A/N: why is nobody on the Andrei Svechnikov train with me..... why am i the conductor and the engineer and all of the passengers (i had to use the word y/n in this ewwwwieeee)
yourusername: posted 4 hours ago
♫: Scott Street - Phoebe Bridgers
yourusername: it's a shower beer 🙏 (silly announcement tomorrow! 😇)
liked by clairo, brittanybroski, tatemcrae, sabrinacarpenter, samia, malcomtodd, sethjarvis_, lhughes_06 and 509,937 others
COMMENTS...
fan8492: His name was "Quinn" what did we expect
quinnie: Ok chill man
clairo: me when it's a shower beer AND a payment plan .....
liked by yourusername and others
fan592: Margin 😢
madisonbeer: Are you into girls yet
yourusername: One night with you and i will be
lhughes_06: Lift your chin up queen your crown is falling
yourusername: Bitch 😭
sabrinacarpenter: i hope the ghosts that haunt him convince him to jump
yourusername: 🙏
fan940: OMGMFMGMGM break-up album announcement???????
quinnfan849: He was too hot for you anyways puck bunny
yourusername: i have ur ip
VIEW 25,849 OTHER COMMENTS...
yourusername: posted 7 hours ago
♫: Staying - Y/N Y/LN
yourusername: Staying - My first single in almost 2 years!!! out right now!!! i always use my music to tell my story, but this is probably the most honest I've been in a song with my feelings!! thank you to jack antonoff for help producing this song, thank you to all of my friends who helped me get through the time that inspired this song. 🤍
liked by andrei_svechnikov37, rolemodel, lhughes_06, sabrinacarpenter, clairo, fan73927 and 550,730 others
COMMENTS...
lhughes_06: Maybe i would be okay if i let this go forever 😔
yourusername: i was on my shakespeare shit icl
fan84920: Did he ever ask you to eat his ass ❤️
yourusername: girl
sabrinacarpenter: WHISPER TO ME BABY !!!!!!
yourusername: *whispers softly in your ear and blushes*
_sethjarvis: Platinum in my house immediately
yourusername: jarvy!!!! ur too kind 🤍
clairo: on EVERYONE'S life you will have a world tour
yourusername: I'm lucky if i even open for u syfm
sukiwaterhouse: This was so beautifully written, angel! 🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷
liked by yourusername and others
fan1649: Qh found DEAD in his apartment 💔
VIEW 19,749 OTHER COMMENTS...
yourusername posted on their story....
♫: enough for you - Olivia Rodrigo
REPLIES:
oliviarodrigo: girl jump that man 😭
sabrinacarpenter: You were too interesting for his flop ass
lhughes_06: Can i still come over next week to watch Sinners or no 😔😔
andrei_svechnikov37: I have not read this book, is it good?
He had dreamed of making it this far for so, so long.
And he was always told, by all his coaches, his family, eventually by Rod: playing in the NHL was going to require a different version of him.
This was never cause for concern for Pyotr.
He could always be tougher, stronger. He knew if he was pushed, he’d always push back harder. There was no practice he would miss, no meetings he’d be late for, no nights out, no distractions. If everyone gave 100%, he’d aim for more. He made it here by working hard, and he wasn’t going to stop now.
But things were different than he imagined.
He knew he’d feel disoriented, but not like this.
The pace was different in Carolina. The days he’d be ready to give it that extra mile at the gym, they’d go overtime on the ice. Most of the time they’d go out on dinners until the final hours of the day, when he honestly just wanted to spend more time on his reflexes or recovery.
The way everyone carried themselves, the fans, the electricity of the city were all so new, and most times he felt lost in the swirl of it all.
And the language.
Thankfully Andrei had helped, more than he should have actually.
Honestly, he didn’t think it was going to matter all that much, looking at his new Russian teammates. But he quickly realized that he wanted to belong to a whole team, not a clique.
To get the Stanley Cup they needed to all be on the same page.
Communicate.
And when Andrei started to push him, Pyotr felt himself treading water.
All of a sudden he felt his personality crumple inside, his colorfulness get stuck behind the language barrier. He wanted to put himself out there, to be himself, but he had no way to express that.
He would have never said it out loud, but it was all starting to take a toll on him.
Another day, another lesson. Like most of his days off, Pyotr found himself sitting across from you.
Andrei had talked incessantly about his friends to Pyotr, who had never wanted to hear it. He felt like he could barely keep up with his social life at work, let alone with a group of people he had never met, in a country he was barely familiar with.
And then one night, after basically being dragged by his teammate, Pyotr finally met you face to face. His heart skipped a beat as he heard you introduce yourself in almost perfect Russian.
