pairing: Beckett Sennecke x reader
comfort (angst lowkey?), slight spice (lit js kissing) and mentions of cheating and sex, swearing, and drinking
a/n: an anon sent this req in and I might've butchered it cuz I didn't fully understand the ask but here we are. AND WOW I RLY GOT INTO THIS.
Beckett snorted in the driver's seat beside you, reaching over to turn up the AC in the car.
"Try glycolic acid. Pyper said it's really good."
You gave him a disbelieving look, watching the corner of his mouth twitch even though he wasn't looking at you.
"Thank you, Beckett." You said dryly, rummaging through your purse for your phone.
"Should've told me that when we were at the mall." You mumbled.
"Well, we can go back. I'll even buy it for you—"
"Be quiet. I'm already sick of listening to you."
"God, I missed you so much."
The drive was long. It shouldn't have been, but Toronto traffic trapped everyone at least three times a week, and today was one of them. So there you sat, talking over quiet music and sipping from the Starbucks you'd forced him to buy you. Beckett had landed in the city a few days after your last exams, and within the week he'd somehow gotten you to see him. Not that that wasn't normal. You were usually with him quite frequently during his off-season and this summer would be no different, the only difference that it'd been months since you last saw him. And you thought that maybe it would be awkward after not seeing him since March, when the Ducks came to Toronto for a game and he gave you a rushed hug before he was jogging back to his team.
But it wasn't. Of course it wasn't.
Within five minutes you'd fallen back into the familiar rhythm of banter you'd always had with him since you were kids, Beckett teasing you about the sweater he'd lent you once and never saw again, you mentioning every time he'd been bitched off the puck.
"That was twice. You try skating from a 260 pound guy."
"I have. With you. Fat ass."
His lips twitched, glancing at you through the corner of his eye. "250."
"You wish." You winked at him when your phone buzzed, and you saw him scan the small screen quickly before you could do anything about it. His eyes lit up as he smirked at you, voice annoyingly low.
"Who's Chris?" He raised his eyebrows at you, nosily trying to peak at your phone again.
You frowned at him, tucking your phone against your chest. "Get your snout out of my face."
"He's my friend. From uni."
"Any benefits come with that friendship, or what—"
Your heart stopped at the blunt question, and you whipped your head to face him.
"No! What the fuck is wrong with you."
He smiled to himself, shaking his head.
You scoffed, feeling heat rise to your cheeks.
"I wouldn't tell you either way, dickhead."
"Why not? I tell you everything."
"I wish you didn't." You muttered, recounting the many girls you've heard about.
"So Chris." He continued lightly, ignoring the jab.
You glared at the side of his head, wishing the light would turn green as you let out an exasperated huff.
"Can you—yes, he's tall."
He smirked as you caved, looking over at you.
"Yeah? Pretty enough for you?"
You rolled your eyes, turning to look out the window as you hid a smile.
He laughed, reaching over to ruffle your hair as he made a high pitched voice.
"Y/n and Chris sittin' in a tree—"
You slapped his shoulder lightly, cutting him off. "You're actually six years old." He grabbed your hand straight off his shoulder, interlacing his fingers with yours as he tried to continue.
He snickered to himself, but listened to you nonetheless.
"This is gonna take longer, by the way."
Your eyes flicked to your phone, and you nodded distractedly.
'''We're not going to mine."
His eyebrows shot up, immediately turning to look at you. "Where're we goin'?"
You gave him a bored look, not bothering to answer.
"What?" You asked innocently, reaching to grab your shopping bags from the back.
"You're making me drive you to another guy's house? That's awful."
You rolled your eyes again, organising all your things in your lap as you nodded at a street.
"I just have to pick up some things."
"What things? Have you slept over?"
You almost laughed as his voice quickened. "Oh my days, chill out. Books and stuff."
His eyes scanned the street in front of him as he slowed down at the house you were pointing to, his tone subtly lowering.
"I'll wait for you then."
You turned to look at him, your brows furrowing.
"I told you I had things to do after. It's fine."
"Yeah, things. Not people. I'm waiting for you to come out."
