I'm Nina, and I've finally succumbed to writing hockey rpf x reader stuff!
I am entirely new to this aspect of writing, so please be gentle with me as I attempt to make the writing as ambiguous as possible so it fits anyone who reads it :)
This is a side blog for me, so I cannot promise I'll write or update anything frequently. Also, for the time being, I'll be keeping my asks closed!
Summary: The off-season picture of Will with an acoustic guitar sitting next to Voter inspired this :)
Tags: Established relationship, fluffy, guitar, singing/duet, Mac DeMarco's music <3, BC boys being idiots
People: Ryan Leonard, Gabe + Macklin's 2-second appearance & Will Vote
Notes: Imagine For the first Time by Mac DeMarco, sung more like a duet-the guitar style played similarly to Kayla McKay's on YouTube <3
Masterlist
"I swear to god, Smitty, if you start playing Love Story one more timeâ"
Will, still in his Sharks hoodie from practice, grinned up at you from the couch, fingers hovering over his guitar. "What? Why? Itâs iconic."
"Itâs basic," you tease, shooting him a look as you lean against the doorframe. The living room glows in the shifting lightâblue hour settling in after the last golden streaks fade from the west-facing windows.
Mack chuckled into his beer as he scooted over on the couch, making space for you without a word.
Smittyâs laugh came out low and easy as he adjusted the guitar in his lap, the wood catching the light like honey. "Alright, music critic. If not Tswift, then whatâs my move?"
You slid onto the couch beside him, your knee bumping his thigh as you leaned in, catching the faint scent of his post-practice shower and that stupidly expensive cologne. "Try something less TikTok, moreâŠvibes. Build up to more niche indie stuff if you want, but start with Fleetwood Mac. Like Landslide would sound gorgeous on acousticâwith your voice, youâd kill it."
Mack arched an eyebrow, grinning. "Look at you, dragging Smitty out of his comfort zone. Next thing, heâs gonna be an Indie bitch."
Will rolled his eyes, but his fingers tapped against the guitarâs body, thoughtful. "Fine. But if Iâm branching out, youâre singing with me. No backing out." He shot you a lookâhalf challenge, half something softer, before tuning the low E string with deliberate, slow twists.
"Fine," you drawl dramatically before turning over and chatting with Mack.
That was weeks ago.
Now, standing in the hallway outside the living room, you watch him through the half-open French doors. Will was lounging on the couch, guitar balanced across his lap like itâs an extension of him, his stupidly perfect wavy hair golden, catching the last of the evening light. Heâs mid-laugh at something Will Vote said, his shoulders shaking silently, the kind of laugh that scrunches his nose, dimples popping, and teeth on display.
Then, as he senses you, his head tilts up. His gaze lands on you, and his smile shiftsâslower, warmer, private.
Voter followed Smittyâs gaze toward you and immediately grinned, pushing himself up from the couch with exaggerated effort.
"Alright, alright, I know when Iâm gonna be third-wheeling," he announced, hand brushing Will's shoulder before wandering off toward the kitchen, where the rest of his friends were clustered around the kitchen island.
Will nodded softly and kept watching you with that stupidly fond look as you crossed the room. As you settled next to him, the guitar shifted in his lap, the wood warm under your fingertips when you brushed them against the body.
"Youâre late," he murmured, though there wasnât any real accusation in itâjust the rough edge of amusement.
"Blame traffic," you lied, settling against his side.
"Uh-huh." He plucked a string absently, the note ringing clear. "Or blame your inability to leave the house without reorganizing your entire lipstick collection three times."
You elbowed him lightly in the ribsâa reflexive gesture, one he barely registered, but before you could defend yourself, his fingers settled against the fretboard with sudden purpose. You let your retort die on your tongue, your interest winning.
The first chord rang out, rich and familiar, and your breath caught. It wasnât Taylor Swift, nor some basic white girl song he'd always horribly sing along to in the car.
âNo way,â you whispered, watching his fingers move with a confidence that hadnât been there weeks ago.
Will didnât look up, his focus entirely on the strings, but the corner of his mouth twitched. âTold you Iâd branch out,â he murmured, voice barely audible over the next chord.
