m done,” was all you said as you turned away and walked into the bedroom.

You went into the closet and grabbed a blanket. It was too late at night to fight like this, and you needed time to think. You plucked Adrian’s pillow off the bed before returning to the living room, putting them on the couch, and informing him: “I think it’s best if you sleep out here tonight.”

The possessed look in Adrian’s eyes vanished immediately, and remorse replaced it. “Y/N, baby, I shouldn’t have said that, I’m so…”

“No.” A suppressed sob made your voice sound choked. “You hurt me. You really hurt me, and I need some distance from you now, so please, just stay on the couch.” Your voice was reduced to a squeak by the time you finished.

Adrian’s green eyes looked suspiciously watery, but he just nodded and grabbed the blanket, unfolded it, and laid it out on the couch while you walked back into the bedroom and closed the door, locking it before you climbed into bed and shut off the light.

***************

You drifted in and out of sleep, never able to relax enough to rest. You hated nothing more than restless nights, so you eventually gave up on sleeping and sat up in your bed.

The clock read 4:15AM, and you groaned, running a hand over your face. Your heart ached when you looked at Adrian’s empty side of the bed. How could your loving boyfriend who had done nothing but support and lift you up throughout your five-year relationship belittle you like that? His statement stung, and it kept replaying in your head, confusing you the more you thought about it.

You didn’t feel any better physically. Your eyes hurt from crying yourself to sleep, your nose was all stuffed, and your throat was scratchy. More than anything, you wanted water, so you reached over to the bedside table for where you normally kept your water bottle, but your hand only made contact with air. “Shit,” you cursed quietly. You left your water bottle in the living room.

The last thing you wanted to do was go outside, especially because you didn’t want to wake Adrian if he had managed to fall asleep, but your throat screamed for water. You compromised on leaving your water bottle in the living room and getting another one from the kitchen.

You crept over to the bedroom door and tried to make as little noise as possible while you unlocked the door. You were successful, so you slowly turned the knob and opened the door halfway. You looked through the door and saw Adrian lying on his side on the couch, facing away from the bedroom. He appeared to be asleep. Sighing, you stepped through the doorframe and tiptoed to the kitchen, where you took out a new water bottle and filled it without making too much noise. When you walked back into the living room, though, Adrian was sitting up on the couch and facing the kitchen, clearly waiting for you to come out.

“Couldn’t sleep?” Adrian asked, his voice sedate but scratchy.

You shook your head.

“Me neither,” he said.

You just stood there, staring at him. Everyone said there were two responses to potential conflict, fight or flight, but you knew there was a third option: freeze.

“Y/N? Do you want to come and sit?” Adrian asked you for the second time. You snapped out of whatever trance you were in and gingerly walked over to the couch, sitting on the opposite end from Adrian.

The silence was killing you, so you brought the water bottle to your lips and took a sip. The cool water felt like heaven, so you drank the rest of the bottle before setting it down on the coffee table.

“Feel any better?” Adrian said.

“Yeah.” You tested your voice, and it sounded clearer.

“Good.”

The silence took over the room again, but you turned to Adrian and broke it: “Why did you say what you did? I mean…” You searched for the words. “You’ve never belittled me before, and while it hurt, what really bothers me is I don’t understand where it came from.”

“I didn’t mean it, Y/N. I was frustrated with myself, so I took it out on you, but I shouldn’t have.”

“I believe you,” you replied, “But that wasn’t the question. Where would you pick up such a notion? It was sexist, and you’ve never behaved that way before: quite the contrary, actually. You always treat girls as equal, and that was why I liked you in the first place.”

“I don’t know, it’s just…” Adrian ran his hands through his hair, which told you he was lying. He knew where it came from.

“Adrian,” you said, moving a little closer to him on the couch so that you weren’t so far away but also had enough distance between you, “It’s okay: you can tell me. I won’t judge or anything.”

Adrian sighed. “You know the new guys in social media?”

You nodded, your blood already boiling. The Kings had hired a new social media team this year, and there was only one female member. The rest were boys in their early to mid 20s who were known to hit on fans and occasionally, a player’s SO. Fortunately, they didn’t try that with you, but it happened to Tyler’s wife, Cat. They were pigs.

“They’re always talking shit about girls, and they were on me today, or I guess yesterday now, about you.”

“What about me?” You asked, despite dreading his answer.

“That they forget I have a girlfriend half the time because you don’t go to a ton of games,” he admitted.

You stiffened. “You know I want to go to your games, but I can’t control the fact that my classes are all at night.”

“I understand, Y/N, I really do, and I’m so proud of everything you’re doing at your PhD program. I don’t know what came over me.”

“I do,” you said. “Those assholes knew you’ve been upset over losing a lot lately, so they took advantage of it and spread their poison.” You closed the distance between you and Adrian on the couch and put your fingers under his chin so he would be forced to look you in the eye. “But you can’t let them do that anymore, okay?”

“I won’t, I promise,” Adrian said, and you knew from the earnestness in his eyes that he was telling the truth.

“Okay, then. I forgive you.”

Adrian’s eyes widened. “You do?”

“Yeah. It wasn’t really you talking earlier. But promise me one thing.”

“Anything.”

“Tell management to fire those jerks,” you said. “Did you know that a bunch of them hit on Cat last week and were catcalling her?”

Adrian’s jaw clenched. “No, I did not know that. No wonder she’s been acting strange whenever she comes to the facility. Tyler’s been really worried about it; I have to tell him…”

“No,” you said. “I’ll call Cat in the morning and convince her to tell Tyler herself. He needs to hear it from her, Adrian.”

“You’re right. God, I’m so sorry about all this,” Adrian said as he wrapped his arms around you and hugged you tight. You returned the gesture and rested your head in the crook of his neck.

“Don’t be sorry: we’re going to handle this together tomorrow,” you replied.

Adrian released you and stood up. “That’s right: we’re a team, and I won’t forget that again. Let’s go to bed, shall we?” He extended his hand, and you took it, letting him pull you up from the couch and into bed.

After you were settled in the bed with Adrian as the big spoon, he whispered into your hair, “I was so worried I was going to lose you.”

“Because of those jackasses?” You chuckled and turned around to face him. “You’re not losing me because of them.”

Adrian smiled and kissed you on the lips. You leaned into the kiss before pulling away.

“Let’s not lose any more sleep over them, okay?”

“Amen to that,” Adrian agreed, and you turned back over so that you could resume your original position. Both of you fell asleep within five minutes, happy that your fight was over.

[tkaslut4ratchuk]

okay. so while i gather up the motivation to get to writing on this other piece—i literally have the plot line and everything written out i just need to write it—send in something!! a request??? i’ll blurb it or something??????? you can write in a smut request, though it may take a while to get it out. (ask @hockeyjunkieblog) i know my only other piece is smut, i just really have to be in a certain headspace for it... of which i am not in, at the moment.. BUT AGAIN YOU CAN SEND IT IN, it’ll just take a HOT minute..

[plasticfilth]

thoughts on soft adrian kempe? he looks like he’s a quiet kinda cold guy so i need some WARMTH i need feelings

sure thing, love !

he’s. so. pretty.

soft boy and a tough boy at the same time ?

the tattoos, long hair and furrowed eyebrows give off such a bad boy vibe that is very attractive but i think there’s so much more to him.

despite his stand-offish, quiet nature, i feel like he would become comfortable around someone he likes very quickly.

his skin looks like it would always be warm and very smooth.

he’d give amazing hugs.

would not be good at expressing his feelings but you can read his emotion through the look in his eyes and the soft touches. 

has very pretty eyes too, which he knows has you weak at the knees so sometimes he just stares at you with a soft smile until you’re blushing.

he glances all over your face with a little crinkle above his brow and you’d have to ask what he’s looking at.

he breathes out a smile and shakes his head, “nothing,” but he’d be looking at your lips.

so you know what he’s thinking.

always tucks your hair behind your ear.

you in his lap when he’s playing video games.

loves cuddling while wearing hoodies, hood up, arms wrapped around your shoulders and pulled close to his chest.

and making a burrito blanket over the two of you.

there are nights where you’re both just looking up at the ceiling, temples touching, legs interlocked.

he would only ever whisper “i love you,” with your foreheads touching, even when it’s only the two of you in the room.