You huffed out a breath, shaking your head as you gathered your things. "No, you're not." He opened his mouth to protest, but you cut him off as you leaned over the centre console to hug him. "We'll do something next week, okay? Thanks for the coffee!" You quickly slipped out of his car, leaving him to silently watch you pad to the front door and wave at him just before you were let into the house.
He sat bewildered, the sudden feeling of dread churning in his stomach making his pulse quicken.
What the fuck just happened?
The next few days were busy. Beckett, since he dropped you off at Chris's, had been texting you more, trying to figure out your entire schedule as if he was planning on seeing you every day until he had to go back to Anaheim. But between brunch dates with your friends and secret visits with Chris, Beckett, for the first time since you’d met him, was not by your side 24/7. Thursday nights which were always, always reserved for movie nights happened every other week. The soft serve ice cream place you two went to at least 20 times during the summer was visited maybe twice so far, and July was a week away. Because now, Chris was who you spent nights with. Rushed, spontaneous evenings that left you two tumbling into his bed, giddy and buzzing the next morning when you woke tangled together. And of course, Beckett noticed.
He didn't make a big deal out of it. So when he asked you for the third time that week if you wanted to chill at the pool and you said sorry, I'm busy tonight, he let it roll off his shoulders.
He tried to let it roll off his shoulders.
In reality, he was pissed. Not so much that you'd let this random guy take your time together. He knew it would happen eventually. He was more upset with himself for letting it get to this. For waiting too long. Because those last few months in Anaheim, where he'd been away from home the longest he'd ever been, he only wanted one thing. And it wasn't playoffs. It wasn't the hundreds of girls in his DMS. And the closer it got to the end of the season, the excitement of seeing you had him so riled up he almost forgot his duffel bag at the oversized luggage belt. Because the last time he saw you was in March, and all he got was a quick hug that he thought about repeatedly until his flight back to Toronto.
And now, his years long plan to finally fess up was falling apart in his hands because he'd taken too long to say something and some guy you'd met in university now had you wrapped around his finger. And that alone—the thought of you laughing with someone else, under someone else—made him livid.
To the point where he ignored your fourth can't tdy. next week? text, and called you as he turned down your street. You were slipping your sweater over your head when your phone rang.
You stared blankly at the space in front of you, silent with confusion until you heard rapid knocking downstairs.
You didn't respond and hung up instead, making your way downstairs to swing the door open. "What the hell—"
He didn't even give you a second before he was pulling you outside of the house, dragging you down your steps and towards his car.
"Wh—Beck, what are you doing—"
"You're coming over, and you're gonna tan or whatever stupid shit you do instead of swimming."
You stared at him incredulously as he led you to the passenger side of his car, barely able to get a word in before he was shoving you inside.
"I told you I'm busy! I have to get a gift for Savannah—"
"Then we'll go get it and go back to mine." He closed the door, trapping you inside before you could protest. When he sat in the drivers seat, he leaned his head back, taking a deep breath as if to forget that he'd just yanked you out of your house, and turned to look at you before putting on a smile.
You scoffed, crossing your arms as you turned away from him.
"You're fucking insane. Like actually."
He reached over, pulling your arm gently to face him.
"I just want to see you. I feel like a fan texting you every day like a loser."
You couldn't help the snort that left you at the term fan, finding it ironic coming from one of the most popular rookies of the season.
"Oh, come on. It's been a week, Beckett."
"It's been 11 days, actually, and we haven't gone to Haydn's in a month."
"So you just want frozen yogurt."
The words were so direct that you blinked in surprise, heart nearly stopping in your chest. His eyes never left yours, not embarrassed or tinted with an ounce of remorse as his mouth opened slightly to speak but he stopped himself.
The car was silent. Not awkwardly—never, ever awkwardly. Just with startling consideration, both of you wordlessly trying to decipher what 'want' entailed. But then he was correcting himself, that easy smile he usually wore crawling back onto his features as he started his car.
"I want to hang out with you. God forbid."
