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chaotickryptonitetree · 11 months ago

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And you waited.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Music alright?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Despite yourself, you believed him.

…

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

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

From: unknown

Sent $50

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

From: Jeremy

Any interest in meeting me at Dunkin on Tuesday morning?

You went to sleep smiling. He remembered.

…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’ll see you on new year’s then.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You smiled all the way home.

…

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

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

From: J

Be there in a few!

From: you

You need my address?

From: J

Course not.

And then.

I remember important stuff.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But you couldn’t forget it entirely.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You believed him.

...

happy new year! Love ya

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

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paladin--strait · 25 days ago

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welcome to hockey hearts dating service!

with us, you will match with a hockey player based on your interests! everything will remain anonymous up until the date. unless you tell each other who you are, of course! good luck, we hope you find your match!

ENTER LEAGUE SPECIFICS HERE:

nhl

ohl

ahl

college

ENTER INTERESTS HERE:

reading

writing

hockey

ice skating

teaching

stay at home

floral

working

baking

other (specify)

ENTER PHYSICAL PREFERENCE HERE:

shorter

taller

dark hair

light hair

muscular

slim

facial hair

clean shaven

other (specify)

WHATS YOUR LOVE LANGUAGE:

physical touch

gift giving

words of affirmation

quality time

acts of service

ENTER ANY OTHER PREFERENCES HERE:

(your custom preference)

as stated in my fics as well, i'm not in any way implying that these people act the way they do. i do my best to back up my facts about them but some things that i will say about them comes from the vibe that i get from them and the way i think they would act.

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joannaliceevans-fanficblog · 4 months ago

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My boys...🥹

#nhl bruins #boston bruins fiction #jeremy swayman stop being too damn cute!#jeremy swayman fic #linus ullmark is dork #linus ullmark #pavel zacha #david pastrnak is a bean #david pastrňák

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secretlittlerandezvous · 10 months ago

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Angsty one shot ideas? ✨

Hi guys! It’s been forever since I’ve last written something.

BUT

I’m in the mood to write something angsty/sad. If someone has any ideas/requests then please my inbox is open 💖

#nhl writing #nhl imagine #nhl imagines #nhl players imagine #nhl one shot #nhl fic #nhl x reader #boston bruins imagine #boston bruins #seattle kraken #Colorado Avalanche #jamie oleksiak imagine #david pastrnak imagine #David Pastrnak

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youwillfindilluminating · 2 years ago

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Quotes from here

we need to talk about this more

#omg HOW have I never seen this pasta interview??#bergy yelling ENOUGH! 🥵#much to think about much to process #brad marchand #patrice bergeron #david pastrnak #I love that last quote so much I wrote a fic about it

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poithead51 · 1 month ago

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why do you hate media so much?

matt poitras x fem!socialteam!reader

hi y’all this is my first EVER fic so please be nice as i’m starting this new journey. just a lil story based off of a dream i had LMAO

word count: 2.7k

warnings: none, some cursing. just some good old pining with our mp51. reader is 21!

“This is where your office will be for the time being. Why don't you put your things down and get comfortable, and l'll come get you in a few. I'll take you to meet Don, Cam, Jim, and the boys."

She nodded and smiled at her new boss, putting her bag down on the chair of her new, albeit small, office. It was probably 10×10ft, but it overlooked the city of Boston in the way she'd always dreamed of. She finally made it - got a position working in media for her childhood, hometown team - the Boston Bruins.

As she paced around the room, all she could do was smile to herself, anxiously awaiting her boss, Angelica, to come retrieve her so she could meet the team.

Boston born and raised, she had always been a hockey fan - specifically a Bruins fan. Brad Marchand's name and jersey number were her laptop password far before he wore the C' on his chest. Jack Edwards' voice was both familiar and nostalgic, as it echoed around her childhood home in the fall, with family crowded up around the TV set watching their B's.

"Y/N, are you ready?" Angelica's voice broke her away from her memories. She grinned as Angelica motioned for her to follow down out of her office and into the Garden. She looked around in disbelief - all of her hard work truly paid off to get here, especially at only 21 years old.

"Unfortunately, Mr. Sweeney and Mr. Neely are in an important meeting at the moment. l've made them aware that you are here and ready to start working. We'll go meet Monty and the team now, if that's alright. You can get right on with your first task, the hometown video I mentioned. That's a short and easy one that they'll love to do, and it'll help them get to know you and vice versa. Alright?" Angelica smiled.

"Sounds great." she replied kindly, trailing behind Angelica slowly, as she glanced around the path on the way to the locker room. Her hands started to sweat as they got closer to the door, knowing that Brad Marchand was back there. The other guys too, but mostly Brad.

Angelica knocked on the door before turning to her new hire. *Here goes nothing!" she smiled.

