NFL Imagines

|!| Kenny Pickett |!|

Title: Proud Boyfriend Moment
Warnings: Injuries, use of the word bitch (not used by Kenny), and some suggestiveness

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"How you feeling?"

"How are you feeling?" Kenny retorts, glancing down at you with a raised brow and the corner of his mouth lifted into a small grin.

"It's an AFC North showdown so I expect to tend to plenty of you today," you admit, looking back up at him to meet his gaze. "It's only the toughest division in the NFL. And by toughest I mean that everyone beats each other up and makes the crowd, people watching on tv, and both sidelines grimace every five minutes."

That small grin turns into a big, boyish smile. "You couldn't have said it better."

You step to the side towards your boyfriend, taking him by surprise by knocking your hip against his and messing with his balance. He playfully pushes you away which makes you fall against him and laugh.

"I better not be patching you up today," you warn once your laughter calms, "You've eaten enough turf since you became the starting quarterback. I've cleaned plenty of spray painted grass out of your big mouth."

He slows his pace and leans down until his face is closer to yours to say, "And I'll eat more if it gets us a win."

"So competitive," you make a face at him before smiling, nuzzling your nose lovingly against his.

He returns the gesture, scrunching up his nose cutely as he does so, and then pulls back to begin walking at his normal speed. "If you really think about it, I'm winning either way," he announces.

His answer kicks your brain into overdrive. With a curious look, you stick your leg out and land a light kick to his ankle, getting his full attention again. Once his eyes find you, you speak, "Elaborate."

"You're my girl," he says like it's obvious with a roll of his eyes. "I'm always winning because I've got you."

You almost, almost, grow bashful and giddy at his words, but decide to give him a smug grin as you slide closer to the male. "You got that right. Before me you were the biggest loser to ever lose."

He huffs out a laugh and narrows his eyes, his lips stretching into his own version of a smug smile. "My fake slide says otherwise, princess."

"That was dirty," you whisper.

"You liked it."

Shrugging, you hide a smile. "Maybe a little. But only because you didn't get your head knocked off. You were lucky your plan didn't go south."

"I was," he chirps, attention remaining locked on you. "You wouldn't have been there to pick me up and everyone knows you're the only one who I'll let touch me without putting up a fight whenever I'm hurt. I trust you like no one else."

That's information you know very well. If he's said it once, he's said it a million times: he has put all his trust in you. Emphasis on the all his trust part when it came to injuries. Though the pain remained the same whether you patched him up or someone else did, it hurt just a little less when you did it over another medical staff member. There was also the bonus that he got to hold your hand every time he was down on the field or in the blue tent, that was until you had to use both hands—even then he'd beg you not to let go—to make sure he was taken care of properly.