“why do you always whisper that?” you ask softly, a questioning smile on your face and eyebrows scrunched. 

“because you’re the only one that needs to hear it,” and it’d make you MELT.

that’s all.

[nhl-stories]

Flowers in Your Hair – Adrian Kempe

Word Count: 1.2k

You could hear the sounds of giggles echo through the apartment as you came through the door.

You were babysitting your niece, a six-year-old tornado named Maggie, while your brother and his wife went on a second honeymoon. But between work and law school the task was even harder than you thought it would be. So you had to call reinforcements in the form of your boyfriend, Adrian.

He had been more than happy to help out where he could, between his travel and practice schedule. But coming into the living room, you had a feeling he already regretted his decision. Adrian sat on the couch with his hair French braided into pigtails, flowers woven into his tresses. He was holding one of Maggie’s Barbies as she very seriously tried to demonstrate how to braid hair on her own doll.

You tried to suppress a laugh as she scolded your boyfriend, smacking his hands away from the doll’s hair.

“NO NO NO!  Adri you’re gonna hurt her. That’s not how I taught you!”

While you tried to covertly take a picture, you burst out laughing, grabbing the pair’s attention. Adrian flushed bright red at being caught in this state, and on camera no less.

“Auntie Y/N, Adri is stupid.”

You rolled your eyes at your niece as you sat on the coffee table across from them.

“We don’t call people stupid Mags.”

“Well he can’t braid my hair,” she pointed to the sloppy braid on one half of her head.

“Hey, I’m trying my best,” Adrian whined as he showed off his Barbie’s hair that had marginal improvements.

You leaned forward to give Adrian a sympathetic kiss on the forehead, “Aww, that’s a good effort babe.”

He gave you a look that said ‘what did you get me into.’

“Well I’m here now, so why don’t you let the master braid your hair.”

Maggie’s face lit up as she stood in front of you. Adrian looked amazed as you deftly braided her hair, effortlessly adding the ribbons the little girl handed you.

“See Adri, that’s how you braid,” Maggie said a matter-of-factly.

“I’ll make sure he gets lots of practice before your next visit, now why don’t you go put on one of your princess dresses and we’ll watch a movie.”

The little girl squealed in excitement and skipped out of the room. You took her place on the couch and looked at your boyfriend.

“That was kind of hot,” there was almost a growl in his voice

“Braiding my nieces hair?”

“Yeah very MILF-y,” he said with a sly smile as he pulled you closer.

“You’re gross,” you pushed away laughing.

Adrian reached to take his hair out of the braids and you stopped him.

“Don’t, they kind of turn me on,” you wiggled your eyebrows.

“Now you’re the gross one, Y/N.”

You rolled your eyes as you leaned over, resting your head on his shoulder. He began to absent-mindedly play with your hair. You snuggled closer as your underwear-clad niece came out carrying two princess dresses.

“I don’t know which one goes best with my hair,” Maggie exasperated, like this was the biggest problem in the history of the world. You could feel Adrian give out a husky chuckle.

“Adrian’s the fashionista, he’s your man,” you gave his chest a pat.

Maggie looked to him, “Um- well, I think the green dress will go better with the ribbons in your hair. Plus, green is my favorite color.”

“Okay, I can twirl better in that one too,” she beamed before bolting back out of the room.

“I want one,” Adrian said as he went back to running his fingers through your hair.

“A princess dress? I’m not sure they come in broad, hockey player size.”

He rolled his eyes, “no, I mean a kid.”

“Oh.” 

You swallowed hard.

You hadn’t really talked much about your future together. Just in broad strokes. You didn’t even live with each other for God’s sakes. Plus, with both your busy schedules it wasn’t like you even spent enough time truly together to make a step like this. A step that was about a million strides past where you were right now, and another million paces past the next logical move in your relationship.

“Y/N, you’re spiraling,” he gave you a gentle squeeze.

He could always tell when the gears in your head were turning too fast.

“I don’t mean right now,” you let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding.

“Right.”

“Just someday, I know we aren’t there yet.”

You felt your heart swell at the words. You two hadn’t ever mentioned kids, but the fact that he was thinking about it, about having them with you, it made you weak.

“You’ll have to get much better at braiding hair before then,” he gave you a weird look, “because our kids are going to have beautiful manes of hair that will need proper maintenance and care.”

“So you’re really gonna make me practice?”

“You bet your ass I will.”

You turned towards him, cupping his cheek and leaning in for a kiss. You really weren’t prepared for the heat that would be in that kiss, but all the talk about kids and the future made you kind of woozy and hot.  Something you definitely weren’t expecting.

Adrian put his hands in your hair as he pulled you even closer. Your bodies pressed up against each other and his tongue begged for entrance into your mouth, which you quickly gave.

You moved your hands down his chest and then started to creep them up his shirt, feeling the ripple of his muscles tensing at first touch. Then Adrian took control again, biting your lip causing you to let out an involuntary moan. He smirked against your lips, before moving to the corner of your mouth and down your neck. You threw your head back for just a second when there was a screech.

“Is Adrian a vampire?!”

You quickly turned to see Maggie, now in her princess dress, horrified at what she just saw. You were both a little out of breath from whatever alternate plane of passion you were just on, unsure what to say at first.

“I’m not a vampire Maggie,” Adrian said, finally catching his breath.

“That’s what a vampire who just got caught would say,” she looked wide-eyed towards you for some answer.

“No, Adrian’s not a vampire, sweetie.”

“Then why was he biting you?” She scrunched up her nose in disgust.

You bit your lip and subtly elbowed Adrian who was having a hard time keeping a straight face.

“It’s just something adults who really like each other do sometimes. I bet your mom and dad do it sometimes, too.”

She considered it for a second, “that’s a gross thing to want to do.”

“Yeah it kind of is,” Adrian laughed.

Maggie looked unsure for a second, before switching gears and twirling once in her dress.

“I’m ready to watch a movie now.”

“Okay hop on up here,” you patted the spot next to you, as you reached for the remote.

“I want to sit next to Adri,” she whined before squeezing her way in between the two of you on the couch, clearly already over the whole vampire debacle.

As the movie started to play, Adrian put an arm around your shoulder and pulled you in closer. The three of you snuggled up on the couch.

You reached over and pulled on one of his braids. He turned to you with a furrowed brow. You mouthed ‘I love you’ before you playfully pulling the pigtail again.

Adrian mouthed back ‘I love you too,’ before sending you a wink that went straight to your already melting heart.

[comphy-and-cozy]

Teacher's Pet - Adrian Kempe

Pairing: professor!Adrian x student!Reader (f)

Summary: On your farewell tour at USC, you visit your favorite professor one last time before you graduate.

Word Count: 4.8K

Warnings: Age gap, forbidden/taboo relationship, a little bit of faux bribery. Smut (18+ ONLY). Semi-public/risque sex, oral sex (f + m receiving), unprotected sex, creampie. The usual.