Montgomery comes to the door, a small grin lacing his normally stern face. Angelica speaks again. "This is Y/N, our newest media hire. She hails from Boston University. She gestures to her side proudly, as Y/N offers her hand for Monty to shake. "Mind if we come in and get her started?"

Montgomery laughs. “Sure thing. God knows they're tired of me laying into 'em." He holds the door open for the ladies and clears his throat.

"Gentlemen, we have visitors." His voice booms through the space as he leads the media team to the space the team is sitting.

Y/N glances around. Holy shit. That's him. That's Brad Marchand. And Charlie McAvoy. And David Pastrnak. And Charlie Coyle.

She pinches her own hand to remind herself that this is real life.

Angelica clears her throat to speak. “Hi everyone!You all know me, from the marketing and media team. I wanted to introduce to you our newest member of the media group, who will be working closely with you all as a creator for our social accounts and website. Please give Y/N a warm Bruins welcome."

The team smiles, claps, and Carlo lets out a whoop. Of course he did, she thinks to herself, recalling all of the silly videos of Brandon she's seen over the years on the Bruins pages.

Angelica gestures silently over to her new hire, prompting her to introduce herself. "Hi guys, my name is Y/N and I am so excited to be here. I'm a hometown fan hailing from BU," she is interrupted by a whoop now from McAvoy.

She laughs before continuing. “I'm 21, and just finished my degree in digital marketing a year early. I'II be around you all for the time being creating content for our pages like Angelica said, and I'm really looking forward to getting to know you all. Especially you, Marchy!" she giggles, as laughs, cheers, and boos are heard around the room.

Out of the corner of her eye, she watches a slightly unfamiliar face shove Frederic's side with a puss on his face, as Freddy laughs at him. She narrowed her eyes. Who is that?

Monty notices her confusion and steps in. “Alright boys. Does anyone have any questions for Y/N before I let her take over to do her job, since half of you can't do yours?" He scoffs.

Trent starts to speak loudly, as the one next to him lowers his head. "Potsy wants to know-"

“I don't think Y/N, Angelica, or myself want to answer whatever question is going to follow that, Trent.” Monty interjects. “You're dismissed for the day. Practice at Warrior tomorrow at noon, optional skate at 10:30. Do the media and go home." He rolls his eyes, grabs his suit jacket and leaves the room with Angelica, who slips a thumbs up to her new hire.

The room goes silent, with everyone turning to look at their new media girl. She waves timidly before starting to speak. “Alright guys - just an easy one for me today, no hassle. All you have to do is tell me where you come from! What's your hometown. Bonus points for country, state, province, whatever." She smiles. "Anyone want to go first?"

Zadorov jumps out of his seat. "I've been waiting for something like this! I finally can explain my accent." he grumbles as laughs break out throughout the room.

"Alright!" she replies. *This is not mandatory this first go around, but I'd really love it if everyone would participate. I'd love to get to know you and vice versa. You ready Nikita?"

"She knows my name!!!" Zadorov exclaimed, met with cheers and gloves being thrown at him from various spots around the room as the team begins to clean up. As their new media girl turns to leave the room, she makes eye contact with the same player she watched shove Frederic not too long ago. She smiles at him kindly, and he quickly turns around and grabs his things.

She reads the back of his jersey.

51. Poitras.

Oh... The rookie. He's back from injured reserve, she presumes, trying to not read into how quickly he dodged her eye contact and smile.

For the next hour and a half or so, she learns Zadorov hails from Moscow, Swayman from Anchorage, Frederic from St. Louis, and Marchy from Halifax, Nova Scotia. She pretended she didn't know that one already.

She speaks one-on-one with the majority of the team, with the soft spoken folks like Zacha and Peeke slipping out after bidding her a goodbye and brief thank you.

51 never said anything.

She watched as Poitras, who's first name escaped her, waited for Lohrei and Frederic to be done with their quick interviews, and immediately ushered them out of the room upon completion.

No words spoken to the media girl or either of the players, just frantic hurrying out of the locker room.

The whole situation just seemed strange. She tried to rationalize her thoughts, acknowledging that this random rookie didn't know her, and had no reason to dislike her. Maybe he had something going on. A party or shoot to get to, a dinner reservation, or maybe just didn't feel well and wanted to go home and play Xbox or something.

It wasn't her fault. Not on day one.

By day 45, it definitely started to feel like her fault.

51, or Matt as she now knows, continued to dodge her constantly - around the office, around the rink, even on his way in and out of the locker rooms. Matt had not done content for media in her entire month and a half long duration with the Bruins. It started to feel personal.

Luckily, she had finally found a rapport with the majority of the team. Marchy, her childhood favorite, became a confidant, always wanting to partake in anything to give him attention. She got a few lip sync videos out of him. Zadorov another she grew close to. But unshockingly, no one came close to touching her relationship with Brandon Carlo. Though truly not that much her senior, Brandon became an older brother figure to her, frequently partaking in her content, chatting with her, and inviting her out with him, his wife Mayson, and their kids.

