below is listed the works of nhl players i write for so far. i do have a few non-nhl fanfics written (detroit: become human fics) which can be found using the search function for my page. (please keep in mind that all of these are works of fiction, and NOT a depiction of reality; also keep in mind that i do not keep up with much media/news, and so if a player or character is problematic, let me know, please) saints and sinners welcomed:
Hey y’all! This fic is a little rough, but I still do hope you all enjoy it, even though it is the summertime for us Northern hemisphere folks. It’s a little jam packed with all sorts of stuff, so I will be listing warnings as necessary. Once again, I hope you all enjoy this fic, and remember to take care of yourself!
Pairing: Pyotr Kochetkov x F!Reader
Word Count: 1.8k
Warnings: Fake dating/engagement, Heavy weather, Abandonment/separation, Hypothermia, Near-death experience (please let me know if I need to add anything!)
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As he got off of the horse, he held a hand out to her, gently guiding her off of the horse so as to not have her stumble off.
His hand rested on the small of her back, not too low, but at a respectful height that made her feel comfortable. “Careful,” he mouthed, breath visible in the air, almost silently.
She could only look at him from where she was standing as he led the horse to a livery stable, handing the other man a few coins as he handed the reins to him. Looking around, she hoped that no one could recognize her despite it being nearly a few years since she last visited.
“This your wife, Pyotr?” the man asked, nodding over to her as he talked to Pyotr.
He shook his head, giving the man a tight-lipped smile. “Fiancee. I have yet to wed her, but I’ve received permission from her father to have her hand.”
Pyotr was bluffing. His words were the first that came to mind, and the most reasonable thing to say in this situation. She was simply just a person who sought out his help—no. She was a long-time friend of his—distant, but no less than a friend.
“Her name?”
Blinking, Pyotr realized he might be caught, but quickly came up with something that would seem believable. “Soon, Kochetkova,” he smiled.
The other man let out a hearty chuckle as he pat Pyotr on his back, wishing him well as they departed as he returned back to her.
She looked at him with furrowed brows, eyes filled with concern. “Is everything alright?”
Taking a breath in, he looked around nervously. “Can you do me a favor? You do not have to say yes—”
“Pyotr, you’ve given me everything I could have asked for—I will do whatever it takes to pay you back as long as you don’t betray me.” The look in her eyes revealed the truth, raw and vulnerable alongside what sounded like a confession.
“Pretend to be my fiancee, just for today.” He swallowed nervously, knowing his ask carried a weight that would be devastating if someone found out the truth.
“As you wish,”
She hooked her arm around his, standing close by as if she were in a romantic relationship with him.
“Keep your dorogaya warm, wouldn’t want to marry an ice block, would you?”
“No,” he chuckled. “I want to be able to hold my beautiful bride some day—take care of her, give my heart and soul to her,”
Simply smiling at him, she couldn’t help but feel comfort at his words, sounding so sweet as they fell from his lips. It was only pretend, but it felt so natural to end up beside him, walking around the town hand in hand as their boots crunched the snow beneath their feet.
As they continued walking however, the display of affection—even as subtle as it was—gained the attention of the townsfolk quickly, with murmurs and whispers spreading about. The glances held the weight of a thousand words, despite the only noise within town being the common commotion of trading and bartering.
She felt the facade slip away slowly, the bitter reality seeping in towards her mind, and she couldn’t help but swallow nervously and she looked around, rather frantically.
Pyotr took notice of this, and he squeezed her hand reassuringly, attempting to remind her that no one would recognize her under all the clothing that she was bundled up in.
Escaping the rowdiness of the town common, they finally ended up at the butcher’s shop that sat in the corner of the street, further away from the main market. As they entered, a small bell chimed at the door, notifying the butcher of their arrival. The bitter aroma of fish and meats lingered in the air, poultry and cuts all assorted on sheets of ice hidden behind display glass.
“Pyotr, welcome back.” The man greeted. Burly, tall, but he seemed much harsher than Pyotr. “Who is this accompanying you today?”