“I thought she could help more than me, PK.” Andrei said hesitantly later that night, as they both stared at you from across the bar. “Very nice and very smart. Very single too.”
“заткнись”
“Shut up.” Pyotr answered, rolling his eyes. Hopefully, the bar was dark enough to hide his blush.
And the rest was… easy. it all unfolded smoothly, and besides the language practice, you clicked immediately and began hanging out every week. With the excuse of learning, of course.
Teaching Pyotr hadn’t been difficult, when he was still embarrassed enough to put up a polite front with you.
Yet months later, here you were sitting with him as he threw another tiny paper ball at you, this time comically bouncing off your head and sending the Russian into hysterics.
“You need to focus!” you said, jokingly pushing his arm.
“This.” he said, closing the book. “Boring.”
“Okay, okay.” you answered, studying his face. “Do you want to call it a night?”
“No.” he shook his head. “Want something fun. In English.”
“Like what, PK?” you sighed, your cold fingers resting on your forehead.
“Если я смогу заказать пиццу на английском, ты поужинаешь со мной. И мы тоже можем посмотреть фильм на английском.”
“If I can order a pizza in English, you have dinner with me. And we can watch a movie in English too.”
You stared at his face, lit up with hope; his fingers nervously picking at his skin under the table.
“Well, that’s not a bad idea.” you muttered. “Fine. But we go pick up the food, okay? So you interact with people more.”
The thought of socializing in public wasn’t thrilling, but he would have done anything to spend more time with you. He didn’t even admit it to himself, but Pyotr longed to see the parts of you that you hid behind the lessons, books, and schedules.
“So, any plans this weekend?” you asked, packing up as you wrapped up another one of your study sessions.
Once again, the “hour” you had planned together had extended into the rest of the afternoon he had free.
You had told yourself it was all okay, that friends, afterall, can and do hang out daily, and for long periods of time. And there was no better way to learn a new language than conversation. If you needed to be that person for him, then perfect.
Even if you couldn’t feel more guilty to steal all his time.
And to feel like every single time you were close, you were hiding the biggest secret.
It wasn’t anything you expected, to grow feelings for him.
When Andrei had first introduced you, there were no sparks, no twinkle in his eyes. It was a friend of a friend, and one that needed dire help in learning English as soon, and as quickly as possible.
But it sprouted overtime.
Much to your surprise, despite the busy Canes schedule, Pyotr had been able to attend every single study session.
The more time went by, the closer you two became. It’d been nice to see Pyotr relax around you. It was even a relief to see him try less, honestly. To watch him soften from the awkward guy who couldn't even look at you, stumbling over every word and yet refusing to take a break, to the one you could call a friend, and now let himself into your apartment and could be found, most times, sprawled on your couch.
Feeling at home wasn’t as simple as learning verbs and propositions.
It was the food, the people, the atmosphere downtown.
The customs, the unwritten rules.
But this went further than that. Further than comfort.
“Вообще-то, да, я-”
“Actually, yes, I’m-” his answer snapped you out of your rumination.
“Пи, скажи мне по-английски.”
“P, tell me in English.”
“Uh,” he rolled his eyes. “I am going on date.”
Or maybe it wasn’t. Maybe all friends went out for breakfast, lunch and dinner on their days off. Bought each other keepsakes, reminders of their bond.
Perhaps, you were the only safe person in this town who wasn’t a teammate. And Pyotr needed all the help he could get, so maybe that’s why he hung around so often.
It had to be that.
“Oh wow, that’s great!” you exclaimed, hoping the tinge of jealousy wouldn’t be noticeable. It was bound to happen afterall.
“It’s been a long time since I go on one, so.”
“Yeah?” you answered, refusing to look up at him and packing up faster.
“Yeah, because I cannot speak very much, so.” he sighed.
“Well, you’re doing so good. I’m sure everything will go fine.” you reassured him, now looking up at him. “She’ll have a great time.”
“I don’t go date very much. Ever. Even before.”
His sentence stopped you in your tracks. The tone shift didn’t slip by you.
You knew each other, and knew when something was weighing on him.
“Why’s that?” you said, your throat tight.
“Uh, how do you say, like. It’s, strange? Weird?”
“Oh, yeah. A bit awkward at times.” you chuckled. Maybe it was nothing. Nevertheless, you let your bag hit the ground and let yourself fall back on the spot next to him.
“Yes! That one. Makes me too nervous.” he said, looking down.
“You don’t have to be nervous. You’re a great guy.”
“I know, I know, but… I-. Ah. Nothing.” he said, waving his hands around.
There it was. You knew there was something.
“Wait, what is it?”
“No, nothing. I don’t say. To, uh. To you. Forget.” he continued, avoiding your gaze.