You stared at the side of his head as he pulled out of your driveway, nodding more to yourself than him as you forced your eyes to the road in front of you.
When the last week of August glided by, the familiar feeling of dread found its place at the bottom of your stomach. Beckett was leaving in a week. And usually, it was easy to cope with his absence. Because you would see him at Christmas, even if it was only for a few hours at his parent’s house, and that was only four months away. But that was still four months of rushed texting and the occasional call that came through on lonely nights. Maybe it was because you hadn’t spent as much time with him this summer, and the memories you fell asleep to when he wasn’t there weren’t as plentiful.
And it was your fault. You knew it, and you knew Beckett knew it with the way he’d been trying almost every other day to fall back into that routine that had taken its tradition since you were 13.
So when the yearly Sennecke barbecue rolled around, you promised yourself you wouldn’t miss it. Not that you ever had. But still.
You were helping Candice set out platters when Beckett finally shouldered through the door, beer stacked in his arms up to his nose. You raised an eyebrow at him as he teetered towards you, hockey strength doing nothing to help him balance the top pack from sliding away. You grabbed it before it fell, revealing the grin that was already plastered on his face.
You set it down, removing the six packs one by one until he had a free arm to wrap around your shoulder.
“For?” You replied, leaning into him for a half hug before starting to drop the drinks in the cooler.
“Getting wasted. With me.”
You glanced at Candice as she gave him a disappointed look, laughing to yourself as she walked away.
He stuck his bottom lip out at you, making you roll your eyes.
“Oh. Would you rather drink with Chris?”
He snorted, shaking his head as he watched you crack open a can.
“Should’ve invited him. Fuck, I could’ve thrown him in the pool—“
“You’re such an asshole.” You muttered.
“Tell him, baby!” You heard Candice yell from the kitchen, giving you a thumbs up through the window. You winked at her, shoving Beckett away as he reached for your drink and began walking away from him.
“Put on some sunscreen,” you said over your shoulder, grabbing your bag to change into your bathing suit. “You’re getting red.”
“That’s not the sun.” He called back, but you ignored it, waving him off as you slipped inside.
Slowly, people started filing in. Their family crowded the backyard, some of the little cousins splashing around in the pool, and Beckett sat with his friends on the couch, downing beer like it was water. When he beckoned you over, you excused yourself from the discussion you’d been roped into, weaving around the kids throwing themselves in the pool. Beckett watched you the entire time, eyes tracking every movement of your legs until you were standing in front of him. He gave you a lazy smile, reaching out to pull you beside him.
You studied him as he leaned his head back against the couch, trying to act unbothered at the arm he slung across your shoulders.
“How many beers have you had?" You asked, noticing the glaze in his eyes and the red inching up his cheeks.
He tugged you closer, burying his face in your shoulder. "Like, five. I'm fine."
You glanced around at his friends that were snickering at him, rolling your eyes as you gently pushed him back against the couch.
"It's 3:30. Were you chugging them?"
He mumbled something unintelligible into your skin, fingers playing with the straps of your bikini innocently as he leaned away.
You huffed out a breath, plucking the bottle out of his hands as you glared at Aiden. He only shrugged at you, lips tugging into a smile as he nodded at Beckett who was staring at you quietly.
You scoffed, grabbing Beckett's hand as you stood up.
"You guys are fucking stupid. You especially." You huffed, glancing at Aiden who had fostered Beckett's abandoned beer. He only winked at you, leaving you to drag Beckett back to the house. Despite being tipsy, he didn't stumble, following you obediently as you weaved through people and brought him to the kitchen, standing silently beside you as you filled a cup with water and handed it to him.
A small smirk appeared on his face, that little glimmer of confidence making your stomach flip despite how uncoordinated he was at the moment. You watched him as he downed it, shaking your head as he placed the cup down.
"And it's 31 degrees. You're gonna feel like shit."
"You are not fucking balling, bro."
He sighed, looking up at the ceiling as if it were the cause of all his problems.
"Just come sit with us. Have a drink or something."
You looked at him sceptically, crossing your arms.
"Last time I drank with you we woke up outside."