The notes of For the First Time spilled into the room, even slower than Mac's version, softened by the way his thumb dragged across the strings. You knew this songâitâs in your Spotify repeats and on your shared playlist with Will, but hearing it like this, raw and unhurried, and with his low hum threading under the melody, was something else entirely.
You didnât even realize you started singing until his fingers stuttered on the strings, his head snapping up to look at you like you surprised him. His eyes, soft blue in the golden light, widened a fraction before crinkling at the edges, and suddenly, you were hyper-aware of how quiet the room had gotten. Even the clatter of bottles from the kitchen had paused.
âDonât stop,â he said, so low it was almost a breath.
His fingers found their place again, picking up the melody where heâd left off, and this time, when you sang, it was deliberate. Your voice wavered on the first line, but Willâs foot brushed against your own, a signalâgood, keep going.
By the second verse, he was mouthing the words along with you. Then he began singing too, voice blending under yours in a way that shouldnât have workedâhis timbre against your soft airy notes, but somehow did.
Smittyâs fingers stumbled once, just before the bridge, and he huffed a laugh. âForgot the chord,â he admitted sheepishly.
You nudged his shoulder with yours, grinning. "And here I thought you'd practiced."
His fingers found the right chord this time, pressing down with deliberate care. "Shut up," he muttered, but his voice was warm, his cheek brushing against your hair as he leaned in. "Just keep singing."
So you did. The bridge eased into the final chorus, your voices weaving together. The guitar thrummed gently against your thigh, the wood alive with every strum. Smitty still missed the occasional noteâhis playing rough around the edgesâbut the tenderness in his focus, the way his brow knit with concentration, made it feel even more intimate.
When the last note faded, the room stayed quiet for a beat too long.
"Damn. Smitty just serenaded his girl with Mac Miller. Who wouldâve thought?" Ryan materialized, slow-clapping, his trademark grin in placeâannoying, but always affectionate.
Willâs fingers hovered over the strings, but he didnât pull away, just tilted his head to press a quick, laughing kiss to your temple.
âShut up, Leno. And it's Mac DeMarco, you dumbass,â he snarked, but there was no real bite to it. His free hand moved to trace idle circles over your waist.
From the kitchen, one of the guysâprobably Gabe, judging by the badly suppressed laughâyelled, âEncore!â followed by a chorus of whistles. The guys are shooting the shit, trying to get under Will's skin, out of love, of course.
Smitty rolled his eyes, playing along, but you caught the way his grip tightened around the guitarâs neck, knuckles whitening for just a second before he forced them to relax. Heâd never admit it, but you knew that look: the faint, self-conscious flicker in his eyes, the way he ducked his head as he could hide behind his hair. It was the same look heâd had after his first NHL goal, like he wasnât quite sure he deserved the spotlight, praise.
âIgnore them,â you murmured, low enough that only he could hear, just a tad bit louder, you added, "They're just jealous they're not as talented." Will snickered next to you, his body further relaxing. You spoke again, this time looking at Leno, whose eyes twinkled with mirth, "He played well, asshole.â
Ryan's lips quirked. âJust âwellâ?â
"Amazing," you said, nudging your shoulder against Willâs, while still looking at Leno. The guitar swayed slightly, and Smitty caught it instinctively, his hand flattening against the body to steady it. His fingers were calloused, hockey handsânow guitar hands too. The way they curled around the wood was careful, almost reverent. "Youâve definitely been practicing. Much smoother," you added, refocusing on Will.
He tried to play it cool with a shrug, but the flush climbing his neck gave him away. "Maybe, just a littleâyâknow how it goes."
Voter, leaning in the doorway, snorted. "A little? Dude, I had to listen to him play this song on loop for weeks. If I heard it one more time, I was gonna strangle him with my bare fucking hands."
Will shot him a lazy middle finger, not looking up, but the tips of his ears were red. "Itâs called dedication, Voter. Look it up."