← BACK TO MAIN MASTERLIST

The warm, April Los Angeles sun shines down on your skin. Blossoming Magnolia trees line the brick-paved path; underneath them, students gather on knit blankets on the neatly trimmed grass. Spring on USC campus is one of your favorites. It’s one of the things you’re going to miss the most when you graduate in just a few short days, finally receiving the most expensive piece of paper you’ll ever own.

Adjusting the canvas bag over your shoulder, you suck in a deep breath of fresh, California air. As you admire the beauty of the campus you’ve called home for the last four years, your mind drifts to the man that sits in your final destination.

He’s only 30, the youngest professor you have by at least a decade, but he’s still almost a decade older than you. He’s smart, he’s well-spoken, and he’s gorgeous.

You first met Professor Kempe when you took his Behavioral Neuroscience class your junior year. Of course, there was a running joke that Professor Kempe was the heartthrob of the Psychology department—and for good reason—but your crush really grew when you became his student.

Now, almost a year and a half later, you’ve taken three more of his classes (he is a really good teacher), including your capstone class which you conveniently just turned in your final for two days ago.

You’re going to miss Professor Kempe: his accented drawl, neatly trimmed facial hair, that sexy man bun that accentuates his high cheekbones, the dark ink that peeks out from beneath his sleeves. He has genuinely become your favorite professor, but you’d be lying if you said that it’s just for his academic prowess.

It’s safe to say you have a crush on your professor. Innocent in the sense that it’s harmless, though quite the opposite could be said for the less-than-sterile thoughts you’ve had about him. It happened gradually, starting with a flush in your cheeks when he’d look at you and a familiar flutter of anticipation stepping into his classroom, until you found yourself daydreaming—fantasizing, really—about him during class, those thoughts leaking their way into your bedroom late at night.

Your heart thudding in your chest has nothing to do with the trek across campus as you approach the large brick building. Your feet take you down the familiar hallway, admiring the art on the walls and reminiscing on the countless times you’ve walked through this building before. You’ve never been to your final destination, though, the wing of offices at the far end of the building, and you read the name plates on the wall until you reach the one you’re looking for.

A. Kempe, PhD Psychology

He’s deep in the throes of an essay for his Human Sexuality class when he hears the gentle knock. Marking his place with a sticky note, he clears his throat before calling, “Come in.”

Your smile is shy as you open the door. His hair is tucked into a bun at the back of his head, though a few strands have fallen out of the hair tie. Your eyes move straight to his exposed forearms where his dress shirt is rolled up to his elbows. You do your best not to stare at the tattoos covering his right arm before clearing your throat and asking, “Am I interrupting?”

“Not at all,” he says, setting his pen down and looking up at you. “I always have time for you.”

Heat blooms in your cheeks. He always makes you feel like you’re the only person in the room.

“I read your paper,” he says, gesturing to the stack of papers in a folder beside him.

Your eyebrows raise. “And?”

“It was one of the best written research papers I’ve read in four years of teaching.” He says it with a small smile and a sincerity in his eyes that makes your heart skip a beat. Pride swells in your chest and your lips curl up in a grin.

“Really?”

“Would you like to read the comments I wrote?”

Earnestly, you nod, and he searches through the stack of binder-clipped papers before finding yours and handing it to you. Blue ink is scrawled in the margins, various sections bracketed and underlined, and he watches you read his annotations with a tentative smile. While he waits for you to finish, he takes the opportunity to study you.

There’s been the occasional student who has caught his eye, more than a handful showing up to office hours with batted lashes and suggestions of a private tutoring session. Despite their false sense of subtlety, he knows the effect he has on some of his students. But none of them have ever truly tempted him enough to risk the potential repercussions of engaging with a student.

Until you.

You’re intelligent, with bright eyes and big thoughts. A model student, you’re organized, timely, and consistently bring constructive and thoughtful discussion to class. And, there’s the fact that you’re a 22-year-old college student, with all of her youth yet before her; he’d have to be blind to say you aren’t attractive.

And he’d have to be stupid to not want to fuck you.

He’s pretty positive you’ve been teasing him on purpose for months. Hair and makeup done for every class—when he’s seen you around the department much less done up, though still just as attractive. It’d be difficult not to notice the way your eyes linger on his for just a few moments longer after you’d ask a question or bid farewell to him after class.

And the skirts. Fuck, those damn skirts. Ever since the weather got warm enough to wear them, you’ve been prancing around in all kinds of outfits that show a distracting amount of leg. As much as he enjoys when you sit in the front row, seeing your big, inquisitive eyes gazing up at him, he curses how difficult it is to avoid staring at your skin.

You’ve been driving him mad.

And now here you are. Today, your skirt is plaid and painfully—impossibly—short. Bare legs bloom beneath the fabric that he can’t help but imagine wrapped around his waist. You’re wearing a thick knit USC cardigan, a sliver of your white tank top peeking out from where the top two buttons are undone.

“Wow,” your voice says, pulling him out of his internal reverie. His eyes flick to yours, a broad grin on your face. “Thank you, Professor Kempe. This is really… I’m glad you liked it.”

“You’re welcome,” he replies with a nod. “And you can call me Adrian.”

Adrian. You repeat his name with a smile. He likes the way it sounds coming from your mouth.

“But I don’t think you came here just to read my chicken scratch.”

You shake your head with a laugh. “I’m just dropping off some gifts for my favorite professors before I graduate. I saved the best for last.”

Adrian’s smile is feline. “I’m flattered.”

Your cheeks warm again as you hand him the gift bag, scarlet with gold and white tissue paper. The gift—a leather folio, with his name embossed in neat, gold text, and a candle that you made at a sorority sisterhood event—makes him smile.

“Thank you,” he says. “This is really generous of you.”

“I just wanted to say thank you,” you say, resting your hip against the edge of his desk. “You’ve really enriched my time in this program. Your class was easily one of my favorites that I took.”

“I’m glad you enjoyed it. It’s always nice to know you’re appreciated by your students.” He swears your eyes flash when he says it, like maybe you’re resisting the urge to say whatever it is that popped in your head.

You hum, unbuttoning your USC cardigan. He does his best not to stare at the exposed skin of your chest and the shadow of cleavage. Then your eyes move back to the ink on his arm. “I’ve never seen your tattoos before.”

Out of instinct, his hand moves to touch his forearm. “Oh, yeah. The dean prefers that I keep them covered up in class.”

“I think I prefer you better this way,” you say. “They suit you.”

You don’t miss the way his eyes darken just slightly at your words. There’s a brief hesitation in the air, a silent question as he debates the intention behind your statement. An innocent compliment, or something more? Paired with your choice of attire and the way your voice has dropped to a sultry sort of purr, he’s inclined to believe the latter.

It’ll be important to proceed with caution.

“You think so?” he asks.

You nod before you’re leaning over to brush at the skull with your fingertips, admiring the shading. His skin is warm beneath your touch, though you note the fine dusting of goosebumps that trail in your wake. “I like this part the best. The shading is really well done.”

Professor Kempe’s amused chuckle comes in the form of an exhaled breath. His dark eyes, so powerful, look up at you through his lashes. You can feel your heartbeat between your legs.

“Do you have any? Tattoos?”

Another nod, and you’re pulling your hand away. He feels coolness on his skin from the place where your fingers just vacated. Then, you’re letting your cardigan slip off your shoulders and he can feel his pulse leap into his throat before you angle to show him the wildflowers on your shoulder blade. “For my sisters.”

“Very sweet,” he says. “Do you have any others?”

Your smile turns coy and he can see in your eyes that you’re hurtling towards an invisible line in the sand, with no sign of stopping. “It’s embarrassing.”

“I won’t make fun of you. I promise.”