“My fiancee,” he responded curtly. “May I get a few cuts of beef and chicken, please?” His tone was intentionally cold, but he still held onto his manners.
The butcher huffed, and turned around to grab paper to wrap the meats with, but she felt like the attention was shining brightly on her very existence. It was evident that he was irritated by Pyotr’s lack of engagement, especially regarding a matter as sudden as a woman present beside him.
Placing the wrapped meats on the counter, he rang Pyotr up, keeping the exchanges and conversations short as they left, the little bell chiming once more.
Entering the town’s crowded streets again, it seemed as if the population had doubled, with the streets filled to the edge with people frantically trying to get from one place to another. Immediately, it felt all too overwhelming at once, the world swirling around her feet as she reached her arm back for Pyotr.
Nothing. Nothing reached out to her in return, and she worriedly turned around, hoping to see Pyotr standing right behind her.
It was much too difficult to spot Pyotr in the swarm of people, and before she could realize, her legs were moving along with the crowd, boots stepping haphazardly against the slick, cobbled ground.
She would’ve shouted for him, calling out his name, but it was too great of a risk if someone recognized her voice.
Slowly, she tried to make her way through the crowd, pushing towards the direction of the livery stable, hoping to just wait and see if Pyotr would end up there as well. With only a few stumbles from the loose-fitting boots, she made it, only to see both Pyotr, and his horse, Nadia, absent from the stable.
“Pyotr…?”
The question, silent from her lips, was left unanswered, and she could feel herself hurting, slowly but surely.
Her skin ran cold, chest tightening as her stomach lurched into her throat as she attempted to figure out what to do from here. Thousands of thoughts and questions ran through her head, rational and irrational, and she noticed that the livery worker was also no longer there.
Quickly, she started to make her way out of the town itself, leaving through the front in a mad run. Her clothes, boots, everything, it all weighed heavy on her shoulders as she sprinted through the snow and in the direction she came from.
It only grew increasingly difficult as the snow seemed to fall more, not yet a blizzard, but much more than a light snowfall. Looking back, the town seemed to fade away into the blurred background, and the trees that surrounded her with it.
Tears threatened to fall from her eyes, betrayal shattering her heart bit by bit as she took a deep breath of the cold air in, quickly covering her lower half of her face with Pyotr’s scarf.
It smelled an awful lot like him, reminding her of his sweet, gentle laugh, causing her to start weeping softly. She didn’t know if she could stand the thought of him anymore, but leaving the scarf and his clothes behind meant giving up on survival.
Within minutes, she felt lost, unsure of which direction was right, only steadily moving forward without turning left or right. Some pines came into view, a fuzzy patch of darkness in the blinding white snow, and a glimmer of hope ignited in her.
As she got closer, it was difficult to differentiate between the path and nothing, snow already covering the regular passageway people used to traverse into town. She could only rely on natural landmarks now, hoping to come across something that wasn’t like the many oh so similar pine trees she had already come across.
The snow became even harsher, howling in her ears through Pyotr’s hooded coat, each step of hers becoming more miscalculated, feet planting onto the ground awkwardly. Despite the snow starting to pile up, the earth was still slick beneath her boots, causing her to lose her balance as she fell into the snow, the sudden change in temperature stilling her momentarily.
Standing up, slowly, she swept the snow off of her clothes as she continued to trek on further into the woods, guided by nothing more but her intuition.
Eventually, she came to a river, rushing with as much rage as the wind did, and a brief memory came back of when they crossed it. Step by step, she carefully set one of her feet onto the large rock protruding from the river, attempting to keep her balance steady.
A rather wide river, she could feel the icy water clawing against her ankles as she tried to make her way across, hands stuck outwards maintaining her balance.
It was as if her luck ran out when a rock slipped from her footing, sending her hurling downwards as her arms tried to brace her, the shocking cold water immediately making contact with her body. Her clothes weighed her down even more significantly, and trying to get out of the water felt like wrestling with the devil himself.