She had grown so fond of her Bruins family, and it showed in her content. Her silly interviews had started to do numbers on Instagram and TikTok. The Bruins presence on social media skyrocketed, and she began to receive tasks from her bosses to include as many players as possible.

Her newest task? Intro to the new guys.

Of fucking course.

She started with Lohrei. He was the easiest - just wanted to do what he knew he had to and get back to the ice. She liked that about him. Being the same age, they had a similar respect for each other. And sent each other TikToks on occasion.

After Beecher, Koepke, Jones, Zadi, and Lindy #2, Kastelic was next - though not new to the league, only the B's. Though she knew he was from Arizona and is a former Ottawa Senator, she learned Kasty is an NHL nepo baby.

“Y/N... You can't start calling me nepo baby.. it's not like l'm a Tkachuk." Mark rolled his eyes, the girl laughing in response, clutching her abdomen.

"Kasty, as far as l'm concerned, you might as well be the lost third brother. You're just as much of a rat!"

"Oh... That's low..." he cackled.

"Whatever. Get outta here, and send the next guy in!" she called.

"Will do!" Kasty replied diligently, turning on his heels to go out into the hall. She knew Matt was next. He was the only new guy' left. Being a fan favorite, she knew he needed to be in this video series.

What is taking so long??

She crossed her arms and tapped her feet anxiously, waiting for Poitras to come into the interview room.

“Dude, you actually need to grow up. This is part of the job." She hears Mark's voice through the wall. Her stomach sinks. Is he talking to Matt?

She approaches the door, leaning her ear up against it. "Do you really think this does you any favors? You're such a kid. This isn't the minors, Matt." Kasty's voice booms nastily.

She feels the tears well up in her eyes. She had the feeling that Matt didn't like her, but to fight with a teammate over having to be in an interview video? Was she really that bad at her job?

She walks away from the wall when she hears scrambling on the other side. She wipes her tears as Mark comes back into the room, the one and only Matt Poitras trailing behind him. Kastelic rolls his eyes. "Matt hates media, sorry. He needs to be out as soon as possible or he'll start to freak out." Mark leaves, slamming the door behind him.

Matt sighs, running his hand through his hair.

"Sorry, Y/N. Can we just get this over with?" he says, uneasiness audible in his voice.

She takes a deep breath as she turns her camera back on. "Sure thing, Matt. Why don't you tell me a little about your life growing up?"

A few days later, she aggressively flops down onto the carlo family couch. "Brandon, I have a genuine question."

Brandon cocks his eyebrow, bringing dinner over to Y/N and Mayson. "This can't be good." he chuckles.

She throws her arms up exasperatedly. "This is not a joke! I need answers.” Brandon ushers her on. “Is there a reason Poitras hates media so much?"

Brandon lets out the smallest giggle under his breath, making eyes at Mayson. The girl continues, solemnly. "Is it me? Did I do something?"

"Oh my god. No. You didn't. Open your eyes!" Brandon all but yells, not wanting to wake up the kids.

She furrows her brow. “Brandon. I've known you for just under two months and here I am, eating dinner on your couch with your family. Poitras won't do much as speak to me, and he avoids me and media at all costs. I don't know what I did to him." she feels her eyes start to water again.

Brandon sighs. “Dude, have you ever considered that you make him nervous?"

"What? He's a professional hockey player Brandon, that makes no sens-"

“Y/N, he has a crush on you. Since day one. It is slowly killing all of us." Mayson starts to giggle as Y/N's jaw drops, Brandon looking very proud of himself.

"What?"

"You have to say something to him. Please. For the rest of our sake. Monty almost killed him last week when he fucked up that drill in practice - he got distracted when he noticed you in the stands with the camera. If you don't say something to him soon, Monty's gonna send him to Providence!!" Brandon laughed, a lot less quiet this time. Mayson, also still laughing, shushed him between giggles.

Monday morning, she shows up to practice with her camera, an evil (Carlo) plan in her brain.

Up in the stands, she notices as she catches Matt's eye. She waves and smiles as he skates into Lohrei's back distractedly. Mason shoves him in response, laughing as he realizes he had been looking at the girl up in the stands.

When Monty calls practice, she heads down to the locker room, searching for Matt. She knocks, signifying her entrance into the room. she calls into the room. "Hey guys, it's Y/N. I need Potsy for an exclusive. Boss's orders." She smiles as she rounds the corner, her order met by whoops and wolf whistles.

Matt blushes, giving his team the stink eye as he approaches her. He starts quietly. “What is this for? They know I don't like doing media."

She gives him a soft smile. "It's a silly TikTok. Ranking snacks. You're a hot commodity, Matty, fans want to see you online!" He blushes again, grabbing his water bottle and following her out of the locker room.

They hear a faint "GET IT!" from Pastrnak as the door closes.