"And it was great, so stop being a bum and have a drink."
"Fine. But you can't have anymore until five."
You took in a deep breath as he led you back outside, sidestepping his cousins and carefully avoiding his chatty aunts. When he pulled you back onto the couch, he tossed you a can, casually slinging his arm around your back and sharing coolers with you until your eyes were heavy and your cheeks felt hot. His fingers grazed your shoulder, a gentle reminder that he was there as he thumbed his way down your arm. When the sun began to set, the backyard quieting as the little kids headed home for bed, you were half sprawled over him, your legs dangling off Aiden's lap and your head tucked against Beckett's arm. And finally, you felt at ease. No stress from school, or the overwhelming feeling you knew would come back when Beckett set foot in the airport. Right now, you were here. With the one person you felt the most comfortable with.
It was hours later when you got the text.
You blinked your eyes open at the soft sound of your phone, head buzzing pleasantly from the too many drinks you'd had. You heard Beckett talking quietly with the guys, something about hockey that you'd probably already heard a thousand times. When you tapped your phone, the message becoming clear as you focused your eyes, your heart dropped.
She never complains. Have fun with your hockey toy.
You couldn't bring yourself to open the video below it. The cover alone told you enough; Chris wasn't yours. He never had been. And as you realised, slowly sitting up as you stared at your phone in shock, Beckett noticed too.
Your breathing started to quicken as you stared at the message, the faint beat of music playing from the speakers fading into the heavy thump of your heart.
His eyes immediately refocused, the slight glaze clouding them clearing in an instant as he watched you.
You could barely hear him. You didn't rip your eyes away from your phone as you stood up, clumsily stepping over cans and bottles to stagger towards the house. The roaring in your ears got louder as you pushed through the door, stumbling up the stairs until you whipped open the first door you saw, slamming it shut behind you.
He cheated on you. Chris cheated and sent the video. Your hands shook as you swiped through your phone, finger hovering over the play button when Beckett slipped through the door. You whipped your head up, eyes wide as you stared at him, but he only closed the distance between you, grabbing your phone out of your hands and shoving it in his back pocket.
You reached for it halfheartedly, vision becoming blurry but he shifted, shaking his head.
Instead, he reached for your hands, lacing them with his gently as you reached for your phone again.
"Give me my phone." You mumbled shakily.
"You don't need it. There's nothing."
You looked at his chest to avoid his eyes, the sadness in them making your breathing quicken.
"Give me my phone, Beck." You repeated, voice cracking when you blinked away hot tears.
"Y/n, please, just...there's nothing on there. I promise."
You ignored him, again reaching behind him but he held your hands firmly in front of you.
"Just leave it—" He sounded exasperated, eyes searching yours for something you didn't have an ounce of.
When you heard the concern in his voice, as if this was affecting him, you dragged your eyes up to his, trying to ignore the way his face fell when he saw you.
"Beckett..." You croaked.
Not for the phone anymore. For him.
He didn't let you say anything else, stepping closer to wrap you in his arms. You couldn't move, tears soaking his bare skin as he gently scooped you up, sitting down on the edge of his bed with you held tightly in his lap. He ran his fingers along your spine, letting you shake against him until you were weak and his neck was wet with Chris's mistakes. He made hushed sounds into your hair, waiting for you to calm down before he pulled back slightly, searching your eyes.
You could feel him looking at you. Could feel those blue eyes piercing straight through you, reading every single thought and emotion you were hiding behind closed eyelids because he always could. So you forced yourself to crack your eyes open, swollen and red and hot with something that was turning into hatred for the man on your phone. Beckett's voice—usually stuck in that rough, deep octave trained for relentless media questions—was soft. Soft in ways that you'd only heard occasionally on Thursday movie nights, where the TV volume was so low that the soothing rise and fall of his chest was the loudest thing in the room.
You stared at him, your racing mind slowly spinning to a stop as his thumb grazed your neck. His eyes flicked between yours, watching you silently before he leaned forward, nose just barely brushing yours.
"You know that you're the most amazing girl in the world, right?"