The clock was ticking, and she knew the longer she remained in the water, the sooner she wouldn’t ever return home.
Stripping the heavy coat and scarves from her frame and tossing it onto the ground, she eased herself out of the water, hands digging into the soil beneath the snow as she clawed her way out.
Her breath was ragged as she coughed out some of the water, and she could feel herself weaken by the second, laying half down as the storm continued on. The winds and snow on her bare skin wasn’t a pleasant feeling by any means, but if the reaper was near, she would slowly accept its fate if that meant she would never have to be in the hands of her fiance again.
Within the howling winds, she could hear the faint sound of a person running and shouting rather frantically, coming from where she came from previously. She bit her lip nervously, attempting to make out what the person was screaming.
As the person got closer, she could recognize that it was the voice of a man, rough and harsh against the screeching winds.
Taking a risk, she shouted back, trying to get any help she could.
“Pyotr!”
The man seemed to sprint now, the sound of snow crunching growing closer and closer to her as she continued to shout his name, attempting to stand up so he could see her better.
Her vision started to blur, the world spinning around her once more as she stumbled down, still yelling his name like a mantra. The last thing she remembered was Pyotr’s own coat being wrapped around her before she started to slip away.
Hey y’all! I apologize again for the late upload, my life has been everywhere but sitting down and getting to my beloved Docs. A shorter chapter to this series, but hopefully sweet enough to make up for it. I missed you angels lots, and my gratitude will never fade. I hope you all enjoy this fic, and remember to take care of yourself!
Pairing: Pyotr Kochetkov x F!Reader
Word Count: 1.3k
Warnings: Slightly proofread :( (Please let me know if I need to add anything!)
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The dishes were washed in the tub within the kitchen area—courtesy of Pyotr, who refused to ‘let a guest do chores around as if they were a maid’ as she watched him, looming over with her eyes trailing his hands as he spoke.
They were slightly rough, most definitely calloused due to his extensive and harsh labor, but he held the dishes sturdily with care.
“I forgot to mention it to you last night, but I need to head into town today to buy more meat from the butchers,” he hummed, still washing up the remaining dishes. “And I don’t think you should stay here alone, it’s not safe.”
Her lips straightened out into a line as she processed his words in silence, mind reeling in all sorts of directions at once. “Do you think the townsfolk will recognize me?” she asked, tone mildly fearful.
The last thing she wanted was for someone, anyone, to tell her fiance that she was out with another man, especially after running away from him, or even worse, running into him altogether.
“Wear my other coat and hat, take a scarf and wrap it around your neck as it will also cover the lower part of your face.” He looked back at her as he wiped his hands on a towel to dry off. “I don’t suggest you speak, unfortunately. Your voice is uniquely recognizable, and I mean this sweetly,”
Responding with a slight hum, she pondered on his words, not knowing how to feel about it. She wasn’t bound to her fiance in the traditional sense just yet, but it felt wrong to think of Pyotr as a person who was courting her.
It was quiet for far too long, and Pyotr noticed how the uncomfortableness settled in the air.
“You can get ready to go into town whenever you’d like, no rush.”
She nodded, following him as he grabbed his other coat off of a hook, handing it to her. When she put the coat on, it fit on her frame in quite an oversized manner, causing a smile to appear on the corner of his lips.
“I look…funny, don’t I?” Looking over to Pyotr, he simply shook his head.
“Awfully, but that’s besides the point. You are warm, yes?”
Humming, she wrapped a scarf around her neck as she put on one of his hats, pulling her gloves on after that. “I don’t think I’d be aware of what cold even is once I step outside,” she laughed, voice muffled.
She didn’t realize it right away, but that was the first time she had laughed in months, the oh so familiar feeling of coziness and warmth swirling in her chest again as she smiled.
“My—you might want to stick closer to me when we go out for a little while in the woods to the stable, otherwise someone might mistake you for a caribou and hunt you down if they’re hungry,” he joked.