“Oh, c'mon, P. We’re friends, right? You can tell me.” you said, trying to find him under the worry on his face.
Friends. Pyotr didn't know hearing you say this word could make his chest tighten even more.
Actually, he wasn’t even sure how he had ended up bringing this up at all. When he was around you, words seemed to come out in a way he hadn’t experienced before.
“Yeah, you my friend. I see you more than team sometimes I think.” he chuckled, fiddling with his hands in his lap.
“We do spend a lot of time together, yeah.” you muttered. “You don’t have to tell me, but I was just curious.”
Pyotr let his head fall back on the couch with a groan. He was flushed, there was no hiding it. No matter how many times he adjusted his cap. It didn’t help that you suddenly placed your hand on his thigh.
You two were no strangers to touch, having spent lots of flights taking turns sleeping on each others shoulders, countless movie nights ending up somewhat cuddled; but it never got old to him. In fact, it just made his heart beat faster each time, as much as he tried to deny it.
He couldn’t fall for Andrei’s friend, he couldn’t fall for his teacher, he couldn’t fall for you.
“Hey, it’s okay. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, I’m sorry, P. Let’s forget about it.”
As he noticed you were getting ready to stand up, Pyotr instinctively - and unexpectedly, to the both of you - grabbed your hand.
“No leave. Please.” he said.
“O-okay, I can stay. Are you alright?”
“Yeah, just… You not want to hear about that. Like, sex and uh, that. Like you said, awkward.”
It was taking him every single ounce of control not to bolt out of the room and never see you again. What was he doing?
“Why not? We’re friends. It’s not too weird to me, P, but you don’t have to share anything you don’t want to.”
No going back now.
“Not awkward for you?” he asked.
“Not really. It’s just sex. Not a big deal.” you said, shrugging your shoulders.
Pyotr let out a laugh of bashfulness.
Americans and their easygoing attitudes. He still couldn’t put together how he had gotten himself into this nightmare situation. Talking about embarrassing sex stories with the girl he had wanted more than anyone else before. All because he made up this fake date in a foolish attempt to garner more attention.
Acting like a teenager and against his own will.
“Okay. I tell you. But no laugh.”
“Why would I laugh?” you rolled your eyes.
“Last dates, very embarrassing for me”
“Why’s that?” you chuckled.
“Don’t know, I…uh. Sometimes, when I kiss too much, or, or too long, I-, I-” he looked at you, raising his eyebrows.
Pyotr swore his heart was about to stop.
“You…?”
“You know.”
“Um….” you slightly shook your head, confused at what he was hinting to.
“черт, я кончаю слишком быстро, ясно, идиот?”
“Fuck, I cum too fast, okay, dummy ?” he spewed out in Russian, instantly regretting all of this.
It suddenly hit you. The fact that you didn’t get it before actually made you burst out in a laugh.
Duh.
Pyotr placed his hands on your thighs, slightly pushing you.
“You said you do not laugh, please, please.” he whined, before covering his face.
Maybe this was the time to leave and, possibly, move back to Russia forever.
“I’m not laughing at you! I just can’t believe I didn’t get what you were hinting at.” you explained.
“идиот”
“Idiot.”
“Hey! At least say it in English.” you joked.
He snorted, but as the laughing died down, a somber and thick silence fell upon the couch.
You turned to look at your friend, who kept toying around with the string of his sweats, his face burning red. He looked like he wanted to melt right into the furniture.
“Hey, it’s okay. It’s no big deal.” you tried to reassure him.
“No, big deal. Maybe here, everyone talk about this. Not home.”
Pyotr trusted you with all of his being, but he didn’t know if maybe this was a mistake. He was most likely losing the minuscule and only chance he had with you.
“Have you brought it up to any of the guys?”
“Okay, you joke now.”
“Okay, okay you’re right. I don’t know why I ever assumed men talk about this together.” you chuckled. “Don’t you think it’d be easier to just, talk about it though?”
The quiet still hung thick in the air.
“Embarrassing. Sometimes, I don’t even take pants off before, and then, happens.” he murmured, finally. Barely loud enough to hear.
“A lot of guys deal with it, you know? It’s not like you’re the only one.”
“Yes, but, then girls don’t like me.” he said quietly.
“Wait, what?”
“Only get one date. It happens and no call back, no text.”
“Oh.” you sighed. “I’m sorry.”
“Они тоже всегда выглядят такими разочарованными. Некоторые из них относятся к этому хорошо, другие смеются. Так что после этого я больше не хожу на свидания. И вдобавок ко всему, я даже не могу правильно говорить по-английски.”
“They always look so disappointed too. Some of them are nice about it, others laugh. So I don’t get dates after that. And I can’t even speak English correctly, on top of it all.”