“Pinky promise?” you say, holding out your pinky. It’s silly, a college senior just days away from crossing the stage and graduating, asking her professor for a pinky promise, but he finds himself wrapping his own pinky around yours anyways.

You step around the desk, coming to stand beside his chair until you’re within arm’s length. Turning around, you lean forward slightly and he has to use every ounce of self-control in his body to not look at the fluttering hem of your skirt.

And then you lift your cardigan and he nearly chokes on his own breath when you reveal the tender skin just above the waistband of your skirt. A simple butterfly floats there, and he lets his eyes trace over the details of the wings.

“I got it when I was eighteen,” you explain. “Freshman year. A bunch of us from my dorm went during welcome week.”

Professor Kempe hums and you turn back to face him, feeling the heat from his gaze still burning into your back. “Do you have any others?”

He clears his throat. “This—this is a full sleeve,” he says, gesturing up his arm.

“All the way up here?” you ask, feeling bold enough to trail your finger up his bicep to his shoulder. His eyes are practically black, like pools of molten lava. He glances at the door to his office, which you’ve left partially open. Following his gaze, you say with a quiet whisper, “I can be quick.”

He stands then, rising to his full height, and your heart flutters in your chest at the way he towers over you. Stepping away from you, he walks toward the door and your heart sinks, preparing yourself to be ridiculed and ordered out. Hot shame washes over you.

This was foolish, you think. And stupid. What if he reported you? What if you got expelled before you had a chance to graduate?

But then you hear the door close. And lock. Your head shoots up, looking at him as he turns back around to face you. He’s back in front of you in a few short strides, his voice low as he murmurs, “I don’t want to be quick.”

He doesn’t give you time to moan at his words before he’s surging forward to capture your lips in a heated kiss. It catches you by surprise, but he isn’t deterred, and it only takes you a beat before you’re kissing him back, pressing your body into his. His lips are soft despite the harsh intensity of his kiss, teeth grazing over your lips and seeking entrance to your mouth with his tongue.

You allow him in, and his hands find purchase on your hips, tugging you closer to him as he kisses you deeper. The kiss is desperate, almost frantic, like you both need to make up for lost time. His frame is tall over yours, caged between his body and his desk. When he feels you meet the resistance of the wood surface, his hands lift you onto it. Without a second thought, your legs spread for him and he steps between them.

A hand reaches up to support the back of your neck while his mouth moves along your jawline, over the pulse point behind your ear, down your neck. A moan slips out when he bites down on the tender skin, the sensation enough to make your toes curl.

“Professor,” you sigh, and he groans deeply into your neck. He likes the way you call him that.

You shrug off your cardigan, exposing more skin in the hopes that his lips will explore more of your body. He does, mouthing his way over your collarbones, sucking bruising marks along his path. Behind you, his free arm swipes at the stack of papers and his planning book, sending them crashing to the floor. Between the pressure of his kisses and the gentle guidance of his hand on your back, he eases you down until you’re lying across the surface of his desk.

Before he can pull away, you tug at the hem of his sweater vest, pulling the material up his torso. You need to see, feel, touch more of him. Painstakingly, he tears his own hands away from you to lift his arms over his head and allow you to pull the knit garment off his frame. A worn, white button up is all that’s left, and you realize you’ve never had such a thin layer of fabric between you and him.

The way your hands run up his body is sinful, your touch hot through the thin material. He resists the urge to shiver, instead channeling his energy at drawing his own heated caress up the bare legs he’s been doing his best not to stare at since you walked in his office. They’re soft, sinfully sexy, and he feels like he’s drunk as his hand moves up underneath your plaid skirt, meeting the delicious handful of ass that waits for him there—God, how long he's dreamt about your ass.

The action elicits a delicious moan from your pretty throat, and he can’t help but repeat it, massaging the flesh with a large hand. Your spine arches into his body, every nerve seeking out more; your senses are on fire, adrenaline coursing through you in your forbidden tryst with your professor.

Large hands tug your hips toward the edge of the desk, the apex of your thighs bumping directly against the tent in his khakis. It’s embarrassing how loud your moan is just from the gentle brush against your center, but Professor Kempe’s fingers tighten their grip on your waist. You can feel the way his lips curl up into a smile against yours, his hot breath fanning across your face. “Been thinking about this for a long time.”

It’s your turn to smile, your laugh exhaling into his mouth. You let your hips roll, grinding yourself against him. “Yeah?”

A purr sounds from his throat, his strong hand gripping your hip to cease your movements. He pulls away to give you a silent reprimand, an expression which you can’t help but innocently shrug at. His reply is to trail wet, sloppy kisses down your neck, chest, all the way to the patch of skin between your tank top and your skirt.

He hears the way your breath hitches, smiling to himself before glancing up at you from between your legs. When he finally does push up the hem of your skirt, you let out a full laugh when he freezes.

Adrian was expecting to see white lace, maybe a red g-string if he was lucky, but instead he finds himself face to face with a bare, naked, dripping pussy. And fuck, if it doesn’t look like the most appetizing dessert he’s ever had.

“Fuck.” He leans forward, dragging wet kisses along the inside of your thigh. Your breath catches in your throat, pussy throbbing at his proximity to where you want him most.

“You don’t have to—” you start, but he interrupts you.

“You can’t expect me not to eat this cunt after all those times you ‘forgot’ to wear panties to class.” His voice is stern and his words draw more heat to your cheeks, called out for your antics.

“I just wanted to get your attention.”

Hot breath teases your center, making you shiver. Your back arches off of the desk, desperate for something—anything. From between your thighs, two brown eyes peer up at you. The desire inside them is molten, and you have to actively resist the urge to melt.

“You have it.”

Though you didn’t notice anyone else in their office, you aren’t confident in the wall’s ability to muffle any sound, so you’re quick to slap a hand over your mouth when you cry out after feeling his warm tongue swiping up your center. He’s tentative at first, but it doesn’t take him long before he’s tongue-deep, moaning at the taste of you.

When you thought about this before—because you definitely had—of course you imagined he’d be incredible at oral sex. But realistically, you knew, he was a straight, white man and the odds were low that he would blow your mind with that gorgeous mouth of his.

You’ve never been more wrong. He eats you indulgently, like you’re a five-star, award-winning dessert at a Michelin restaurant in the swankiest part of Los Angeles. It’s sinful, the way his mouth licks and kisses and sucks—no, slurps—at your essence*. The shaggy hair of his beard scratches deliciously against your most sensitive area, combining with the soft, smooth movements of his tongue to have you grasping frantically for the edge of the desk.

It doesn’t take long before you’re gushing against his face, cries muffled by your own knuckles between your teeth to stifle the sound of your orgasm. You’re sweeter than he expected, like a deliciously sweet treat from the ice cream truck on a hot summer day, melting underneath his touch just like a popsicle.

Professor Kempe rises to his full height, his chin glistening with your nectar, and you have to swallow your moan at the sight. You sit up and slide off of the desk, moving to standing in front of him. Molten eyes look down at you, and you press your palm against his zipper, watching the flames flicker in his irises.

“You want it?” he asks. “Student hot for professor.”

Pressing up on your toes, your tongue sticks out and you lick up the juices on his chin on your way to his lips. Your tongues meld together, sharing the taste of your orgasm in a searing kiss. His breath catches in his throat when you give him a squeeze, rubbing your palm over the length of him. “Seems like professor might be hot for student, too.”

Adrian’s dick twitches at your quick wit and he watches you sink to your knees, admiring you from this angle just as much as he admired you from between your thighs. He helps you undo his belt and zipper, twitching when you pull him out of his chinos.