Pyotr already had his coat and gloves on, and he opened the door and let her out. The snow was still fresh from the night before, only slight indents that reminded him of the conflict he encountered at the very front of his home. He motioned for her to follow him, holding out a hand for her to hold on to.
To his surprise, he felt her grasp onto his hand, squeezing tightly, as if she was afraid to lose him within this small stretch from his home to the stable nearby.
He squeezed her hand a few times, glancing back at her with a soft smile before opening the door to the stables, a single horse standing in a stall chewing on some hay.
“Here’s Nadia,” he motioned to the horse. Strongly-built, it had a brownish coat, with a darker mane, kept well and neat with little braids tied with small ribbons. “Hard-working, strong when she needs to be. Had her since I was a young man.”
Observing the ribbons and braids, she couldn’t help but wonder where he learned to do that. “Ah, so, only a few years?” She looked up at him with a smirk, hoping to joke around and forget about her rough night before.
He looked at her with a raised brow, smiling back. “You’ve seemed to have forgotten who ran the town’s lumber stall for the past five years, haven’t you?”
“My apologies,” she hummed. “You just look like you’ve hardly reached manhood—” Her statement was abruptly cut off with Pyotr tossing a heap of hay onto her, causing her to yelp and jump back while laughing. “Pyotr! Your furs!”
“Ah, the furs I gathered with my own hands? And with my own tools? Like a man would—” Pulling her up, he swept some of the hay off of the coat, removing any other hay from the hat and scarf she was wearing. “I truly do apologize for that though, I got carried away.”
He looked bashful, cheeks rosy, whether it’d be from the cold air, or the situation that just played out.
Unlocking the stall, he led the horse outside, putting everything necessary onto the horse—saddle, reins, and a bag to carry the goods they would gather from town. It appeared that Pyotr took great care of the horse, both physically and emotionally, with it being very compliant and calm to his touch.
“She’s a great horse,” she commented.
He nodded, giving the horse a gentle pat before adjusting the stirrups. “People always say that horses are a reflection of their owners,”
“Really?”
“No, I made that up.” He flashed a cheesy smile, causing her to shake her head.
Holding her hand, he helped her up onto the horse, and followed suit himself, sitting in front of her.
“Oh, Pyotr—” she let out a dramatic sigh, attempting to find a comfortable position to hold onto him. “And I’m supposed to trust you to take me into the town?”
He shifted on the saddle slightly, grabbing onto the reins. “You don’t have much of a choice now, do you?”
She let out a small laugh, a sound that was so sweet to his ears, causing him to smile as he guided the horse to move forwards, snow crunching beneath her hooves.
They traveled calm and steadily, out of the woods onto a clearing, and she started to feel the fear move throughout her body again—tensing and moving closer to Pyotr as she pulled her scarf up more to cover her face. She felt vulnerable, out in the open again since the night she ran off.
Though it was only a night, it felt like she should be elsewhere already, somewhere more secluded—safety entangled between the tall pines that sheltered her from the very threat she ran from.
Her heart, comfort, seemed to want to settle here on this horse, in this little cabin, but her mind, fleeing, knew better than to just stay here. Pyotr was just a momentary help. Nothing more. She’d return the furs and all that he had given her within the next few days as she would trek on elsewhere.
Lost in her own thoughts and worries, the town started to creep into view as they got closer without her noticing, buildings full of life and banter, homes full of families and joy. Markets and goods lined the streets that children ran along, vendors and skilled hands providing all a community needs to thrive.
Only the loud laugh of a child caught her attention, head snapping up as she took in her surroundings. It was more lively than she remembered, and yet she still grabbed tightly onto her own coat as if she would simply fall apart if she let go.
Slowly, they came to a stop near the edge of town, more quiet than the busy center. “We’re here,” Pyotr announced, eyes glancing over the surroundings as the town moved on.