“Seems to me like you’ve been able to speak in English just fine this whole time, P.” you said, turning to face him and touching his thigh again, in hopes he would look at you.
“Not good, but I getting better. You help me practice a lot.” Finally, he gave you a tiny smile.
“Maybe you just need to do that. Practice.” you said, perking up.
“What you mean, practice?” he asked.
“Just keep doing it until it doesn’t happen anymore.”
“How I can do if I don’t have date to help me?” he said. “Is not me, it only happens with girl.”
“Oh, I see.” you said. “Maybe you can find someone to help you? I’m sure there’s some trustworthy girls out there.”
“Maybe. Maybe like you.”
You felt your skin flush, the tingly sensation covering your chest in shock. You knew very well where this conversation could lead, and you didn’t know if it was a wise choice to go down that path.
And Pyotr knew it too, he just, really didn't know what he was doing. He wanted to stop talking, save the little dignity he had left, but it felt impossible. He knew you could see right through him.
“Like…me?”
He didn’t mean for it to happen, but letting that thought slip past his lips had changed the air in the room drastically.
“Yeah. You are very nice and uh, you wait for me a lot. How do you say?”
“Patient?”
“Yes, you are patient.” he said. “I need patient girl.”
You could see the gears turn in his head, but you weren’t sure if he would’ve dared to ask. He hadn't been able to look at you this whole time, after all.
“Someone like you can help me.” he whispered.
Someone had to be bold, and Pyotr, suffocating in his cloud of embarrassment, wasn’t going to be the one.
“P.” you said, not brave enough to say the words.
Your hand was still on his thigh, which now felt too close but somehow still not close enough. All he could do was just…look at you. The heat on his face made his eyes water. He felt like a deer in headlights, your raised eyebrows making his body quiver. He could see you were waiting for a response, but if he opened his mouth more he didn’t know what he could have said.
And the damage that could have cost him. The space between you felt suffocating to him, but too far for you.
Too far from me, you thought again, with a deep inhale.
This was not who you were. Or ever had been.
And this was not who he needed.
You scoffed, with a smile inevitably forming on your face.
“Wha-” he said, now looking more confused than terrified as his eyes darted over towards you.
It was you, for God’s sake.
His friend, his closest friend.
“It’s just me, Pyotr.”
“Uh, I…”
“Oh, P, come on!” you exclaimed, finally gathering the courage to move and straddle his lap, before you could overthink yourself out of it.
Pyotr threw his head back with a snort as soon as you settled yourself on top of him. What in the world was happening?
“Что ты делаешь? Давай”
“What are you doing? C’mon” he asked.
When he finally dared to move his hands away from his face, you spotted the familiar smile adorning his cheeks.
“Um, I’m sorry, I’m a girl who only understands English. I don’t know what you said.” you joked, loosely wrapping your arms around his neck.
“You fucking-” he laughed, his face boiling with embarrassment. “What you doing, eh? You gonna help me?”
“It really seems like that’s what you were hinting at, P.”
“You don’t have to do, you know. Nothing. Not language, not friend, not this. You-”
“You don’t want me here?” you asked.
“I not say that.”
“So, what, I’m not good enough at teaching now?" you joked. "Or is it that I'm not pretty enough for you, is that it?” you kept going, hoping to lift up his spirits a little more. “Big time hockey player now, you’re only going to date models?”
Pyotr's smile grew wider as he kept his face on the strings of his sweats, avoiding your body with his gaze.
Feeling it on top of his quads was already too much for him to think about.
“You are very beautiful, not that.” he said, smiling from ear to ear. “But, we are friends. We never did anything like this.”
“Okay, we don’t have to.” you said, dropping your arms by your side. Before you could even move one leg to stand back up, Pyotr almost automatically wrapped his fingers around your waist.
He felt like he was already losing control, his body giving him away like this.
“See, you’re saying one thing, but doing something different.” you said, poking at his nose. “Why won’t you just ask, P?”
“Cannot embarrass myself for you.” he said, his hands still on your waist.
“Oh, so I was right! You do want to!” you exclaimed, making Pyotr giggle, covering his face with his hands once again. That didn’t stop you from trying to poke at this face again, regardless if he was covering it. "I was right! I knew it!" The more you teased him, the harder he laughed, even if he was hiding it. You began bouncing on his lap jokingly, finding more spots to poke him as you both laughed: his ear, his neck, his shoulders.
Pyotr moved his touch back onto your back.
“Hey, come on, not move like that.”. He couldn’t look at you, in his feeble attempt to still your body.
“Why?” you muttered, still teasingly. “Is it turning you on?”
“No, silly.” he shook his head.
Silly.
It was the first word he ever learned from you.
“Really?” you scooched closer to him, hips now meeting. “How about this?”