Matt sits down in the interview space, accepting her phone with TikTok open on it.

"Loosen up, it's just a video. Everyone loves you - they want to see you be silly" She smiles.

He blind ranks the snacks, frustratedly putting cheetos above protein bars after he didn't plan accordingly. He grins timidly as he gives the phone back to her. He pushes his chair back, and starts to get up to leave. “I hope that was enough. I gotta g-”

“Matt, wait." She gently grabs his arm. "Sit back down for a second. I have more questions!"

His face heats up as he sits back down. "About what? I thought I already did my get to know you thing weeks ago." He rolls his eyes unconvincingly.

She giggles in reply. "They're questions from me.”

"Of course they are, you're the media girl. I don't understand."

"No. This is Y/N asking Matt a question. Not the media girl asking the rookie." She smirks. "I just want to know - why do you hate media so much?Did I do something? You did fine when it was Angelica."

Matt sighs. "It's nothing personal, Y/N. I just get nervous."

She smirks again. "Matt, I know it's personal.”

Sighing louder this time, Matt speaks again. “Y/N, whatever Freddy or Kasty or whoever else told you is not true, I have nothing against yo-"

"Matt, I have a crush on you too."

Matt freezes. "What?"

“I know that's why you won't do media. Why do you think I keep asking you to do it anyway?"

"Boss's orders?" He smiles shyly.

"Something like that." She pulls a piece of paper out of her camera bag, scribbling digits onto it. "Here's my number, Pots. Don't lose it, okay?"

She gets up, turns on her heels, and opens the door back to the locker room.

"I'll call you!" He calls after her.

“I’m sure you will.”

hope u like it bruins gals :P accepting NON SMUT requests for rn

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pastrnakshohoho · 11 days ago

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Navigation System

So, I made a new tagging system and this is to help you guys navigate through it. Everything is organized in alphabetical order. Clicking their name will bring you to everything I’ve posted and reblogged of them, like gifs, videos and clips, pictures, appreciation posts, etc.

When I started this, I had a shit ton of posts already, so, I’m really hoping I got everything 😅

See my pinned post for more navigation links!

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Players

Alexander Ovechkin

Anders Bjork

Anthony Beauvillier

Brad Marchand

Braden Holtby

Brock Boeser

Carey Price

Charlie Coyle

Charlie McAvoy

Colin Wilson

Craig Anderson

Craig Smith

Danton Heinen

David Krejci

David Pastrnak

Frank Vatrano

Frederik Andersen

Garnet Hathaway

Jake DeBrusk

Jeremy Swayman

Jesse Gabrielle

Leo Komarov

Mat Barzal

Matt Grzelcyk

Matthew Tkachuk

Mitch Marner

Nick Foligno

Nick Suzuki

Noel Acciari

Oskar Steen

Patrice Bergeron

Ryan Graves

Sean Kuraly

Tom Wilson

Torey Krug

Travis Konecny

Trent Frederic

Tuukka Rask

Tyler Seguin

Tyson Jost

William Nylander

Zach Senyshyn

Zdeno Chara

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Duos

Jeremy Swayman and Linus Ullmark

Mat Barzal and Anthony Beauvillier

Patrice Bergeron and Brad Marchand

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Teams

Boston Bruins

Colorado Avalanche

New York Islanders

Seattle Kracken

Toronto Maple Leafs

Vancouver Canucks

Washington Capitals

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Extra

Asks

Fic Concepts

Fight Club

Hockey Humor

Jack Edwards and Andy Brickley

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

#nhl #ice hockey #hockey #sports #blog navigation

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july-1804 · 5 months ago

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Dad Nico and Dad Jack is something I never knew I needed but they are such girl dads omg

Me neither, truly 😉 a lot of this fic/universe was inspired by David Pastrnak and his angel daughter when he won gold with Czechia at worlds this year.

#Mila Hischier-Hughes #Jack Hughes #Nico Hischier #thoughts

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pastrnaks-sainz · 2 years ago

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BTW I have an AO3 on which I post fics for the following:

Patrice Bergeron/Brad Marchand

Matt Grzelcyk/Charlie McAvoy

Hampus Lindholm/David Pastrnak

Brandon Carlo/Trent Frederic

Craig Smith/Taylor Hall

David Krejci/Adam McQuaid

The link to my page is right here is anyone wants to check it out!

#ao3 #boston bruins #patrice bergeron #brad marchand #matt grzelcyk #charlie macavoy #hampus lindholm #david pastrnak #brandon carlo #trent frederic #david krejci #adam mcquaid #craig smith #taylor hall

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ao3feed-hockey · 2 years ago

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New Adventures

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/Dxur2Ta

by mainlypastrnaksbae

Patrice didn’t do well when he was idle. He always needed to be doing something, needing to be busy in order to feel like he was being useful to, well, to everyone around him. Brad always chided him for it but somewhere along the course of their relationship (both platonic and romantic) he had learned that that was just who Patrice was.