Hey y'all! I truly, from the bottom of my heart, miss you angels so much. My gratitude for y'all's patience is so beyond what I can describe, but I truly do appreciate it. This piece will hopefully be a part of a larger piece for Pyotr Kochetkov of the Carolina Hurricanes, and it's all I can muster up at the moment among my busy life. I hope you all enjoy this fic, and remember to take care of yourself!
Pairing: Pyotr Kochetkov x F!Reader
Word Count: 2.3k
Warnings: Verbal abuse (not by Pyotr), Threats of physical harm (not by Pyotr), not that proofread, (let me know if I need to add anything)
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Her vision blurred, tears lingering on her eyes for far too long as she packed her leather bag, stuffing it frantically with some of her clothes and her most important belongings. As she blinked, they seemed to run down her cheeks, all warm despite the bitter air outside.
It was her fifth winter here in this cabin, living with her arranged fiance who had yet to wed her properly, and yet he expected much of her despite it all. The burden on her back started to wear on her, and she felt it deep within her bones with each ache and each movement. Her decision was deemed cowardly and selfish by many, but she knew that she would rather be selfish than be buried out in the woods alone with no one to remember her name.
Eyes darting towards the door, she bit on her lip nervously as she held back a sob, wiping her eyes with the back of her gloved hand. Closing up the bag, she opened the window, letting the cold winter air rush in as it kissed her softly, like a soldier going off to war.
It was late at night, and yet she wasn’t the only one awake at this hour—the pounding on the door signaling her fate if she didn’t move quickly.
Pushing herself out of the cabin, she fell out with a huff, landing in the freshly fallen snow with minimal noise. The coat of caribou around her neck and shoulders guarded her from the northern harshness, harnessing her warmth for a little longer-while as she ran through the dark, boots crunching the snow beneath her.
She clutched onto her bag tightly, holding it against her chest as she ran, not glancing back once. If she heard something, she only ran faster, vision trained ahead of her with each stomp of her feet in the quiet.
Each pine and spruce tree passed by her, blurring into the nighttime sky as her legs led the way, her mind still racing on its own somewhere else. Her heart seemed to run like a beast, thumping from her chest to her skull madly, her breath rough and haggard.
When she made it to her destination, she ran up to the front door to knock, but her clenched fist hesitated, only hovering over the door as she held her breath.
It was almost as if he was waiting for her, the door swinging open as she fell into his embrace, tears falling from her cheeks.
“Pyotr! Pyotr, I’m sorry—”
He hushed her, his strong hand holding her head with softness, pulling her away from the grasp of the season and into his home. “Rest. You can rest now.” His hands made steady work of her heavy coat, quickly pulling a blanket over her to contain what was of her heat as she sat down on the rug, her own hands attempting to pull the blanket closer.
He wore his own coat made of animal, thick and heavy on his own broad shoulders, providing ample warmth for his own standards, but he knew that it wasn’t enough for her.
Making his way over to the fireplace, he threw in some lumber to start a fire for her—knowing that her warmth and comfort was a much higher priority than his own—the flames crackling and spitting flecks of gold and amber outwards once it was ignited.
Pyotr had been an acquaintance of her for a decade, their first five years of their interactions being at the market where he sold the lumber he had gathered. He never sold for high price, only enough to equal his labor for the people in town. A strong man of mid-twenties, he remained celibate for the majority of his life—if not, the entirety of it—but he had moved out from his parents’ homestead once his sister had found a husband herself. His name drifted amongst the townspeople, but not much was known about him since he rather had a tight lip and kept to himself.
Hunching over, he rested a hand on her shoulder as he searched her face carefully. “Do you want some beef borscht? I have some left over from this evening, and I’ll heat it up, no hassle,”
“No.” She moved her glance to the ground away from him, shaking her head slightly. “No thank you, Pyotr, but that is nice of you.” The thought of eating made her slightly nauseous, thinking back to earlier that evening when she sat with her fiance at the table—his shouts of anger echoing through the cabin.
