NHL | Imagines

BROCK BOESER | PANIC

Warnings: None.

Word Count: 1.4K

Requested: Nope.

"Get your lazy ass out of bed, y/n!" Brock yells at you as soon as he steps inside your apartment. You groan, this is not the way you want to spend your day. You want to stay in bed, far away from the outside world. Why does he have a key again? Right, for situations like this one. "Leave me alone," you mutter, putting your pillow over your head.

You hear Brock chuckle before your bed dips, indicating he's now right beside you. The pillow on top of your head is ripped away, your sheets follow right after. "Brock, you're a monster!" you yell at him, trying to take back your sheets. Brock's boisterous laughter finally gives you the strength to open your eyes and glare at him. "Don't look at me like that, I'm here to help you get out of the apartment," he says, while giving you his best puppy look.

His innocent look makes your heart beat a little faster. He's trying to make things easier, but he's only making it harder for you. Brock has no idea how badly you're in love with him, and you want to keep it that way. At least for now. His friendship means too much to you. You're afraid if you confess your feelings, things will change between the two of you. So, for the hundredth time, you take a deep breath and smile at him. "Thank you, Brock. That means the world to me." He smiles back at you, before his eyes sparkle mischievously. "Oh no, no, no, no," you beg him, already knowing what's coming next.

His hands find your waist, fingers digging into your skin. Laughter bubbles out of you, arms and legs try to push Brock away. Brock laughs at you, enjoying your attempt to get away from his tickling fingers. "No mercy, y/n!" he says, while continuing his attack on your sides. It's all fun and games until your foot hits his private parts. "Ouch, fuck!" he yells, before rolling over to his side. "Oops, sorry, no mercy, right?" you chuckle at him, trying to keep your laughter at bay. "Go take a damn shower, woman. Don't hurt me again, please," Brock groans out. You hop out of bed, and into the shower.

You shower as quickly as you can, not wanting to leave Brock alone for too long. When you reappear in your bedroom there's no sign of Brock. You dress yourself in some skinny jeans and an oversized sweater. You shrug your shoulders, at least you'll be comfortable when you're forced out of your house.

It doesn't take long before you find Brock again. He's hovering over the stove, cooking something that smells way too good. You admire him from a distance, loving the way his arms flex when he flips the contents of the pan. You don't even notice Brock turning around, you're too far gone in your daydream about him. "You're staring, sweetheart," Brock says, a smile playing on his lips.

You shake your head, trying to clear your mind of all the thoughts you had about him. "Yeah, sorry about that," you mumble, trying to hide your embarrassment. Before you can pass Brock, he grabs your wrist, turning your attention back on him. "Hey, don't be like that, y/n. I don't mind," he winks at you, before letting you go. While Brock turns back to the stove, you're still trying to process the words he just said. He doesn't mind? What does that even mean?

Once again you're pulled from your thoughts by Brock. His hand lands on your shoulder, as he places your plate in front of you. His hand lingers a bit longer than necessary, before he pulls away completely. "Eat something, then we can go," Brock says excitedly. You try to give him a convincing smile, but doubt that it was successful.

The two of you eat in silence, both of you deep in thought. It isn't awkward at all, but you're slightly uncomfortable. You're getting so many mixed signal from Brock, it's screwing with your mind. "What's going on inside that pretty head of yours?" he asks softly, his eyes locked on yours. You shake your head at him, before speaking. "It's nothing, Brock. Don't worry about it." He doesn't look convinced, but drops the topic for now.

It takes a few more minutes to finish breakfast, clean the dishes and get ready to head out. Half an hour later you're sitting next to Brock in the car. You can't help looking at him every once in a while. There's just something about guys driving a car, it's fascinating.

Brock catches you staring at him more than once. He doesn't mind it at all, he loves the look on your face when he catches you checking him out. He loves the flush of your cheeks, eyes wide with shock. He just loves you.

There have been so many occasions that he wanted to tell you, but every time he chickens out. He's pretty sure you like him back, it just never felt like the right time. But life's too short for second guessing and regretting things. Today is the day he'll tell you how he feels. It's now or never. He's an adult, for crying out loud! How hard can it be?

Apparently really hard. Your behaviour worries Brock. You're never this fidgety, never this silent. What if you don't like him that way? What if he ruins everything? What if he's making a mistake?

You notice that Brock is freaking out about something, which is good because so are you. "Stop the car," you tell him. You need to get this out of your system, it's eating you alive. Brock looks at you confused. "Stop the damn car, Brock!" you say louder, you're this close to panic. Brock slams his foot down on the brake, making the car come to a sudden stop.

He looks at you, confusion and panic clearly visible in his eyes. "I can't do this anymore, I really can't," you say, on the verge of tears. Brock opens his mouth to say something, but you shake your head at him. "I love you, Brock. I love you so damn much. But not as a friend, never as just a friend," You force the words out of your mouth, before bursting into tears. You bury your head into your hands, letting the tears flow freely.

Brock opens his mouth a few times to say something, but nothing comes out. You love him? And why are you crying? He brushes his hand through his hair, before looking around the car. It's a good thing he stopped the car in the middle of nowhere, and not in the middle of a busy highway. He unbuckles his seatbelt, before unbuckling yours. Brock pulls you into his lap in one smooth move. His arms tight around you, holding you as close as possible.

Your arms go around his neck, burying your face in the crook of his neck. "Why are you crying, baby?" Brock whispers against your hair. You try to take a deep breath, anything to calm your sobs. "Because I ruined everything. I ruined us," you sob.

Brock's hands rub small circles on your back, trying to calm you down. "I love you too, y/n. I'm so madly in love with you," Brock says, the words finally leaving his mouth. It feels so good to finally say it, to finally tell you how he really feels.

For a moment you freeze, before lifting your head. You look up at him, wiping your nose on the sleeve of your sweater. "You really love me?" you whisper at him. He cups your jaw, pressing his lips onto yours. You melt into the kiss, forgetting all about your worries from moments before.

Breaking the kiss, you put your forehead against his. "Does that answer your question?" he says, smiling back at you. You nod your head at him, not able to keep your own smile at bay. "Can we go home and cuddle now, please?" you ask him sweetly. Brock laughs, pecking your lips again. "Oh yes, we can definitely do that." You climb back into your own seat, buckling your seatbelt again. Brock finds your hand, intertwining his fingers with yours.

Sometimes it's the scary things in life that are the most worthwhile.

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AUTHOR'S NOTE:

Took me long enough to write something for Brock hahaha.