In retrospect, he really shouldn’t have been surprised when his husband told him that he had gotten another job offer and that he was taking it.

Words: 3555, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Fandoms: Men's Hockey RPF

Rating: General Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: M/M

Characters: Patrice Bergeron, Brad Marchand, Adam McQuaid, David Pastrnak, Pavel Zacha, Charlie McAvoy

Relationships: Patrice Bergeron/Brad Marchand, Minor or Background Relationship(s), David Pastrnak/Pavel Zacha

Additional Tags: GM!Bergy, Fluff, retirement fic, this is just how im coping

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/Dxur2Ta

#IFTTT #ao3feed #fanfic #hockey rpf

0 notes

chaotickryptonitetree · 11 months ago

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

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

You were running late.

And it–sort of–wasn’t your fault?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Until it wasn’t.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The best beginnings always begin with that–a kindness.

…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What do you think of the class?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

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

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

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

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

Smiling to yourself, you immediately typed out a response.

not sure…heard she usually goes for defensemen.

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

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

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

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

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

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

But you could wait. And so you did.

…

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

Any chance you’re still awake?

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

of course, you answered, paper due soon.

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

Three gray dots appeared and then disappeared before his response.

Was hoping you’d say that.

And then–Be there soon.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah,” his voice was small.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

...

love you!

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

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paladin--strait · 4 months ago

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paladin's 100 follower celly and new request list!! ✨

ahhh thank you so much for 100 followers! im so happy 🥳 and on my birthday too?? its like a gift 🎁 but, i hope that you guys like these prompts and the people i chose but if you have anybody that you want me to write for or a different prompt you wanna read you can still send it in and i'll see what i can do!

I love you all so much! keep reading to see the prompts and the people for your requests! ⬇️

the people who you request for are referred to as "name" in the prompts. and sorry, but none of these will be NSFW. even though i read it sometimes, im not comfortable with writing it just yet. all fics written will be under the tag "paladin's 100 follower celly!" make sure to check it out and drop a follow to see when a new fic comes out!! ❤️

some will be written in headcanon form and some will be in fic form! but let me know which one you want it in! ❤️

please let me know if you want the reader to be plus size, i'll happily write it for ya!

current request status: open!

✨ prompts!! ✨

1 - "I'm sick, don't get near me" "I don't care"

2 - "I want you to meet my parents." "but we just met!"

3 - crying in his arms

4 - him crying in your arms

5 - "listen to me, everything is going to be alright."

6 - "I'll take care of you."

7 - "they didn't deserve you."

8 - sugar baby x sugar daddy

9 - "I'm gonna be here for you whether you like it or not."

10 - bodyguard!(name) x reader

11 - sunshine!reader x (name)

12 - lazy morning

13 - team staff member x (name)

14 - comparing hand sizes

15 - cooking for his team (athletes only)

16 - cooking for his parents

17 - meeting his team (athletes only)

18 - (name) x baker!reader

19 - reader brings cookies or cupcakes for players team after a huge win (athletes only)

20 - reader gets hurt and (name) takes care of them

21 - wearing another players jersey (athletes only)

22 - (name) cooks for reader and it goes terribly wrong

23 - (name) cooks for reader and its good

24 - reader cooks for (name) and it goes terribly wrong

25 - reader cooks for (name) and its good

26 - reader hosts a suprise party for (name)

27 - rival player chirps player about reader, player goes crazy (athletes only)

28 - reader is a ref for the nhl, slowly falls for player (athletes only)

29 - reader cooks for (name)'s friends

30 - reader's child takes a liking to (name)

31 - reader is a storm chaser

32 - reader meets (name)'s pet and the pet loves reader

33 - reader watches an episode of her and (name)'s show without him knowing

34 - (name) comforts reader in a storm

35 - reader and (name) go to a pet store and reader convinces him to buy them a pet

36 - going to the eras tour with them

37 - going to a nba game with them

38 - going to yours/his little siblings sports game

39 - hairstylist!reader / doing his hair

40 - he teaches you how to play hockey (athletes only)

41 - reader compliments their eyes

42 - reader is a florist

43 - reader is a coach for a pee wee team

44 - teacher!reader

45 - coaches daughter

✨ nhl players! ✨

matt rempe

jack hughes

luke hughes

quinn hughes

trevor zegras

jamie drysdale

sidney crosby

cole caufield

nico hischer

timo meier

dawson mercer

andrei svechnikov

arturs silovs

sergei bobrovsky

matthew tkachuk

brady tkachuk

auston matthews

igor shesterkin

connor bedard

jeremey swayman

andrei vasilevskiy

stuart skinner

marc andre fleury

nico daws

jacob markstrom

aleksander barkov

brock boeser

j.t. miller

macklin celebrini

leo carlsson

mason mactavish

david pastrnak

artemi panarin

✨ other fandoms! ✨

tyler owens (twisters)

javi (twisters)

boone (twisters)

daryl dixon (the walking dead)

rick grimes (the walking dead)

carl grimes (the walking dead)

negan smith (the walking dead)

eugene porter (the walking dead)

abraham ford (the walking dead)

(there may be more added later)

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whockeywhore · 5 years ago

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Open feat. David Pastrnak Part 1 NSFW

“You can keep unpacking my suitcase David, I’m still going to leave.” I eyed him in the mirror and smiled. “I’ll just have to work naked.”