It was a curse that the house was so far out from the town, away from everyone else and guarded by the trees that stood tall. There weren’t any bruises she had to hide, but the night he threw his axe into the wall amidst an argument, she knew that staying only meant her life would be in his hands.
Pyotr stood there, humming at her response, allowing himself to be gentle towards her. He didn’t know of her situation, but when she stopped by his stall in town to pick up more lumber—each time less frequent than the last—her eyes seemed to grow more tired with each visit, even with her soft upturned smile. Eventually, he stopped seeing her stop by completely, and the whispers around town about her whereabouts grew more frequent.
Some words were similar to the fairy tales told to children, with her running off to live in the countryside with her fiance happily ever after in a lovebound marriage—while other whispers were tainted, lies about her seeing another man in secret, betraying her fiance.
Pyotr never allowed his mind to believe anything the townsfolk said, but his heart had a twinge of dull pain each time she was mentioned. He worried for her, for her well-being, for her own existence as a person.
He watched her sit in front of the fire, a dark silhouette, from his bed in a room offside, his gaze alert despite how heavy his eyelids felt. He didn’t want to go to sleep though, not with her in his home, under his roof. If something were to happen to her, he wouldn’t be able to live with the guilt that would eat him alive.
“Please get some rest, Pyotr,” she sighed. “Don’t let me keep you up.” She looked at him, her own eyes exhausted and tired, limbs on the verge of giving out despite resting.
“I can’t rest knowing you’re going to be on the ground—” Standing up from his bed, he walked over to her, wooden floorboards creaking with each step. “You are a guest under my roof, and I don’t have a guest room,” he sighed, feeling like he wasn’t offering enough. “So please, take the bed.”
She had no reason to deny his offer, beyond the fact that she simply just felt like she did not want to intrude into his life again so suddenly. Getting up from the ground, she brushed the pleat of her skirt lightly with her palm, nodding gratefully.
“Thank you, Pyotr.” Swallowing, her feeble attempt at fixing her rough voice was no use, and her throat felt scratchy and off, having overexerted herself while running. “Is there anything I can do to pay you back?” As she sat down on his bed, she pulled the blanket tighter around her frame, slouching slightly as she shut her eyes.
“Rest.” His own voice wasn’t smooth either, rough like pine bark, worry evident through his tone.
Something felt off about the atmosphere, beyond the unfavorable weather. His skin had goosebumps, and he eyed the door wearily from the chair near the dining area, breath unsteady.
As the home fell silent, he could hear the slight crunch of snow outside, faint—yet evident—footsteps of another person, a grown man of nearly his size. The door seemed to shake violently as the other person knocked with force, a rather intimidating tone for some.
Pyotr rose up from his seat, his own footsteps creaking rather loudly as well. “Who is there?”
Opening the door, he was face-to-face with a man who looked rather distraught with bloodshot eyes—his coat on oddly, boots unbuckled, and his hat was lopsided as he stumbled on his own feet in front of him.
“Greetings, Pyotr! Long time no see my old friend,” he rushed, words blurred and nearly incoherent as Pytor simply nodded with a tight-lipped expression. “Have you happened to hear someone running around in this area? Maybe a woman of sorts, crazed and lying about where she’s supposed to be?”
Scrunching his face, he shook his head as he crossed his arms across his chest. “No, I have not heard.”
It was evident that the other man doubted Pyotr as he glanced around his home, searching for any sign of another person in his home. “Are you wed?”
“No. And I am not seeing anyone either if that is what you are asking.”
The man looked at him suspiciously, and Pyotr could tell that he was getting irritated.
“Whose boots are those?” He pointed to the pair sitting near the fireplace, the boots of his own fiancee.
Pyotr looked over, seeing the boots that were drying from the wet snow. “My sister Katerina left her boots here as she visited me yesterday, but she left with her husband early this evening.”
“And why was she here—?”