He’s just as big as you imagined—big dick energy is real—and your mouth waters as your eyes trail over his length. Even his cock is pretty: smooth skin, a thick vein along the underside, and a pretty, flushed shade of mauve at the weeping tip. Your hand strokes him, feeling him beneath your fingertips, and you glance back up at him, already watching you intently.

“I’ve been thinking about this for a long time,” you say, putting his words back at him. “Thought about failing an exam just so I’d have to beg you to give me a better grade.”

He smirks down at you. “You know, I haven’t put your final grade in the system yet.”

Your tongue swipes up the base of his shaft and you blink at him with his tip pressed against your pouted lips. “Please, Professor, I need to pass this class to graduate.”

Once your mouth is on him, he curses every missed opportunity he didn’t take to make it happen earlier—could’ve been doing this for years. He should’ve known you’d be good at this given how you’ve been eye fucking him for a year and a half, but he still chokes out in surprise at the way he disappears past your lips. Your tongue, wet and warm, strokes along the bottom while your cheeks hollow.

He relishes in the feeling of your mouth, the tightness of your throat when you take him deeper—fuck, so tight—wondering to himself how the way your throat contracts around him compares to the way your cunt will feel wrapped around him. At the thought, a burning need in his gut has him stopping you and tugging you to your feet. He needs to be inside you. Now.

Adrian helps you to remove your tank top and your bra, pausing for him to grasp each breast in his hands, massaging them. While he steps back to undo the buttons on his own shirt, your hands move to the zipper of your skirt.

“Leave it,” he commands, his eyes flicking up to yours with a feline smile. “Teased me for long enough with this fucking thing.”

“Me?”

Professor Kempe gives you a knowing look. “This is what you wanted, isn’t it? Why you never wear anything underneath these short, slutty skirts? You’ve been hoping I’ll bend you over the desk and take you right there after class.”

Well. He’s not wrong, you think, shrugging innocently, but your snarky retort dies in your throat when he reaches the last button on his dress shirt, shrugging it off. Adrian smirks at the way you gape at him, your eyes running over the cut of his muscles, up the black ink that dances up to his shoulder.

Your pussy throbs with need. So much that you’re backing up to the desk, lying against it and spreading your legs in a silent invitation. He looks down at you from between your legs.

And then he purses his lips and drops a wad of saliva right onto the apex of your thighs. He watches the way his spit drips into your already wet folds, melding with your juices. You moan at the feeling.

“Flip over, baby,” he murmurs his command.

A low purr sounds in your chest and he watches as you do as he asked, pressing your hips backwards until your ass backs up against his length. Your hips swivel and roll, earning a groan from him. If you had more time, he’d let you give him an entire lap dance, make you ride him until your legs are jelly and his balls are empty.

But he doesn’t. You’re already on borrowed time, both with your looming graduation and the very less-than-private venue for your rendezvous. So he flips up your skirt, bunching the plaid fabric around your hips, exposing your ass and bare, dripping pussy, just waiting to be fucked.

When he slides into you, a breath shudders from him and your eyes flutter blissfully shut. Your delectable heat wraps around him snugly, nearly taking his breath away. Fuck, he knew your pussy would be perfect.

His hips begin to move, pressing deeper into you. He watches you bite your lip at the way he stretches you so deliciously, wanting you to feel every single inch of him buried in your cunt. If this is the only time he'll ever have you, he wants you to remember what he feels like inside of you.

“Fuck, Professor,” you whisper, fingers digging into the edge of the desk. The heat of him alone makes it infinitely better than you imagined all those late nights beneath your sheets, not to mention the sinful press of his hips against your ass and his firm grip on your waist and the low, ragged sound of his breath. He's pressed so fucking deep, filling you to a capacity you didn't know was possible. Why did you wait so long to do this again?

Professor Kempe pulls you back against him, punching his length into you sharply. The jab sends a wave of pleasure down your spine, your pussy already alight with his touch. It’s sinful, wrong, and so, so right.

The fire inside your belly roars, the bundle of nerves between your legs burning with pleasure with each thrust of his hips. Professor Kempe fucks you with a ravenous energy, the kind that tells you neither you or your pussy would survive a full night with him. He’s responsive, in tune with each moan and throb of your walls around him, like he’s speed-reading the manual to make you see stars.

“Taking it like a perfect little slut,” he grunts. “Just like I knew you would. You know how many students have tried to get me to do this before?”

A smile forms on your lips. “Are you saying I'm your first, Professor?”

“First student to be so tempting and delicious I can't help but take you over this desk,” he says with a low growl.

Large hands grip at your shoulders, tugging you backwards until your back is pressed against his warm, muscular chest. The angle draws him even deeper, until the tip of him is pressed directly against the spot that has your vision going blurry. Your mouth falls open in a silent gasp. Between his relentless rhythm and his sultry praise, your impending release nears its boiling point.

It’s the lilting of your voice, steadily rising in pitch, that makes his balls tighten. You’re close, and he knows he won’t last through an orgasm, not with how long he's wanted this, not with fucking tight you are, gripping onto his dick like a vice. His voice drops an octave. “Not gonna last.”

A jumble of words leaves your mouth in a breathless sigh, but he has no idea what you said; all he knows is your hand reaches for his, tugging it toward the place where you two connect. When his knuckle brushes against your clit and you squeeze him, he knows what you’re asking for.

Professor Kempe’s thumb rubs steady, knowing circles, sending you hurtling to the edge, but it’s his low command that pushes you over it.

“Gush on it and I’ll give you an A.”

The world in front of you disappears, the only thing you know being the pleasure radiating through you as Professor Kempe fucks you through an earth-shattering orgasm. All at once, your legs are shaking, his hand clapped over your mouth and his roar of ecstasy is loud in your ear as you feel the hot pulse of him inside of you.

You’re not sure how long it takes for you to come to, his office fuzzy as it comes back into clearer view. He’s panting, breath hot against your shoulder, and you are too, your heart thudding rapidly in your chest. Your skin tingles where his touches you, the feeling remaining even after he pulls away. Gingerly, he pulls out of you, and he watches his cum seep out of your spent, used pussy—and damn, if it doesn’t make him want to fuck you again.

But you’re sliding off of his desk onto shaky legs, retrieving your clothes and putting them back on. There’s a slight awkwardness in the air, the guilt and shame of what did we just do sinking in. For a moment, Adrian panics—he could get fired for this.

“I’m not going to tell anyone,” you say, like you can read his mind. He wonders if the worry shows on his face. “Our little secret.”

Adrian knows—he knows—he shouldn’t feel disappointed, but he does. You’re graduating, leaving USC in just a few short days, and it’s highly probable that he’ll never see you again unless it’s in a published journal or some Psychology Today article online. He musters up a smile anyways.

“Our little secret.”

Once both of you are clothed, you gather your things and make to leave. Adrian clears his throat. “I’ll have your final grade in the system tomorrow.”

You smile. “Thank you, Professor Kempe.”

By the door, you pause, turning to look at him like you want to say something. He’s still standing beside his desk, papers scattered on the floor. “I forgot to tell you—I got accepted into the Cal State program. I'm staying in Los Angeles.”

[yeet-nhl]

there’s a reason {a.kempe}

A/N: finally, something new eh? this is longer than i originally intended but i had an idea so i just rolled with it where ever it took me. also i used google translate for the swedish so if it doesn’t translate correctly i apologize :/

requested: yes / no

word count: 2.4k

title song: there’s a reason by wet

warnings: none

“Remind me again why you decided to drag me out this early, and why you have me bringing clothes?” you sighed as you walked up to meet Adrian outside your apartment building.

“We’re doing some bonding, come on Alex and Marty are already in the car.”