The stifled groan fully gave him away.
You tried to read his deadpan expression; the layer of annoyance wasn’t thick enough to mask how his jaw was tensing, a bead of sweat starting to form by his hairline.
Pyotr’s thighs began to flex underneath you, in an attempt to keep his pelvis from thrusting forward into yours.
He could feel you, and you could feel him.
Both of you swelling slowly with pleasure under your clothes.
“Oh, god.”
You pressed yourself a little harder against him, your underwear pooling already.
Wondering if you had taken yourself too far.
“Do you actually want this? You can say no, P. It won’t change anything about our friendship, I promise.”
“I want to, I want to bad. I am just, nervous. This embarrassing.” he sighed.
“Я не могу заставить тебя чувствовать себя хорошо.”
“I can’t make you feel good.”
“We’ll see about that.” you said, leaning over until your lips were a breath away from his neck. “Can I kiss you?”
“Y-yes, yes.” Pyotr almost moaned as you made contact with his neck, leaving pecks up and down his goosebumps.
You began grinding on him, very slowly. You felt his cock grow bigger under your clothes as you moved back and forth on him.
Pyotr kept his grip on you, clammy palms pressed tightly against your back.
“Please, please, slow. Even with pants, I feel you so much, fuck.”
The familiar fire in his lower abdomen kindling.
It had always been like this.
Fire meets gasoline.
As much as Pyotr loved a good slow burn, and all the nights he spent fantasizing about hours of kissing and teasing, his system always had other plans.
His body didn't have a control dial. It didn't know how to start and slow down into the pleasure. It wanted it all and it wanted it now.
The more he felt the fabric of your clothes slither against his, the more he felt the head rush speed up inside.
Almost twitching already.
"Y/N" he groaned, barely louder than a whisper.
"I know, PK." you moaned, lips still lapping at his rough skin. "I know."
His grip tightened on your waist.
He didn’t know if he was trying to slow you down or if he was just losing control over his body.
He needed to breathe, he had to relax, but there seemed to be no air. No amount of oxygen or deep breaths was going to bring him down.
“Slow, slow, slow.” he continued.
He moved his lower back to press against the couch, to avoid completely lifting his hard bulge against you.
“Just breathe, P. I know it feels good, it feels good for me too.” you moaned.
Time began to warp as you two fell into pleasure together. Eventually, settling down in a comfortable rhythm.
The push and pull.
When you pushed yourself down strongly on him, he’d quiver upwards as much as he could.
As much as he allowed himself.
His diaphragm swelling, catching his breath and releasing it warm through his slack jaw and onto you.
You kept at it for a while, hands stuck firmly on the same spots, creating pools of sweat where your skin met.
“Be careful, please. I-, I so sensitive.”
He would give himself away accidentally with a mumble of pleads.
A shudder and slight twitch of his hips, right before he tightened his grip to stop your actions.
The valleys of his short fingernails covered in the fabric of your shirt.
“Breathe, P. Deep.” you said, completely frozen.
As soon as you felt his breathing slow down for a couple of beats, you’d circle your hips again.
Trying to keep the groans at bay just grew the fire more it seemed.
Trying to keep himself locked, controlled, tamed.
It drained his energy, throwing all of it in the burning of his pelvis.
Pyotr knew he had to store his embarrassment away in order to enjoy.
In order to…live.
He had begun to grow tired of his shyness.
Tired of it in the lockerroom, watching his teammates joke around without him.
Tired of it on the ice, the sounds of hands pounding on the ice as he skated by, eyes stuck on the ice moving underneath him.
And tired of it taking over the space he had created with you.
Some things were just... ruined by it.
And within all of this grinding, all of this puffing, the absurdity began to overtake him.
How much this bondage had been self-imposed.
His team wanted to be with him, his fans wanted to love him and it became quite obvious now that the woman he was holding wanted to be with him.
The way that he was.
It was all of his differences in, well, everything, that could bring it all together somehow.
He just didn't know how.
"Shit" he moaned, increasingly louder now. "Shit."
He wanted to let himself go. At least for once.
“Let’s take a break” you huffed.
Pyotr nodded, even though it felt too much.
It was all too much.
If you moved, if you didn't move.
He didn't know how he was going to let it all be.
All he knew is how badly he wanted to, seeing you short of breath and glowing in front of him.
It felt unbearable to have you sit here like this, but this was all he had wanted since he first saw you.
“Do you want to take your shirt off?” you asked.
“Maybe, I can.” he said.
Why not? he thought. He’d made it this far.
Pyotr undressed, and watching you trail your eyes down his body jostled his cock really hard.
His v lines cramping with glee.
Thankfully he still had his pants on to cover that up.