He slunk off of the bed and wrapped himself around me, peppering kisses along the column of my neck. “You are painting quite a picture for me, sweetheart.”

“Something for you to think about during dinner tonight.” He slid one hand around my waist and the other under the cup of my bustier and I met his gaze in our reflection and watched the muscles in his back flex as he dropped his head to kiss my collar bone. “Torey’s coming to pick us up in fifteen minutes.”

“I can have you coming in ten.”

“David!” I held my necklace out and he dropped his hands in defeat before taking the clasp, pressing one more kiss to my bare skin before he latched it. I stepped out of his reach and into my dress, turning around so he could zip me up. He took his chance to trace the curve of my back before getting dressed himself.

The deep burgundy of his suit was sinful and I fell back against the vanity, taking a second to thank the universe for his tailor. He held up two ties, one black and one grey, and I pointed to the darker one.

“For me?”

“Of course.”

He stepped forward and I wrapped it around his neck, trying hard to keep my focus on the knot rather than his hand creeping up my thigh. I failed miserably and pulled him down for a deep, longing kiss.

“Pasta! Viv! We’re gonna be late!”

“Coming!” I heard Torey shut the front door and weighed the consequences on pressing on. David had made up his mind, wrapping the band on my thong around his middle finger and letting it snap back. I winced and he chuckled, kneeling down to lick the red mark he’d left. His head was in my dress and my body was all the way in it when Torey yelled again.

“I swear to god, if you two are fucking up there-”

“We’re coming!” David stood and straightened my dress, catching my hand as I turned to leave. He kissed my knuckles and up my wrist before I stopped him.

“Don’t start up again! He’s gonna kill us.”

“What a way to die.”

I stole down the stairs before he could suck me in again, pecking Torey on the cheek on my way to the door. He grumbled about our reservations and followed me out, opening the backseat of his SUV. I slid in and watched David bound down our front steps, stopping to whisper in his friend’s ear before getting in. Torey gave him a scowl and slapped him on the back before taking the driver’s seat.

David chose the seat next to me, only because the one under me was taken, and laced his fingers in mine. Melanie looked back from her seat in the front and smiled.

“You two look great. New suit, Pasta?”

“It was a birthday gift from Viv.” He dropped his voice low so only I could hear his second sentiment. “And I get the second half tonight.”

“It’s beautiful, Viv. You have to tell me where you got it made.”

“It’s that little place on Mass Ave, in the shopping center behind Target. We’re about to pass it actually.” I pointed out the window as Pasta sank his teeth into my neck, nibbling down to my collarbone and back up. The sensation was unnerving and my stomach flipped with arousal. “Knock it off.”

“Do you know what you do to me, my love?” His eyes were hooded with lust as he pulled my hand onto his lap, brushing my knuckles across his erection. I flushed as thoughts of how to take care of it flooded my mind and he continued. “In that dress, knowing what you’ve got on underneath... I may not live to see another birthday.”

“David!”

“Hey! You kids keeping it PG back there?” Torey had put on his dad voice and I sat up as David slid to the other side of the bench seat.

“Give it a rest babe, they’re young and in love.”

“Take it from someone who’s walked in on them before, PG is our safe zone.”

My cheeks burned as Melanie shot me a smile and a wink. David laughed next to me and the flush deepened.

“He’s incorrigible.”

“I remember when he was incorrigible.” She nodded to Torey as he whipped into a parking spot, setting a hand on his shoulder as he turned the car off. He set a hand on the back of her seat and turned to look at us.

“Can you two behave?” He looked between us with his brow furrowed. David held up his hands and I nodded.

“Best behavior, dad.”

“Good.”

We were seated on the patio when David started up again, taking advantage of Torey and Melanie’s trip to the bar. He tried to pick up where he’d left off at home and I swatted his hand away.

“You said you’d behave.”

“Not my fault, my love. You should see yourself in that dress.” He buried his nose behind my ear and took a deep breath, running his fingers up and down my arm. “You smell divine. Can I have my present now?”

“You still haven’t said what you want.”

“You know what I want.”

“Both of them?” He nodded, picking my phone up and pressing it into my hand. “What time?”

“Nine.”

“Yes sir.” He stiffened and I smirked, knowing his need for authority. He lived to be in charge, for the power of being in control. It was my gift to him and I shivered in excitement as I sent the two messages. David turned his attention to the bread at the table and I waited for him to bite down before slipping my hand into his pocket. He coughed abruptly and I feigned concern as our guests returned.