“I’m sorry what?”

“Just trust me, you’re gonna have fun.” He said, grabbing your hand and guiding you toward Alex’s car. Alex was in the passenger seat and Alec in the drivers. It was a weird friend group in all honesty, but they were the ones that Adrian had introduced you to when you first moved to LA.

You climbed in the back seat with Adrian as the other two said a quick hello to you. The time for conversation was short lived as Alec hit play on his phone and you turned onto the road, taking you who knows where. It would sound sketchy if it weren’t for the fact that off the ice all three of the men you were with were huge softies. In all honesty you trusted them more than most other people in the world.

A song you didn’t know continued to play over the speakers in the car as you watched out the window, trying to get an idea for what the others had planned. You were heading away from the city and going towards more urban areas. Adrian didn’t seem to be paying attention as he obnoxiously sang with Alex. You watched him with a small smile as he nodded his head in time with the song, his hair flopping all over the place. He noticed you watching and directed his singing towards you, taking your hands and moving them along to the beat. You rolled your eyes and started dancing along with him as well.

As the song ended Adrian dropped your hands and grabbed Alec’s phone to queue some more songs. From what you saw they would be mostly in swedish and you would only understand a little, as would Alex and Alec. The first notes of the next song started and Adrian leaned back into the seat and just seemed to be enjoying the music that only made sense to him in the moment. The LA sun was beating through the window and onto him, small strands of hair covering parts of his face as he mouthed the words to whatever was playing.

Oh no.

You quickly turned away, facing the window again. You couldn’t be thinking this way now. He was one of your best friends, you couldn’t be catching feelings right? It was perfectly understandable to think he was good looking, since after all he was. You’ve had this suspicion for a while that you might have wanted something more but you had just kept pushing it off. It wasn’t something that could ever happen, you didn’t want to risk ruining your closest friendship. Deciding this time would be no different, you ignored your gut and willed the thought away.

Being completely lost in your thoughts for a moment, you totally missed the conversation that had been happening.

“Kan du vara mer uppenbar?” Alec said from the front seat with an eye roll. You hadn’t even began to process that somehow Alec knew swedish before Adrian shot back a reply.

“Vem sa att jag skulle bli subtil! hon vet när tiden är rätt.” The true swede said as he grabbed the phone once more, switching back to english music.

“Did I miss something here? Alec since when can you speak swedish.” You questioned, sitting up a little straighter.

“Dunno, picked some up from the other guys over time I guess. Shouldn’t you be asking where we’re going instead?” It was a clear effort to change the topic but you really did want to know where you were headed.

“Fine, where are we going?” You had been driving awhile and honestly had no clue where you were.

“I’m glad you asked, we’re going camping!”

“Alec are you serious? This has to have been Alex’s idea…”

“Hey!” Alex butted in quickly.

“I’m serious. We have a cabin by the lake so we figured it would be fun to go hang out there for a bit. Some of the other guys and their girlfriends are coming tomorrow too, so you won’t just be stuck with us all weekend.” Alec said, disregarding Alex’s comment.

“Alright that does sound kinda fun, how much longer till we’re there?”

“25 minutes or so, not too much longer.” He said, flipping through some more music.

You turned your attention back to Adrian, who had a slight smirk on his face as he watched you try and figure out how you agreed to spend the weekend with these fools. “You could have at least told me that was the plan” you said with a smack on his arm, “I would have brought cuter clothes for the occasion.”

He laughed as you fell back into the seat once more, leaning against him and decided on scrolling through your phone for the remainder of the drive. It wasn’t an unusual behavior for you two to be touchy, so when he wrapped his arm around you and rested his head on yours it didn’t phase you like you expected. You forced your earlier thoughts to the back of your mind once more, knowing it was just what you wished it could be.

Alex turned slightly, catching a glimpse of the two of you and giving you a look as if he knew something you didn’t. You gave him a confused glare as he shrugged and turned back to his conversation with Alec.

A short time later, the car stopped and you sat up to see where you were. There was a large cabin with a patio and a view of a nearby lake, surrounded by trees. It looked like beyond the patio there was a pool and a balcony coming off of the top floor. The sight of it alone made any doubts you had of this weekend go away as you took in the scenery around you. It was beautiful and you shared a smile with Adrian as he took your hand to exit the car.

“Alec this is stunning! How’d you find this place?”

“I didn’t, he did.” Alex said as he pointed toward Adrian, who was standing next to you with an even goofier smile than he had be giving before. He gave a small shrug as he grabbed some of the bags they had brought and headed towards the front door. Going to grab your own, you realized he already had it with him and you followed him up to the door.

The inside of the cabin was equally as amazing. There was a large kitchen and sitting area with a door leading out to the patio, a large window facing the lake, and a second floor that included all the bedrooms and another smaller sitting area in the center. You wandered up to the second floor, trying to decide on the room that you would pick for the night. Adrian trailed behind you with your bag.

“Which one do you want? I’ll let you have first pick before the other two bitch about it.” Adrian said as he held up your stuff.

The room by the back with cute nature decorations caught your eye, “that one.”

He went in and set your stuff down and walked back out, stopping to stand in front of you. Something was up, you didn’t realize it until now but something was definitely up with him. Before you had the chance to ask anything, Alex came in to ask Adrian to help with the rest of the stuff. They had been more prepared for this little weekend trip than you realized, which was surprising since they usually never had a plan.

Something was definitely up.

Adrian went back downstairs as you leaned over the railing of the second floor to watch the boys move everything out of the trunk of the car and into the cabin. You decided to go and see what else the cabin had to offer and noticed a fireplace downstairs, a grill on the patio, and a gaming counsel set up by the TV that the others most definitely had set up themselves. They were done moving everything in by now so you joined them in the kitchen, taking a seat next to Adrian who was sitting at the island in the middle. From what you could tell, they were talking about the plans for the night and who else would be coming the following day.

Eventually you all decided to make some food first and then go from there. Alex went out to the patio to use the grill and Alec was attempting to make something else at the kitchen counter. You wanted to go for a walk since the surrounding area was so gorgeous, but you didn’t want to go alone.

“Adrian, wanna come with me?” You questioned as he looked up from his phone and gave a quick nod and walking over to you. The two of of you left to go towards the nearest hiking trail that you had spotted when you first arrived. Looping your arm through Adrian’s, you two walked side by side, making idle conversation as you walked among the trees.

You could still tell something was off, but you didn’t want to address it just yet. He had been saying very little besides the short answers to whatever you had been saying. But as you headed back the shift in him become even more evident.

Having walked the trail and back, you stood outside the cabin once more. The thoughts once again crept back into your mind as you looked at Adrian in the fading sunlight, eyes meeting for only a second before you walked back in to meet Alex and Alec for dinner.

Surprisingly, Alex was an amazing cook. He had grilled some fancy fish-based dish you had never heard of and it was delicious. You all shared stories of past camping experiences, including Alec’s dramatic retelling of an encounter with a bear that he was surely making up, but the whole time you kept catching Adrian sneaking glances at you. Somehow as you cleaned up the dishes your mind kept wandering back to that, and you knew you had to address it.

After a couple more hours of discussion and watching the boys play video games, you all decided to sleep at a timely 1am. Each of you headed to your respective rooms and as you turned out the small light on your night stand and were about to put your headphones in, you heard a small knock at the door.

Adrian walked in, shutting the door behind him quietly as to not disturb the others and he walked over to sit at the edge of your bed. He had changed into some sweatpants and a tight fitting grey shirt, doing nothing but increase how attractive you found him.

“Hi.” He spoke softly, looking a bit uncomfortable.