“Can…can I take my shirt off too? Only if-”
“Yes, please.” he interrupted you, taking his hands to the hem of your crop top to swiftly pull it off. Seeing you shirtless didn’t help his desire cool down in any way.
Panicked, Pyotr lounged forward, locking his lips with yours.
“I-is okay?” he asked.
"It's all I've wanted." you said, meeting him again.
Opening your mouth simultaneously, tongues meeting in a wave of spit and wetness.
The kiss becoming a magnet to your chests, colliding as he turned his head to moan deeper into your mouth.
He wanted to beg, he wanted to push you away, knowing how he would soon react to this feverish kiss, but there was no going back now.
There never was.
The only way was forward.
He pushed his hips up, bucking into you and sending you both up and down on the couch with a jump.
All he could hear was the sloppy sounds of your kisses, the sharp inhale in between, and the symphony of moaning you were creating.
His eyes rolling to the back of his head.
“Oh, fuck, oh, oh.” Pyotr started breathing heavily, more than ever before.
Breathing each other's inhales as you rubbed faster. Harder. Uncontrollably.
“Baby I-, oh, oh, fuck, I’m going to cum, I’m going to cum.”
You didn't react, you didn't stop as Pyotr's body tensed, his eyelids closed shut as you kept kissing his now still lips.
He groaned faintly as he felt his clothes sop up the warm cum.
Heaven mixed with embarrassment, betrayal and oxytocin running through his synapses.
He came down as you slowed down your hips, still pecking at his face.
One glance at the grey fabric now darkening under you was enough to call a sliver of shame back into him.
“I said to you this happened. Fuck, I am so sorry, Y/N.” he uttered.
“You’re making my shorts wet.” you giggled into his skin. “Even wetter than before.”
“I said, me, uh, fuck, and look, it happened.”
You both let out a deep breath.
One of you out of frustration and the other out of excitement.
“It’s okay, right?” you said, slightly pinching the top of his cheek and running your fingers through his hair. You swore that he leaned into it.
The worst had happened.
He mostly felt like disappearing, a mix of emotions swirling within him.
He knew your friendship was never going to be the same, whether for good or bad, and that this just complicated the emotions he had for you ten fold.
Pyotr studied your face.
Scanning for disgust, anger, disappointment… for that look that would change everything.
But he couldn’t find it.
He thought he must be dreaming. Your rosy cheeks staring back at him.
“Yeah, yeah. I guess it’s fine.” he smiled weakly, but genuinely.
Pyotr’s chest felt warm as he kept his eyes on you.
And all he saw in you was…
Happiness.
Playfulness.
It couldn’t be true.
The acceptance spread all throughout him.
Maybe he could take a second to bask in it. Just one.
“Must feel uncomfortable in there.” you said, placing your fingertips on his waistband. He ran his fingers through his hair, still not believing what was happening as he blinked at the ceiling for a beat.
“I-, I mean, yeah.” he chuckled, knowing where you were going already.
Pyotr watched you longingly as you jumped up.
Perky as ever.
You tugged at his sweats, pulling them down and placing yourself back on his thighs.
Pyotr’s thick cock, covered in cum, sprung out, much to your shock.
Making your chest heave.
“P, you’re still hard.” you said, before he could rethink the decision basically let you gawk at him in such a state.
“Yes, sometimes, uh, stay like that after. For men, normal.” he sighed.
You flicked his forehead before raising your hands at him.
“Oh! Why do that for?” he said, eyes peeled at you in shock.
“You don’t want to keep going?”
Oh.
oh.
The realization hit him like a ton of bricks, his confidence returning at full speed. He suddenly scrambled to undo the button of your shorts, pulling them down with your sopped panties and tossing them aside.
Before you could even think about anything else, you sank on his cock in one swift motion, a whimper ripping out of you.
He had moved so fast that it took him a couple seconds to take in the sight of you naked, let alone how you felt on his cock.
“Fuck, shit.” he yelled.
Yes, yelled. In a deep, growly voice.
“I definitely didn’t teach you those words.” you joked, eyes still closed as you tried to adjust to him in every way.
Pyotr laughed, harder than he thought he could. The facade dropping so effortlessly.
This was the how.
It was all less serious than he thought it had to be all this time.
And it wasn't the culture, it wasn’t the language, it was you.
You were that person, the only one that could make him feel this way.
And fuck it, if he had this moment with you he was going to enjoy it.
Finally, letting go.
Pyotr kept laughing, a deep belly laugh as he wiped the sweat off his face with the back of his hand.
Two looks at you and he readjusted his hands on your back, throwing you on the couch with one swift motion.
Never pulling out of you, never moving away more than a few inches.