“You alright Pasta?” Torey slid his drink over as he took his seat, watching David take a long sip of his beer. I kept my eyes on him for a moment and fought a grin as he nodded, shooting me a dangerous glare. “Down the wrong pipe?”

“Something like that.”

I took the chance to wiggle my fingers and he jerked forwards, nearly knocking over the glass of water in front of him. He unrolled his napkin and wiped up the bit that spilled before laying it over his lap and scooting his chair in.

Our waiter came and went, returning with our appetizers and food after while. David dug into his steak and I twirled a strand of spaghetti around my fork, catching his eye as it hit my tongue. He stopped chewing as I grabbed him, digging my nails into his forearm. The moan I let out was beyond what was necessary and I relished every minute of it.

“Baby, you have to try this!”

“Is it good?” Melanie reached out and snagged a bit as I brought my fork to David’s lip, biting down on my own as he ate. I slipped my hand back in his pocket as he held my gaze and nodded, the moment between us excessive to say the least.

“You like it?” He nodded again. “It’s just the right combination of creamy and salty, don’t you think? And the pasta is the perfect al dente.”

He swallowed hard and leaned over to whisper in my ear. “I thought we were supposed to be on our best behavior.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about. Does anyone need a refill?” I grabbed David’s glass and looked between Torey and Melanie. They both shook their heads and I took off towards the bar. He was on me like a shadow and used an arm around my waist to pull me off my path, diverting both of us to a bathroom at the end of a long dark hallway.

“David, we-” He cut me off with a kiss backed by need, a fervor built up over the past hour that had finally cracked his resolve. Not a word between us as he pulled me into the room, locking the door behind us. “Pasta!”

“I need you. I just need to feel you.”

“You can’t wait until tonight? Two more hours?”

“I want to taste you.” He ran his fingers over my lips and brought them up to his mouth, eyes fluttering shut as he licked them clean. “So sweet, miláčku. So damn divine.”

“David, sweetheart, look at me.” I took his face in my hands and he turned to kiss the inside of my palm. “We are waiting until after dinner.”

“I’m so hard-”

I took his hand and guided him back between my legs, savoring the touch despite my best efforts. I cleared my throat and fought to keep my head through the gesture.

“Feel me, David. Do you feel how wet I am?” He nodded and sank his middle finger deep. “S-save it. Save it for tonight. Please? Think of how good it’ll feel when we get home, when you and I finally get to be together.”

I leaned in and bit down on his earlobe gently as his finger flexed. “Think of how good it’ll be to fuck me, David. After watching two other men have their way with me. Hmm?”

He groaned but backed off, turning to wash his hands in the sink after taking a taste. The sight nearly killed me but I straightened my dress and reached for the door. He caught me before I unlocked it and kissed me hard again.

“No more teasing? You’re gonna kill me.”

“Fine. But you gotta stop too.” He agreed and we started back towards our table. I jumped as he swatted my ass by the bar.

“Last one. For now.”

“David!”

#david pastrnak fic #david pastrnak imagine #hockey fic #nhl fic #hockey imagine #nhl imagine #hockey smut #nhl smut #open fic

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somenhlfics · 6 years ago

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TITLE: Mini Heart Attack WORD COUNT: 1,321 PLAYER: David Pastrnak SUMMARY: You come home early from a study group and David sits you down to have A Talk. NOTE: Hi guys!!!!! Before I get into it all I just gotta say some things because I dont want any confusion or whatever. Basically I’m really new to the nhl and players and all that, so my take of personalities is not the greatest on account of I dont really know anyone well enough yet. I’ve also never written anything before. This is probably all a mess but I’ve been thinking about this thing with David for like a few days and I just HAD to write it so!!! Lmao if it’s shit you can tell me on anon and we’ll forget this ever happened 👀

The idea of leaving study group early to go home and lay on the couch with David was such a great idea, until the reality sets in of dragging your overstuffed back from where you parked, two houses away, up to the front door. You all but kick it into the door, making a horrific cracking sound. There goes the surprise entry.

You unlock the door and kick the book bag into it, which pushes the door wide open. Suddenly there's a thud and some rustling, and then there's David. He pushes your bag away from the door, allowing it to shut, and wraps you into his Classic Cuddle. You wrap your arms around of as much of him as you can before you just start clinging to his shirt for dear life, his weird swaying suddenly rocking your both into the wall. Neither of you put an arm out to brace for impact, mostly because you cant see and if you let go of his shirt you'll probably fall over.