“My mother is gravely ill—pinned down to her own bed as her husband lies dead and buried outside of their home.” He spoke in a rather aggressive tone, but not yet shouting. “What much more do I have to say to prove my innocence to you?”
The other man stood there, mouth slightly agape as he realized his fault. “I am, truly sorry, Pyotr—”
“Your apology means nothing. You came here in the night, acting like you have authority over my own roof, interrogating me, and now you seek forgiveness from me.”
Nodding, he left with his head down in shame away from Pyotr’s home, and the door was closed shut, pushing away the biting winter air.
Her footsteps sounded as she shuffled her way out of his bedroom, eyes wide as she glanced towards the door with a blanket wrapped around her shoulders.
“I heard shouting, are you alright?” she asked worriedly. “Was he here?”
His own expression remained stone, but she could tell he had a discomforting amount of anger boiling within. “He was a fool to show up and ask such questions,” he huffed. “Go back to sleep, heaven knows you need it more than I.”
Nodding, she ushered herself back into the bed in his room, clutching the blanket around herself as she lay down for the night, eyelids carrying the weight of her journey as she fell asleep.
When she woke up, sitting upon the bed, the cabin was quiet, only the sounds of wildlife croaking in the early morning among the woods present. She found her coat neatly folded on a chair in the living area, with Pyotr sitting on the bench facing the front door, arms folded across his chest as he breathed deeply, eyes softly shut as he slept.
His boots were still on, most likely from the confrontation that previous night, as well as his coat, but his hat was tossed aside on a table, hair messy in all sorts of directions.
In the kitchen area, she found the leftovers from the night before, along with some unused vegetables and grains. Grabbing a small pot, she settled on making some porridge—something warm and filling to thank Pyotr for allowing her a place to stay for the night. She sliced up an apple that she had brought along the day before in her bag, as well as a piece of bread that she had baked on her own, plating those things alongside the porridge.
As she set down the plates onto the table, Pyotr seemed to spring awake, looking around all alert as he stood up quickly.
“I’m so sorry—I did not mean to fall asleep, milaya—”
Shaking her head, she simply smiled, not noticing the nickname he accidentally slipped. “Do not apologize, Pyotr. I just wanted to thank you for allowing me to stay for the night.”
He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, observing her face with detail before he sat down at the table, preparing to eat his breakfast. “Did you sleep alright?”
“I slept fine, and hopefully you did as well,” she hummed, pulling a chair for herself at the table. “I apologize, but I couldn’t find the butter and I don’t seem to have any with me in my belongings.”
“The bread is lovely,” he chuckled, cheeks fuller as he smiled. “No need for any butter or preserves.”
All she could do was nod, smiling as she ate her own portion of breakfast, settled in her own thoughts, wondering what to do now that she had run off from her—now no longer—soon-to-be-husband. She couldn’t go back, but going into the town was another risk as well, and her options felt limited.
“You don’t seem to enjoy chatter much,” he acknowledged, shooing the silence away.
Swallowing, she hummed. “I like it that way, it’s comforting.” Only a few simple words, but Pyotr understood her vulnerability as if they were his own boots on his feet.
“Me too.” As much as he enjoyed the sound of her speaking, he wanted her to feel comfortable, not for him, but for herself.
Slowly, the silence eased back into the kitchen as they had their breakfast, only small glances exchanged from here to there in brief moments in the sunlight that passed through the smaller windows near the ceiling.
'Cause This A Wasteland, My Only Retreat - Quinn Hughes x F!Reader (part one) ♤ ♡
The Water Is Rusted, The Air Is Unclean, And There For A Second, I Feel Free - Platonic!Brock Boeser xF!Reader, Quinn Hughes x F!Reader (part two) ♤/✿ ♡/♢
The Dirt Seems To Falter In My Hands, Like I Do So For You - Quinn Hughes x F!Reader ✿ ♡
You Can Hate Me If You Want, But Your Desires Don't Lie - Quinn Hughes x F!Reader ☆/✿ ♡