“Hey? What’s so predominantly on your mind at 2am that you had to come share?”

“I need to tell you something.”

Your heart jumped in your chest as he spoke. Surely there was no way he could tell you were hiding feelings for him, at least you thought that was the case. “Alright, what is it?”

He took a deep breath and finally met your eyes, “Look, this might damage our friendship if you don’t feel the same way but I can’t help but think we could be something more. I don’t know what it is about you, but I think you’re beautiful in every way. I want to know just how deep that beauty goes and you’re the only one who can make me smile the way I do, make me laugh the way you make me laugh, the only one who can look so ridiculously kissable while staring out a window in a car filled with dårar the way that you do.”

You laughed a bit at the last part as you began to process his words. It sank in that it wasn’t as crazy as you previously thought that this beautiful swede could be yours and that you really could have something. You took in his features once more as a smile found it’s way to your face. “God, I thought I was crazy for thinking we could ever be something. Of course I feel the same way Adrian.”

He breathed a sigh of relief as he crawled up closer to you in the bed, pulling you into his arms. He felt like safety, nothing in the world could touch this moment as the man you had be hiding feelings for for a long while held you close to his chest and landed a gentle kiss on your head.

You tilted up to face him and ran your thumb over his bottom lip, so stupidly happy. He finally took the initiative and brought his lips to your own as his hand found your waist. He deepened the kiss as you shifted to move on top of him, one leg on either side of his torso. Sitting up now, he moved his hand along the side of your body and sat up so you two were eye level. You broke away only for a moment to just look at each other and admire what you now had.

“Look at the stars, my love.” He rolled you two over lazily to reach over your body and point out the window and into the night sky as your gaze followed his finger. “Every night that would go by without me telling you how much I cared for you I would look at the sky. That’s the reason I wanted to be here when I told you, so you could see them just as clear as I’ve gotten to. I hope you’ll get to see them with me a lot more now.”

You nearly cried as he spoke, his voice so raw and honest. Curling up into his chest a little more, you took a moment to truly take in the sight as well as your surroundings. The sounds of the woods could be heard in the distance, the stars being slightly reflected in the lakes clear water, and Adrian’s gentle breaths. You traced along the tattoos of the arm he had wrapped around you as he kissed your cheek.

“I think we’re gonna share many nights like this together Adrian, there’s nothing I would want more.”

[puckpocketed]

like has any other coach seriously tried to run it for this long?? I’m asking this before I’ve done any research. Why is it good? Is it taking advantage of younger legs and insulating our older players ?? Again… is it about creating lopsided matchups -> Adrian Kempe skated with our 4th line for a bit, for instance. Also how fucking confusing is it behind the bench + how well practiced must they all be by now at listening carefully for who goes over the boards. I couldn’t imagine managing set lines let alone blended ones 😭

ok I know I clown on 11/7 but I would kill to pick jim hiller’s brain about it. It feels like he chooses one or two forwards every night to plug into other lines during the inevitable rotation… I think it’s kempe tonight (he’s.. SO good at covering for when his d jump up on the play. Oh my god) often, before turcotte was starting with the first line every night, they had him plugged into basically every line. How does an NHL coach actually run 11/7 effectively? Is there literature on it. Is there data. Hiller has run it longterm rather than as some kind of stopgap and it feels like it hasn’t been a problem, if anything it gives some lopsided line matchups that the opponent aren’t ready for. Research pending??

[hockeyplayerstories]

Adrian Kempe | From Friends To lovers

#This is shit but I hope it’s okay#

“Skate! Skate! Skate! Get the puck deep in their zone!!” Coach Desjardins yells across the ice. I skate as fast as I can, but I can't. My legs feel like they are about to give out and there is a whole period left after these 5 minutes. Just as I am about to fall, Coach saves my life “Change Up!” “ Thank you god!” Jeff say’s which is what I was thinking. We were playing Calgary Flames tonight. They liked to play dirty, especially Matthew Tkachuk which isn’t how we usually and like to play. Sitting on the bench, out of breath, Coach walks over to me “Your line, last minute of the period” “Yes sir” Jaret says tiredly for our line. As I sat there recovering, I let my thoughts wander along with my eyes. Looking around, my eyes finally land on the one person I was looking for, my girlfriend, Y/N. My beautiful, fun, courageous, brave girl. I watch her as she smiles making me wonder what is on her mind. Maybe to finally have time to see me since it is the weekend, the only time we see each other because of my road trips and her job. I am caught staring at her when we catch eyes, naturally I smile back at her and blush. Looking away was hard because of her beautiful eyes but I had to, time went by so quick I didn’t even notice. “ One minute left, you ready?”  Jaret asked me, breaking me from thoughts. “Ummm...sure yeah sure”. I refocus back to present time quick. “ Third line up!” Coach calls, my line rush's on the ice when the others return, charging as Drew carries the puck in the other teams zone. I reach the puck first in the left corner, with one quick look right over my shoulder, I take note of where everyone is, I notice number 77 skating behind the net no one on him, Jeff. He turns skating backwards taping his stick on the ice, wanting and waiting for the puck. Pinned to the glass in a tackle, by 2 guys, I somehow get my stick free, kick the puck to my stick and pass to Jeff and make a bee line for the front of the net.

Jeff then quickly makes a saucer pass to Dion, who passed a bouncing puck to Drew only for him to send it back to him slowly for a perfect one timer. Due to not having the best one timers, the puck missed the net by meters and hit the boards in back of it on the left side of the net. Luckily , I had moved out of the pucks way thinking it might actually hit the net and cause a rebound chance. The area I moved to was to the right of the net. What happened next will be in everyone's memories for a long time. The puck was shot so fast the goalie was surprised and lost focus for a second or two, not a long time but long enough for me. Being in the right position where the puck went meant I had a easy shot on net that could be a possible goal unless its a bad day and I miss the net. Without thinking and being the type of player I am with a left handed stick, I put my stick between my legs dragging the puck with it and shot it with a backhand towards top shelf. Smith was still on the left side of the net so basically, I had a wide open net. I don’t really score that often so for my goal celebration, bear hugged by both Jeff and Jaret, I was trapped between them for a few seconds before they let me go. Skating back towards my bench to high five my teammates, I sense the tension lift from my shoulders, having not scored in 10 games. I received the puck due to it being my 100th point. Sitting on the bench still smiling, i looked around the arena at all fans here to watch, for a few seconds I catch eyes with Y/N who, like me, is still smiling clapping her hands giving me a thumbs up, even though play has resumed with 50 seconds left, my goal was scored exactly 5 seconds ago. Shuffling down the bench to allow the others to sit when coach called for the second line to go on. At that very moment, I decided I will play until I can’t physically move.  

The sound of a horn going off broke me from my thoughts, signaling the end of the second period. “ Good job boys!!” someone in the stands yelled, they were seated near the tunnel we go down to reach the locker rooms. Walking towards my stall and sitting, Coach starts his speech with the same thing every game, catching my attention “Alright boys! That was a good second period but you have to watch your turnovers. There wasn’t really that many this game but still. We practiced puck control, passing, shooting, edge work along the boards, use it! Kempy that was a good goal, using speed to get to the puck first, battle in the corner, looking at where to pass to that was good. And I am not just saying it to him, I am telling everyone, you all did good out there. Alright? Ok get ready for 3rd, keep up the good work here boys, we got this!”. Coach never really said that much in his speech. Finally , someone said something and the joking began. We figured out over the years that joking in between periods keeps us loose. While everyone talked, I was busy texting Y/N.  