A shaky breath left you, and you had to close your eyes to stop the tears threatening to spill from leaking. When you didn't say anything, he stroked your jaw, breath warm on your skin.
"In the fucking world. It's...It's incredible."
He waited for you to speak, and so did you, and when you couldn't think of a single thing to say he spoke for you.
"I don't...know what this guy did..."
When you cracked your eyes open to glare at him tiredly, what Chris did very fucking obvious, he couldn't help but smile, thumb brushing your bottom lip.
"But it doesn't matter. He doesn't deserve an ounce of you." His tone dropped, suddenly much more serious. "If I wasn't in the league, I'd kill him. I'm serious." He added, when a ghost of a smile tugged at your lips.
Finally, you opened your eyes to find him already looking at you. The little green speck that you'd discovered only came out in the sun was staring right back at you. He claimed it only came out when you were around. You claimed he was full of shit. But now, as it seemed to grow with every breath you took, you realised he might not have been lying. And as you studied it, the air around you becoming thick with silence, you sucked it in like it was the only kind capable of keeping you alive. That quiet, steady air that left you both speechless, unsure of what to say.
Now that air was charged. With something electric that had you both struggling to keep your eyes on each other, to not let them wander from the tension that had always been there. Underlying, subtle, but constant, and never enough for either of you to mention it.
Beckett leaned forward, his breath hot on your lips but not anywhere near as close as you wanted them. And as you watched him watch you, his gaze slipping to your lips for that split second, your breath hitched in your throat. He noticed. Of course he noticed.
He let his hand rest on the side of your neck, thumb dipping into your pulse.
"You deserve so much more."
You swallowed, letting him feel every motion of it as you responded just as quietly.
His eyes snapped back to yours, gaze almost pleading as he pulled you closer. This was the last ten years piled on top of each other. Pretending to be something it's not when it so clearly is. He tilted his head slightly, leaving the smallest inch of space between you so that you could pull away.
"Tell me I can kiss you. Please." He whispered.
He sounded like he was begging. He thought he probably was. But you both stopped thinking at all when he leaned forward at that slight nod of your head and pressed his lips to yours.
The heat that came from him almost made you freeze. He was so much warmer than you'd imagined, sparks spreading from your neck to your chest to where his hand rested on your waist, your heartbeat pounding under your skin wherever you were touching him. When his hands started to roam, finally free to grasp the skin he'd dreamed about so many times, he almost moaned from the actuality of it, having to bite down on your bottom lip to stifle it. He tugged you closer, hands pressing you flush against him and leaving him so breathless that he had to pull away for air within a minute. You cracked your eyes open, a small smile pulling at your lips at the way he was looking at you. You had to press your mouth to your shoulder to stop yourself from laughing, his hair already sticking in every direction even though you'd barely touched it. He tilted his head at you as you laughed, mouth agape as he chased your lips again, muttering,
You laughed into his mouth at the comment, each one being licked straight off your tongue.
He groaned, his name finally, finally, falling from your lips in a way that wasn't platonic making him forget where he was. He never slowed down, only deepening the kiss with every ounce of his soul every time you matched his intensity.
I'm high, he thought. I'm high and I've just become addicted. He couldn't get enough, the taste of your laughter the most delicious thing he'd ever swallowed. When he started mumbling incoherently against your lips, you had to pull back, breathless yourself as you asked him, what?
He couldn't stop, lips trailing from the corner of your mouth to your jaw, finding that one spot under your ear that released a little sound from you and had him pulling you impossibly closer.
Your eyes fluttered as you pieced together the words, each one punctuated by a searing kiss that had you arching into him. When he was breathing nothings into your ear, nipping at anything he could reach, you had to cup his face and force him to stay still in front of you.
"What are you saying, Beck?"
When he looked up at you, his pupils were so dilated you thought something was wrong. But he kissed the inside of your palm, using his hands to hug you to him before he was staring up at you with something that was dangerously close to adoration.
"Waited so fucking long for this." Another kiss to your wrist, lingering longer than the last. "Finally get to treat you better."