“Я думаю, ты мне действительно нравишься” he panted, his shoulderblades kissing each other as he began pulling out slowly until his tip touched the edge of your entrance.
“English, P.” you moaned as he snickered.
Seeing your brows furrow into pleasure as a smirk grew on your face made him twitch involuntarily, throwing himself deep into your wet cunt again.
Pyotr felt ecstatic, the rush of pleasure and endorphins climbing up his spine as he shook his head. He leaned down, his biceps flexing as he brought his smile into yours.
This was it.
No more containing, no more holding back. He wanted to melt into you. He wanted to let himself go into this place, this moment in time that somehow ended up being you wrapped around him and purring his name.
He moved slowly, his thrusts precise, assuring full contact every time he topped you full.
He could finally decelerate and lose himself in the velvety feel of your touch.
“How you call this?” he said, his lips moving across the skin of your neck now.
“Neck.” you whispered.
Pyotr opened his mouth and attached himself to your neck, nipping at the skin. Leaving a string of bites, accompanying each one with a wet kiss on top.
Blood vessels breaking one by one with the burst of your moaning.
“And this?” he asked again, as his lips ran lower, feeling your throat tighten with a gulp.
“Collarbone.” you whimpered.
He was managing to keep his tongue steady as he ran it across your collarbone, lapping up the sweat and flavor of you as he kept thrusting inside you.
Patiently, each movement of his colliding with your hips, your bodies exchanging dampness.
Pyotr licked, and bit, and kissed, and pecked, all within the ondulations of his body, ramming deeply into yours.
“Tell me name of this.” he said once again, his swollen lips tracing the shell of your ear.
"Ear, P."
He ran his tongue across the shell, around, even making contact with your hair.
He wanted to have all of you, he wanted to taste every single square of your body.
He wanted to memorize your feel, your smell. All of your corner.
His fingers tightened against the fabric of the couch as he felt beads of sweat travel down his knuckles as your pussy clenched more and more around him.
He could see out of the corner of his eye your eyelashes fluttering.
“Name of this.” he said as he placed his fingers on your clit. “Tell me what you call.”
Pyotr’s eyes locked with yours, the deep amber of his pupils now darkened with lust.
He wanted to see you twitch and quiver as closely as possible, despite his own desire and thrill clouding his vision.
He wanted to swallow every single one of your moans and gasps.
“Tell me what you call.” he repeated, his fingers moving and pressing down, drawing sloppy circles on your cunt, your back arching towards him.
You could feel his abs working overtime as your soft belly touched his.
“Can’t get jokes out now, hmm.” he chuckled, his eyes running across your frame as it began to tighten, your fingers grasping for dear life onto his back now.
After a long period of celibacy, his hours spent in front of a net or passed out in his bed recovering, Pyotr had kept his fantasies locked away as best as he could. Yet, he knew he could never keep them fully at bay.
He never thought it was going to be you. And yet, it was so obvious now that it could have not been anyone else.
“And you?” he groaned. You could still hear his first climax lingering in the deepening of his voice. “How I call you?”
His tone, his piercing eyes snapping you out of your haze.
The way he fucked you so perfectly timed, so narrow, reliably letting you unravel like putty in his hands.
You were so, so close.
“Me?” you asked, breathless and confused.
“You.” he said. “So beautiful”
"Oh, P." you whimpered sweetly. Your voice caught at the top of your throat as you began to reach the peak.
Pyotr had felt like he had been on the edge of exploding for hours now too, the overstimulation not allowing him the release he craved so badly.
His sanity hanging on by the cliff that he felt crumbling, little by little, in the deepest pits of him. The fire growing, flames growing as your silky skin started to melt into his.
“котенок, то, как ты мурлычешь для меня.”
“kitten, the way you purr for me” he growled. “That’s how I call, huh?”
Your trembles reverberating across your skin, sending shocks to his system as you let yourself fall into your orgasm.
“да, да, да”
“yes, yes, yes” he said, watching you. He groaned deeper, his voice resounding in a place in his chest he didn’t even know existed. The louder he spoke, the more words, the tighter the knot in his belly became.
Your figure tightened, joints locking as you saw stars.
All you could feel was Pyotr's chain moving above you.
His body felt like one with yours.
“So pretty” he continued, his words coated in his thick accent. "baby, fuck. fuck."
Pyotr's growl echoed throw the apartment as he let his eyes fully roll back and he let go. His hips twitched uncontrollably now, his cock thrusting at its own rate until he slammed deeply into you, moving all of his cum between you two.
He let his hands soften as the rest of his muscles followed, his big frame falling on top of you piece by piece. His wet hair tickling your scalp somehow.
Fully intertwined.
Breathing matched again.
In all of your glory.