                 Putting back on the equipment I took off, Anze decides to start bugging me a tradition we do before every game  “ So Adrian, what do you with Y/N when you are alone?” He questioned me, more of a joke than asking because of how young of a couple we were “Well” I begin while walking towards the door “I’d rather not say it in here” I smiled smugly at him, who was sitting at the back of the locker room. “Ohhhh” everyone, who heard me say it, yelled out. We may be young but we seem to act like a couple who have together for many years and the team liked to tease us about it. “ Let’s go Kings Let’s go Let’s go Kings Let’s go” people starting chanting when they some us walking out to the ice, I loved hearing that.

Since my line isn’t playing the first faceoff in the third period, I take a seat on the bench, bumping shoulders with who ever slides next to me then lean forward to rest my arms on the boards. I take this time to think back on my relationship with Y/N, smiling about how we were friends before we fell in love. We've known each other since we were 5, we met in kindergarten and stayed friends since then. I asked her to move to America when I got drafted back in 2014, she said she loved to and went on up until we moved looking up everything about LA, the best places to eat at, she even found our current apartment the same one we have been living in since we got here. I let her choose the decorations because she always wanted to decorate her first apartment. It was only when we got here is when I confessed that I feel love with her, I was a little scared of what her reaction would have been but it useless because she too was in love with me.

A pat on my shoulder from Coach warns me that when the current line on the ice comes back to the bench, my line goes on so I tell myself to stop daydreaming and focus. The third period continues with the team getting a one goal lead over our opponents and we battle to keep it which leads to us winning the game, everyone is excited as the crowd cheers as the end of the game horn goes off.

About a hour later, I exit the locker room in search of my love in the hallway with the other families and stop as soon as I spot her playing with Trevor Lewis’s twins. Immediately I start to think about the future with her which happens a lot like almost everyday, she is the type of women your parents would want you to be with and my parents are very happy with that. Y/N stands up when Trevor’s wife tells her I am waiting for her, walking to me after saying bye to the Lewis family. When she is close, I wrap my arms around her like after every home game and she does the same. “Congrats on the W Ads” Y/N says as she pulls out of the hug “Thx I couldn’t have done it without my good luck charm cheering me on” I smile making her smile and blush, ”let’s go home” we walk towards the exit hand in hand.       

#this is shit! How do I even fix this?! Welp I guess I will leave it how it is for now#

[andremarcusburky]

Miami (3) - A.K.

A/N: hey its been forever and i started this in june i think and now its november but who keeps track anyway (next chapter in april maybe?) masterlist

part 1 [2]

It didn’t take long before you’d properly calmed down and the two of you were now joking around, the nature of it very flirty actually. Adrian told you about Sweden while also implying that you should go visit someday, with him. You’d answered with a simple ‘maybe I should’ and then he’d only given you a satisfied glance. The weather had quickly changed and rain started pouring down, but you didn’t really mind. It was quite cozy, actually.

“Hey, I have to go to practice, but how about we get pizza when I come back? And I’ll get wine” Adrian said as he stood up. “You have practice during summer?” you asked, trying to avoid the pizza and wine part since it kind of made your heart beat about ten times faster.

“It’s not really practice, more just a couple of us working out together” he said and grabbed the now empty containers that used to hold ice-cream. You nodded understandingly. “So, pizza?” he asked again, earning what must have been a doubting look from you. Wine and Adrian sounded like a dangerous match when it comes to you. “Come on, we’ll make a nice dinner date out of it”.

Date. Date, he actually said date. Does he really want a date or is he being nice? You couldn’t know for sure, and you also didn’t know what you wanted. But before you’d even had a moment to think, you heard the words come out of your mouth, uncontrollably. “Yeah, sure”.

After Adrian had left you’d taken a long shower. Most of the day you spent with flashcards and books, trying to once again force some knowledge you’d never need again into your head. Before you knew better, it was 5:30 in the afternoon. Adrian was supposed to stop by just after 6, so you figured you should probably try and look at least a little better then you had that morning.

A nice, but still plain, shirt would probably due, along with a skirt. It made you look nice, but not like you’re trying. You were just finishing up your makeup when you heard a knock on the door, signaling Adrian was here.

“Your food, milady” he said and gave a slight bow when you opened the door. He was holding two boxes of pizza in one hand, along with a bottle of wine in the other. “Thank you, good sir” you answered as you took the pizza and let him in.

“You know, you should install some system that plays Miami everyone someone walks through the door” he joked and set the wine-bottle down on your kitchen counter. “What if Will Smith sues me?” you asked with a slight laughter. “He wouldn’t, it’s Will Smith”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right. I’ll get on it” you said. Adrians eyes didn’t seem to leave you for a moment as you spoke. You handed him a bottle-opener and he smiled when your eyes met. Your fingers touched when he grabbed it from your hand and he lingered just a little too long, causing you to blush and quickly look away.

You could see in the corner of your eye how he grinned, clearly seeing the reaction he had on you. Grabbing some plates, you tried to avert your attention elsewhere as he leaned over the counter, eyes still on your frame. “So are you feeling a little better, at least?” he asked, causing your eyebrows to knit together. It took a few seconds before you remembered how your morning had been, and what you’d probably looked like when he saw you. “Oh, yeah. Much better, thanks” you didn’t meet his eyes when you spoke, a little embarrassed that he’d seen the mess that was you just hours before.

“So, where do you wanna eat? We could watch TV or sit on the balcony or whatever” you now turned around. He shrug his shoulders before answering. “Do you watch Riverdale?” you eyed him curiously. “You watch Riverdale?”

“No, but I could” Adrian said, a smug look on his face. So the couch is was, much to your liking. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to sit by a table or just talk, it was that you needed a backup plan. If you couldn’t find a topic, you’d just watch TV. And just like that half of all the dreadful possible scenarios playing in your head disappeared.

“I actually don’t watch riverdale either” you explained as you sat down. Adrian opened the wine-bottle and poured you a glass each. “It can be our thing” he said casually, as if it wasn’t a big thing that you’d have your thing.

Your tires made a screeching sound as you pulled up in a parking-space vastly fast. You’d stayed at a friends house overnight and completely forgotten about the doctors-appointment you had next day. You’d also forgotten your ID at home, which you probably shouldn’t be driving without anyway, hence why you’d been speeding all the way home after shoving all your belongings in a little plastic bag after loosing your own at your friends house. You’d probably dropped a sock or two in the car, but you’d deal with that later.

As you were running up the stairs to get to your place you almost ran into him again. It’d been a few days since your ‘date’ with Adrian. It’d been nice, really nice. But nothing happened, and you were beginning to think that was for the best. Maybe he was better as just your hot neighbour, right?

“I’m in a hurry, sorry” you excused yourself as you passed him by, before he could start a conversation. A few seconds later you were behind a closed door in your own safe-space. Your heart was thumping a little too rapidly, possibly after the running but also after almost knocking Adrian over. You leaned against your door and breathed for a few seconds, before being startled by the sound of someone knocking by your ear. Looking out the peek-hole you were met by his grey-ish eyes.

You slowly opened the door, only to have your heart drop and your cheeks flush in a darker red then ever before. In his hands were a bra, a navy blue, lace bra. Your bra, kind of a see-through bra. He held it in front of his chest as if to see if it’d fit him before he met your eyes. “I don’t know if you meant to drop this because you think I’d look good in it, which I of course would, or if you accidently dropped it”.

Snatching it from his hands quickly, you let your gaze drop to the ground as you held the bra behind you. You peeked up slowly at his smirking lips and fixed your posture slightly. “Thanks” you said, lifting your chin a bit. “No problem” he answered, slowly turning around to leave. He stopped in his tracks though, and turned to you one last time. “It’s nice” he said, and then he was gone.