Voter scoffed and threw a popcorn kernel at Will in retaliation. The kernel arced through the air and landed directly on Smittyâs forehead, then bounced into the soundhole of his guitar with a hollow, comic thunk. For a split second, everyone frozeâthen Voter burst out laughing, âHoly shit,â he wheezed. But after seeing the murderous look on Willâs face, he immediately retreated into the kitchen, Leno trailing after him.
Will just sighed, shaking his head with a crooked smile. "Thatâs gonna be a bitch to get out," he muttered, eyeing the guitarâs soundhole. His arm curled around your shoulder, the other hand absentmindedly picking at the strings.
"Thank you," you said softly, letting your hand linger on his arm. "That was really sweet."
Around you, the room slipped back into its usual chaosâLeno arguing about off-season endeavors, bottles clinking, Voter hamming up Smittyâs tormented guitarist sidequest for the kitchen crewâbut it all faded to a gentle buzz. Smittyâs thumb traced lazy circles on your shoulder, anchoring you to the quiet between you.
"Still messed up the bridge though," he mumbled, brow furrowed as he glared at the frets.
You smiled, reaching up to rub the back of his neck. "Will, honeyâitâs okay."
He met your eyes, blinking slowly, then mouthed a soft "thank you" before letting his head drop to your shoulder. His fingers continued to trace lazy patterns along your arm, the guitar forgotten for now. Your hand threaded through his hair as you both settled in, content just to watch the others goof around.
Summary: A silly conversation about Brad's nose leads to him going down on you
Warning(s)/Tag(s): Established relationship, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, oral sex (f!receiving), unprotected penetrative sex, slight praise kink
Notes: GAH!! Brad's massive noseâŠthe way he had licked opposing players as a BruinâŠI had to write something about those two qualitiesâŠto uh, benefit us ;)
Masterlist
"Do you ever think about how weird noses are?" Brad asked, body sinking into the couch beside you. His arm slipped around your waist. His cologne wafted around him, yet you could smell a trace of sweatâjust back from practice.
"What, like philosophically?" You snort softly, leaning into him a little bit, "Or are you now finally realizing you've always had one?"
"Hey!" He nudged your shoulder, grinning. "Nah, I mean functionally. They're just... there. Sure, they smell stuff, but mine mostly gets whacked with sticks, pucksâŠâ he trails off for a moment, âfists,â eyes shining. âBut yeahâitâs basically a target out there." He tapped his noseâbig, adorned with a new scratch across the bridge from a recent game, but more importantly, unmistakably crooked from years of abuse. "Pretty sure mineâs just for decoration now."
You laugh, "Please. It's iconic." You edge closer, knees brushing his thigh.
He flashed his trademark grin, his fingers drew slow, looping patterns on your hip through the fabric of your sweatpants.
"True," he mused, voice lowering, "It's just that my nose is extremely noticeable." His thumb slid up, teasing the edge of your waistband. You looked from his hand into his eyes, his eyes that were starting to glisten with mischief. "It's especially obvious when it's buried somewhere."
Smooth, Marchand. Real subtleâyou think, biting back a grin.
You lift an eyebrow, pretending to be unaffected. "Oh? And where's that, exactly?"
"Likeâ" he started, but his hands were already tightening on your waist, pulling you effortlessly into his lap. You straddled him, his mouth finding the curve of your neck, his nose tracing along your skin as he breathed you in. "Here," he murmured, letting his meaning sink in with the press of his body.
He nips softly, and with a gasp, you twist a hand into his hairâshort and soft. His faint stubble drew a delicious line as he moved lower, teeth skimming your collarbone. You arched your back, pressing your chest further into his, his left hand spread possessively along your lower back.
"You're such an idiot," you breathe, words thinning as you roll your hips into his, heat pooling low in your belly.
Brad just laughed, vibrating against your skin as his calloused palms slipped under your shirt, skimming your stomach. "Yeah, but you tolerate it," he teased, grinning up at you.
Your retort died on your lips as Brad gripped your hips, lifting you from his lap and moving you to the end of the couch. He dropped to his knees, hooking his fingers into your sweatpants and underwear and sliding them down in one practiced motion. His hands glided along your calves as he pulled the last of your clothes away, then gently lifted your calves to rest on his shoulders. Settled between your thighs, his nose and mouth perfectly aligned. He looked up at you, eyes dark. Your mouth falls open with a little whine.