He wanted to leave his face into your neck forever, just as much as you wanted his body smashed against you again and again and again.
“See?” you laughed. “That went well.”
Pyotr buried his face deeper into you as he laughed, finding the strength to eventually roll onto his side just to admire you, all sweaty and heaving.
He felt himself blush an even deeper shade of red as he caught the sight of your body, marked with his presence.
Handprints, marks from his grip, the shimmer of his cum covering the inside of your thighs.
“Uh, sorry, left, uh, spot. There.” he said, suddenly feeling bashful again in his afterglow. "And there, too."
"That's okay. I really like them." you smiled. “Now you can go on as many dates as you want, P.”
“No” he smirked, his eyes fixated on your lips.
“No?” you asked, matching his smirk.
“No date.” he said, inching closer to you. Pyotr slid his hand behind your ear, his fingers in your hair. “Only date with you.”
He leaned in and kissed you deeper than he thought he had all night.
“This? Fun. But no, I serious now. Take date. Tomorrow.”
warnings: mentions of andrei's injury, the canes doing not so well, kids.
word count: 690 words
a/n: ok so i wrote this around last year when svech got injured for playoffs and i'm just posting it now lololol. but anyway! i felt like this was such a cute concept and needed to write it, so here it is! hope you enjoy it, i'm always open to feedback, requests, etc, etc.
“how much time till you can return to skating, dada?” your little girl, sofiya, asked as andrei tucked her into bed.
“that’s quite a long time, sunshine,” he replied. she pouted; there was nothing she loved more than going to games and supporting her daddy in her little svech jersey.
though andrei’s injury kept him off the ice, there wasn’t much anyone could do to stop him from visiting the rink, and sofiya would gladly follow him everywhere—she was such a daddy’s girl, after all.
so you’d still attend some games, but ever since svech was out, losing had become a constant, and frustration was clearly building within the team. especially for andrei, who couldn’t help but feel guilty for not being able to play.
the mood wasn’t the best, but when it came to sofiya, he would always put on a smile. it wasn’t often that they got to spend so much time together, so she loved having him home to attend her tea parties, tuck her into bed, and take her to school. as much as she adored it, though, she knew her dad missed being on the ice, and sofiya didn’t like seeing him hurt and sad. so one morning, just as she heard andrei leaving for therapy, she went downstairs with what she thought was the perfect plan to cheer him up.
you were in the kitchen, tidying up from breakfast. it was still early, so you planned to get a bit more sleep, assuming your little girl wouldn’t be up until later—or so you thought, until you heard her quick footsteps on the stairs.
“morning, love. what are you doing up so early?” you asked, watching as she entered the kitchen and grabbed a stool to stand next to you.
“can we make chocolate chip cookies?” she asked, leaving a kiss on your cheek.
“cookies? it’s too early for those, baby,” you said, though knowing chocolate chip cookies were her all-time favorite.
“i know, mom, but cookies make me happy. i bet they’ll make dada happy, too!” she said, explaining her plan with such conviction that you couldn’t help but smile.
it was so sweet how she was thinking of ways to cheer up her dad. so, you quickly gave in, gathered all the ingredients, and handed her a small apron.
she started by cracking the eggs (with a tiny bit of shell making it into the bowl), then you helped her measure the flour, and sofiya poured in what seemed like way too many chocolate chips. the kitchen turned into a delightful mess: flour dusted the counters, little chocolate fingerprints decorated the cabinets, and sofiya sneaked a few chocolate chips every chance she got.
“daddy’s gonna love this!” she said, her eyes shining with excitement.
but just as the first batch of cookies went into the oven, you heard the door open earlier than expected, and sofiya’s face fell.
“oh no, mom! he’s here too soon. it’s all ruined,” she muttered, disappointed.
andrei stepped into the kitchen, chuckling as he took in the scene—flour everywhere, cookie dough on the counters, and sofiya’s pouty face.
“sunshine, what’s all this?” he asked, his eyes softening as he looked at her.
“i wanted to surprise you,” she murmured. “make you happy like you make me happy.”
his face brightened, and he pulled her into a warm hug. “well, you sure did, kiddo. this is the best surprise i could ask for.”
sofiya smiled brightly, inviting him to join her. together, the three of you continued baking. as andrei helped sofiya clean up the counters, you caught his eye, sharing a warm smile. moments like these were rare but so precious.
as the cookies finished baking, andrei had an idea. “hey, sweetheart, how about we take these cookies to practice and share them with the team?”
sofiya’s eyes lit up in excitement. “yes! they’ll be so happy. i miss uncle jarvy,” she said with a little pout.
“he sure misses you too, baby.”
and with a plate of freshly baked cookies in hand, the three of you headed to the rink, just as morning skate wrapped up.
