would u write an evgeni malkin size difference (maybe age gap if you feel like it) smut..? o.o
there’s nothing on this big man, and i love the way you write him…
One Arm
Pairing: Evgeni Malkin x Reader
Word Count: 1140
Request open!
Sidney Crosby Masterlist | Hockey Masterlist | 24 days of Christmas | Hockey Masterlist II
You notice it every time he walks into a room.
Not just that he’s tall.
It’s that he takes up space.
Evgeni Malkin doesn’t just enter rooms , he claims them.
You’re standing in his kitchen when he comes in from practice, still in sweats, hair damp from a shower at the rink. You’re perched on the counter because his counters are too tall for you to comfortably lean against.
He stops in the doorway.
Stares.
“What?” you ask.
He doesn’t answer right away. He just looks at you , small, cross-legged on the marble, one of his hoodies swallowing your frame.
“You look tiny,” he finally says, voice low, thick Russian accent curling around the words.
You scoff. “I am not tiny.”
He steps closer.
You swallow.
He’s barefoot. Even without skates, without gear, without pads , he’s massive. Broad shoulders. Long arms. Those hands.
“You are,” he insists, stopping right between your knees. “I could pick you up with one arm.”
“Oh, could you?” you challenge.
His eyebrow lifts.
“You want demonstration?”
Your heart skips.
“You’re so annoying,” you mutter.
He grins, slow and smug. “You like when I’m annoying.”
You open your mouth to argue , and then he does it.
One large hand slides to your waist.
In one smooth motion, he lifts you off the counter like you weigh nothing.
You gasp, instinctively grabbing his shoulders.
“Evgeni!”
He laughs , that deep, warm sound that vibrates through his chest. “See?”
Your feet dangle.
You hate that you love it.
“Put me down,” you demand.
“No.”
“You’re ridiculous.”
“You are small.”
You narrow your eyes. “I’m average height.”
“For who? For elementary school?”
You smack his shoulder. He doesn’t even flinch.
“That was mean.”
He shrugs. “Is true.”
You cross your arms. “You’re just freakishly large.”
He looks delighted. “Yes.”
“That wasn’t a compliment.”
“I take it as one.”
He shifts you slightly, one hand still firm at your waist, the other sliding under your thighs to support you more securely.
The movement makes you suck in a breath.
His hands are so big they span almost the entire width of you.
“You’re staring,” he murmurs.
“You’re holding me hostage.”
“You are not trying to escape.”
You don’t respond.
He leans closer, eyes softening just slightly.
“You feel safe?” he asks quietly.
The teasing edge drops. Just a little.
You swallow. “Yeah.”
He nods once. Satisfied.
“I like when you’re like this,” he admits.
“Manhandling me?”
He huffs a laugh. “No. Close.”
You tilt your head. “You’re such a giant.”
He smirks. “You like giant.”
Your stomach flips.
“You’re older than me,” you deflect.
He freezes for half a second.
Then: “Ah. We talk about this again.”
“It’s a valid point.”
He narrows his eyes playfully. “You act like I am ancient.”
“You’re,”
“Don’t say number,” he warns.
You grin. “You’re thirty-something.”
He groans dramatically. “You say like I am fossil.”
“You complain about your back after games.”
“Because I play hockey!” he argues. “You try get hit by defenseman 220 pounds, then tell me how your back feels.”
You giggle.
He studies your face again, expression shifting , softer, more thoughtful.
“You worry about age?” he asks.
Your teasing fades. “Sometimes.”
His grip tightens just slightly , not enough to hurt, just enough to anchor.
“Why?”
“Because you’ve lived more life. You’ve done everything. Cups. Fame. Russia. Pittsburgh. You’re… you.”
“And you think I look down on you?”
You hesitate.
He exhales slowly. “Y/N.”
The way he says your name , low, firm , makes your pulse jump.
“I don’t want someone older,” he says. “I don’t want someone taller.” His mouth twitches. “That would be difficult.”
You roll your eyes.
“I want you.”
You search his face for any hint of teasing.
There isn’t any.
“You don’t think it’s weird?” you whisper.
He adjusts his hold so you’re closer , chest to chest now.
“You think I don’t know what I want?”
“No, but,”
“I have been in this league long time,” he says quietly. “I know pressure. I know media. I know noise. If I choose you, it is not accident.”
Your throat tightens.
“You’re intense,” you murmur.
He smiles faintly. “Yes.”
You glance down at the difference between you , your hands resting against his shoulders, his spanning your waist effortlessly.
“You’re just so… big,” you say softly.
His eyes darken just a touch.
“I scare you?”
You shake your head.
“Then what?”
You hesitate, then admit, “It makes me feel… small.”
His expression changes instantly.
Not cocky.
Not smug.
Protective.
He shifts again, lowering you just enough that your feet brush the floor , but he doesn’t let go.
“Small like weak?” he asks carefully.
“No.”
“Small like insignificant?”
“No.”
He studies you.
“Then how?”
You look up at him. “Small like… I don’t have to be strong all the time.”
Something in his face melts.
He leans his forehead against yours , and the size difference is almost overwhelming. You barely reach his chin.
“You don’t,” he says quietly. “Not with me.”
Your fingers curl into his shirt.
“You promise?”
He doesn’t hesitate. “Yes.”
You swallow.
He nudges your nose with his lightly.
“You think I like that you are smaller because of ego?” he murmurs.
You shrug slightly.
He shakes his head. “No. I like because I can protect you.”
Your heart thuds.
“I don’t need protecting,” you say automatically.
He smiles softly. “I know. But I want to.”
Silence settles between you.
His hands slide from your waist to your hips, steady and warm.
“You still think age is problem?” he asks gently.
You consider it.
“No,” you admit.
He smirks a little. “Good.”
“You’re still dramatic though.”
He gasps in mock offense. “Me?”
“Yes, you.”
He suddenly scoops you up again , higher this time , and you squeal.
“Evgeni!”
He grins up at you. “You love it.”
“I do not.”
“You do.”
You’re laughing now, gripping his shoulders for balance.
“You’re impossible.”
“And yet,” he says smoothly, “you are here. In my hoodie. In my kitchen.”
You roll your eyes but your voice softens. “You’re too confident.”
“I have reason.”
“Oh?”
He tilts his head. “You look at me like I am whole world.”
Your breath catches.
“You’re not the whole world,” you whisper.
He raises an eyebrow.
“You’re just… my favorite part of it.”
For once, he’s speechless.
It lasts maybe two seconds.
Then he exhales a quiet, almost stunned laugh.
“You are dangerous,” he murmurs.
“Why?”
“You make big man weak.”
You smile. “Good.”
He lowers you slowly, carefully, until your feet are flat on the floor.
But he doesn’t step away.
Instead, he bends slightly so you’re eye level.
“Next time you call me fossil,” he says quietly, lips inches from yours, “I will remind you who is bigger.”
Your pulse spikes.
“Is that a threat?”
He smiles, slow and wicked.
“Is promise.”
And honestly?
You can’t wait.