He leaned in, letting his large nose nudge your clit. Then backs away, teasing: "Right here, huh? Good thing it fits."
"Fuckâ" you gasp, words dissolving into a moan as he leans in, his tongue licking a slow, deliberate stripe up your center.
His nose brushed your clit with every movement, sending jolts of pleasure through your core. His grip on your hips was firm, holding you open and steady for his mouth.
"Jesus, Marchy," you manage, voice already shaking, one hand twisted in his hair while the other scrabbles for purchase on the armrest.
He hums against you, the vibration making your thighs tremble.
You feel his grin when you jolt against his mouth. "You taste fucking incredible," he mutters, voice husky, before diving back in with hunger that makes your toes curl.
His tongue was relentlessâbroad strokes and sharp flicks over your clit, never letting up. His mouth dipped lower, lips sealing around you to suck hard before his tongue slid inside, fucking you with slick, eager strokes. All the while, his nose kept rubbing your clit, constant friction sparking pleasure that made your toes curl. His stubble scraped your inner thighs, the sting amplifying the molten heat of his mouth.
"Fingersâ" you managed, hips rocking against his face, and he didnât hesitate, slipping two inside you.
They curled just right, rubbing that spot inside you while his tongue took over on your clit, and suddenly the room was too bright, too loud, your pulse thundering in your ears as the pressure built. Brad didnât let up, his movements growing more urgent, his free hand sliding up to pinch your nipple through your shirt, and you came with a cry, his name tearing from your throat as you soaked his chin.
Your thighs quivered against his face as Brad licked you through the aftershocks, delighting in every shudder. He groaned into you, rough and approving, then finally pulled back to grin upâchin gleaming, lips swollen, eyes dark with satisfaction.
"Perfect," he muttered, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, looking every bit as satisfied as if he'd just had dessert.
You collapsed into the cushions, breathless, fingers still tangled in his hair. "Youâre insufferable," you managed, chest rising and falling as you tried to steady yourself.
Brad pressed a kiss to your knee, then made his way up your bodyâslow, purposeful, the bulk of him sinking you further into the couch. He slipped a knee between your thighs, his hips finding yours, the hard line of his cock pressing hot against your thigh through his sweatpants. Instinctively, you spread your legs wider, inviting him in.
"You love it," he smirked.
His mouth found your neck, stubble leaving a trail of tingling heat. His hands slid under your shirt, warm palms tracing up your ribs, thumbs brushing the undersides of your breasts. You arched up, oversensitive but greedy for more, and Brad didnât hesitateâhe tugged your shirt up, helping you wriggle free. His mouth closed over your nipple instantly, tongue swirling before sucking hard enough to make you gasp. You squirmed beneath him, pleasure and overstimulation blurring together, sparks racing down your spine. Brad smirked against your skin, his hand traveling down your stomach and between your thighs again.
"So fucking wet," he breathed, dragging his fingers through your slick before pressing two back inside you with a groan.
You arched into his touch, whimpering as his fingers curled, hitting that spot that sent your vision sparkling at the edges. His mouth lingered at your breast, teeth grazing your nipple before soothing it with his tongue, the dual sensations making your hips jerk, grinding helplessly against him.
âFuckâMarchy, please,â you gasp, voice cracking as your fingers clench in his hair, torn between wanting to push him away or pull him impossibly closer.
Bradâs quiet chuckle rumbles against your skin as he lifts his head, mouth shiny, gaze set on oursâhis pupils blown, lips curling in a cocky tilt.
âPlease what, sweetheart?â he teases, crooking his fingers inside you, watching the way your breath stutters. âCâmon. Use your words.â
You glare, or try to, but your thighs are trembling, and your resolve shatters the moment his thumb circles your clit, making you moan instead. Brad grins, wicked and patient, then leans down to lick a stripe up your throat.