David pulls back, smiling at you like he's waiting for you to give him something. You smile back, quickly rushing through your last conversation double checking you didn’t promise to stop off for anything. "We need to have a kitchen meeting," David says. "As friends." You laugh, a bit worried, but mostly relieved that you hadn't forgotten anything. You're about to question him on what the talk is going to be about, but notice he's going into the lounge room and not the kitchen. You grab the strap of your book bag and drag it into the lounge room behind him, attempting to fling it up onto the chair. It doesn’t work, of course, and your books fall out onto the floor. One book comes out with enough speed that when it hits the planter pot beside the chair the whole plant shakes and David looks at it concerned. God forbid you hurt James. The plant was yours coming into the relationship, the name came from David after you left him in charge of plant care while you went home for the weekend. All weekend you heard about the movie marathons, the pizza night, the gossiping with his friend James. You were pretty excited about this new friend, not as excited to be in your lounge room shaking 'hands' with James. On one hand you were realising you really were in love and on the other, you were realising David really needed more friends. "What's up, my friend?" You ask David, hoping to this time get a hint. 'Friend Meetings' were something you two had started when David was going through some things with his friends. It was a way of removing the relationship from the conversation, taking the pressure off honest advice. He didn't want you to hug him and tell him it was all going to be ok, he wanted you to be honest and tell him he fucked up, badly, and that maybe some things cant be fixed. You walk through to the kitchen and he follows behind. You sit at the island bench in the middle of the kitchen and David leaves a chair between the two of you. David leans forward onto the counter and starts tapping his fingers. "I couldn't stop thinking about someone today," David starts and suddenly your urge to start laughing stops. Maybe this is more serious than you though. Maybe you're about to be mad. "Long dark hair, weird laugh, this girl," he continues. You can't help but look down at yourself, your blonde hair skimming your shoulders. Maybe leaving study group early to lay on the couch with David was a horrible idea. "David," you say, pausing mainly because you really are speechless. There was no signs that David had been with anyone else. He'd been his usual self. Constantly had a hand on you, always trying to make out, trying to spend every second with you. Just last week he'd turned up to your study group with a pile of sports magazines. Though after ten minutes of him laughing at the moustaches he'd drawn on the British swimming team you'd convinced him this was a girls only study group. "I was thinking about her while you were out, thinking about running my fingers through her hair," he says. He's looking at you, but his face is blank. He doesn’t look sad, or sorry, or even upset. Maybe he's practised this a thousand times, now well rehearsed on the big confession. You look down at your lap where you hands are frantically rubbing the fabric of your dress against your thumb nails. "David," you say again, still with nothing else to say. You can’t bring yourself to look over at him again. "Then I was thinking about how beautiful she looked when she came home one day with her hair cut short," he says, and you can hear the change in his voice. You still refuse to look up at him, but now you're suspicious. "Then all of a sudden I come home from a game away and this beautiful girl has blonde hair," he's laughing now, reaching out for you. Without a second thought you smack his arms away, his laugh filling the kitchen. "I hate you, SO much," you say, trying to lean away from him as he stands up and drags your chair towards him. "I really just nearly had a heart attack David!" He squishes you into his chest as he kisses the top of your head and you can feel him shaking with laughter he's trying to suppress. "I was looking at pictures from when we met and you looked so beautiful and then I remembered when you cut your hair and you were like," he opens his mouth and flops his tongue out to the side, rolling his eyes around. "Oh god so beautiful, my beautiful girlfriend the model," he says, still acting like he didn’t just attempt to send you into cardiac arrest. "David," you try to start, but he cuts you off with The Face. The Fish Face to be precise. It's his favourite thing to do to your face, besides fuck it. He cups your cheeks and squishes them together, your lips sticking out like fish lips. He gently kisses them before releasing your cheeks a bit, but keeping his hands on your face. "I love you, so much David, but you really test me." You're trying to sound tough but you know it's not working. Mostly it's The Fish Face that's ruining your attempt at a tough girl image. "I love you too, obviously," he says, squishing your cheeks again and kissing your Fish Lips. The kiss is bit harder this time and you lean up into it, his hands releasing again. You pull back, looking up at him. "You know what my next colour is going to be?" "Tell me," he says, squishing your cheeks again. "Goddamn grey if you keep doing this to me," you say, trying to scrunch your brow. Another attempt at a tough girl image foiled by The Fish Face. "Silver is a fast colour," he kisses your lips gently before speaking again. "Think of how fast you might run!" he says, one more kiss after. You try to blow a raspberry but The Fish Face will only allow for a bit of dribble to bubble out of your mouth and start making its way down your chin. David, in true David form, licks it up and kisses you one last time before he's gone, laughing his way back into the lounge room. You slowly pull yourself off the chair and peak around into the lounge room, looking for your favourite weirdo. He's flat on his back sprawled out on the couch, patting his chest and wiggling his eyebrows. Now this is what you came home early for. He spreads his legs to make room for you as you smile, mostly to yourself, because you really are in love.

#david pastrnak fic #david pastrnak #i just reread this and like #it really shows ive never written before slkdjghslkjdhgsledfg

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