His mouth hovers around your ear. âYeah, I know,â he rasps, âbut I wanna hear you beg for it.â
The bastard was enjoying thisâhis fingers relentless, his grip on your hip bruising, taking his time winding you so tight you might snap. You swallowed, pride finally giving way to desperate need.
âWant you to fuck me,â you blurted, the words tumbling out in a rush. âRight now. Donât make me wait.â
Bradâs grin turned feral as he pulled his fingers away and shoved his sweatpants down his hips. His cock sprang free, hard and flushed, the tip shining as he stroked himself, watching hunger darken your eyes.
âYeah?â he growled, thumb circling your clit. âYou want it like this?â
He didnât wait for an answer. Shifting back on his haunches, he lifted your thighs over his shoulders and slid a pillow beneath your lower back, drawing a small, grateful smile from you.
Wasting no time, one hand anchored at your hip, the other guided him to your entrance. He pressed in with one slow, steady thrustâstretching you deliciously, your back arching as he filled you. Heat and pressure bloomed at your core. Brad groaned, forehead pressed to yours as he paused, letting you adjust, breath hot and shaky. He kissed you, soft and grounding, until your bodies settled together.
He pulled away with a rough, âFuck,â grunting against your lips. âAlways so fucking tight for me.â
Then he started to move, pulling out almost all the way before slamming back in, the force knocking a cry from your throat. His rhythm was brutal from the start, his hips driving into you. Every thrust dragged his cock right against that spot inside you, his pelvis grinding your clit with every push. Within seconds, you were trembling, pleasure winding tight and bright in your belly.
Brad saw itâhis smirk smug even as his breathing turned ragged. âClose already?â he taunted, fingers digging into your hips as he angled you just right, the new position making you see stars and pulse tight around him. âFuck, youâre perfect.â His praise was rough, edged with hunger, lighting you up all over again.
You felt the tension in his shoulders, muscles straining with the effort to hold back, and it only made you clench tighter, desperate for the way he was coming undone. Your breath faltered. Bradâs hips stuttered, his rhythm slipping before he drove into you harder, grip tightening as if he needed you to anchor him.
âFuck, fuckââ he growled into your neck, his teeth scraping your skin as he buried his face there, the sound raw and desperate. He was everywhereâthe heavy press of his chest, the way his cock throbbed inside you, hitting that spot over and over until you were shaking beneath him.
"Look at me," he demanded, voice husky. When you forced your eyes open, his gaze locked onto yoursâdark, wild, starving. His pupils were blown, breath ragged. "Wanna see you when you come," he ground out, hips driving into you in an unrelenting, punishing rhythm. "Wanna feel you squeeze me."
You couldnât help yourselfâyou clenched around him, and Brad let out a broken sound, forehead dropping to yours as his pace turned desperate. His fingers dug into your hips, anchoring you as he fucked you through the building pressure, his breath hot against your lips. His right hand moved to rub your clit, and you moaned.
"Thatâs it, sweetheart," he rasped. "Just like that. Fuck, youâre gonna ruin me."
The praise sent sparks down your spine. You tipped over the edge with a cry, back arching as pleasure ripped through you. Brad swore, his rhythm staggering as you clamped down around him, his hips jerking as he chased his own release.
"Fuck, I canâtâ" he choked out, and then he was coming, a groan so deep it shook you, his cock pulsing inside you as he spilled, hot and thick.
He slumped against you, forehead pressed to yours, breath uneven and hot between you as he stilled. The weight of himâsolid, groundingâpressed you further into the couch, the air thick with sweat and sex.
Brad exhaled, a long, satisfied breath, and nuzzled into the curve of your neck, stubble scratching lazily at your damp skin. "Fuck," he groaned, lips brushing your collarbone. "Youâre gonna kill me one of these days."
You laughed, breathless, hands in his sweat-damp hair. "Dramatic."
He lifted his head, fixing you with a lookâeyes still dark, mouth curved in that smug, self-satisfied grinâand nipped your chin. "Says the one who just screamed loud enough to scare the neighbors."
"Oh, shut up." You murmured, face flushed, giving his shoulder a shove.
He only smiled, leaning down to capture your lips in a gentle kiss.
