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ereardon · 8 months

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More Than Enough [Bob Floyd x Reader]

A Single Dad Bob Fic

Summary: The first two times Bob Floyd ends up in your emergency room he’s a mess. You never expected him to return a third time. But when he does, it changes everything.

Pairing: Robert “Bob” Floyd x OC

Warnings: Medical setting, blood and needles, cursing Word count: 4.4K

Bob Floyd masterlist here

“We’ve got another one.”

You sighed, lifting the hair from the back of your neck and fanning it before clipping your hair up and straightening your scrubs. “Be there in a second, Liz.”

Your charge nurse nodded, waddling away from the desk and you pushed back from your chair, wandering down the hall, knocking lightly before walking through the door on the right.

“Hi,” you said, grabbing the chart from the folder on the wall and stepping further into the room. “I’m Y/N, I’ll be your nurse today.”

“Hi.” You looked up. His voice was deep and gravely and insanely sexy despite the fluorescent lights of the ER and the sterile aesthetics of the triage room. The patient on the bed had sandy blond hair that was combed back neatly and a pair of wire glasses that slid down his pert nose. His pink lips were curled up in a delicate, shy smile, large hands spread out on either side of his body. “How are you?”

You laughed, skimming the clipboard chart one more time before setting it down near the sink. “Better than you, Mr. Floyd, by the looks of it. Says here you have a hook in your foot.”

The man nodded, lifting his left leg and you saw it immediately: an old fishing hook sunken into the flesh toward his ankle. You grimaced while putting on a pair of gloves.

“And how did this happen?”

“Playing football on the beach,” he said as you poked at the skin around the hook. “Just stepped somewhere I shouldn’t have, apparently.”

You nodded. “Well, Mr. Floyd–”

“Bob,” he said.

You smiled. “Bob. I’m going to give you a shot for tetanus. We’re not sure where this hook has been, so better safe than sorry.”

Bob winced as he watched you dip the syringe into the glass vial of medicine.

You sat down on the rolling stool and reached out, pushing up the sleeve of his shirt from his upper arm, rubbing a circle spot with an alcohol swab. “So beach football. That sounds fun.”

“I, um, I play with my team.” Bob closed his eyes as you slid the needle into his skin, pressing the depressor slowly.

When you pulled it out, covering it with a fresh cotton ball, reaching for a band-aid, he kept his eyes closed. You patted his arm softly. “Mr. Floyd, you’re doing just fine.”

His eyes shot open and he smiled, embarrassed. “Sorry, I’m a major wuss when it comes to needles.”

“Most people are,” you said, examining his foot. “What kind of team? Like a rec league?”

“Oh, no,” Bob said as you cleaned around the entrance of the metal hook on his foot. “My squadron. I’m in the Navy.”

“Really?” You pressed down on the top of his foot, looking up at Bob. He caught your eye.

He nodded. “Aviator, ma’am.”

“What’s that like?” you asked. Just as Bob opened his mouth to reply, you yanked on the hook, eliciting a sharp grunt from him. You shook your head with a sad smile. “Sorry, better not to see it coming.”

“Think you’re right about that,” Bob said, his voice a little higher than before.

You smiled sweetly up at him, pressing against the wound with cotton to stop the bleeding. Bob laid back against the bed, looking a little more pale than before. “Mr. Floyd?”

“Bob,” he gasped.

“Bob,” you repeated. “Are you feeling dizzy?”

“Not a fan of blood, either,” he muttered and you looked down to see that blood had soaked through the cotton you were holding. You quickly switched it out.

“Lay back for me,” you said softly, “and close your eyes.” Bob did as he was told and you wrapped his foot gently once the blood had stopped flowing from the wound. You ran the sink with cold water, dampening a towel and folding it up, placing it gently on Bob’s forehead. He sighed audibly. “There. Just try to relax, OK?”

He chuckled. “Not a very good first impression, huh?”

You smiled even though he couldn’t see you. “I’ve had worse.”

Just as you were about to open your mouth and ask about his personal life, the door swung open and a beautiful brunette entered the room with a little girl on her hip. Your heart sank in your chest as she set the toddler down and watched as the toddler rushed to the bed. “Daddy!”

Bob’s eyes fluttered open and he smiled brightly. “Hi Sugar.”

“She insisted we follow you,” the brunette said. She was gloriously tan and chiseled, wearing just a black sports bra and a pair of small athletic shorts. She turned to you with a grin. “How’s our boy doing?”

“He’ll be just fine,” you said, trying your hardest not to be jealous of this perfectly kind stranger who just happened to be the wife of your patient. But you also wanted to claw her eyes out and claim him as your own.

“Daddy, you fainted.” The little girl had her hands on the sheets where she could reach and Bob leaned over, trying to scoop her up, but couldn’t quite reach her.

“Here.” You crouched down next to the little girl. “Want me to help you get on your daddy’s bed?”

She nodded enthusiastically and you smiled, lifting under her arms, plopping her against the sheets and Bob’s waiting arms. You watched as Bob enveloped her in his embrace, veins and muscles on his arms rippling as he held her tight.

The brunette cleared her throat. “Floyd, I can take Andie home, depending on how long you’ll be here?”

Bob turned to you. “Y/N?” he asked and you liked the way he said your name instead of nurse or hey you or even ma’am. “How long do you think?”

“I just want to keep you here another fifteen minutes or so, make sure you’re reacting OK to the vaccination and you’re no longer a fainting threat, and then we can get your discharge papers completed. Won’t be more than an hour.”

Bob nodded. “I’ll take her home, Nix, don’t worry about it.”

The brunette put one hand on her hip. “You sure?”

“Yeah, I’m sure. You want to stay with me, Sugar? Or do you want Auntie Phoenix to take you home?”

Andie clung to Bob’s side. “I want to stay with you, daddy!”

You caught the auntie part of the conversation. As you swapped out his gauze for a bandage you looked quickly.

No wedding ring.

Things were looking up. You smiled as the brunette leaned over, kissing the top of Andie’s head. “OK sweetheart, you can stay with your daddy. Floyd, I’ll check on you later. Bradshaw will drive you home, OK? He’s in the waiting room.”

Bob nodded. “Thanks. Tell him we’ll be out soon.” Bob turned to you as Andie settled in his arms, her gaze already on the TV in the corner. “Sorry, that’s my pilot, Natasha.”

“She’s pretty.”

Bob flushed. “I, um, I was going to say the same thing about you.”

You loved that he was flustered. In his arms, Andie stirred. “Daddy? How much longer?”

“Just a little bit, honey,” he said. “Do you want to wait with Uncle Bradley?”

She shook her head. “No, daddy, want to be with you!”

“OK Sugar,” he said, looking up at you sheepishly. “Sorry, she’s three and a little antsy.”

You waved one hand in the air. “Don’t worry about it. She’s adorable.” You finished your note on his chart. “Well, Mr. Floyd, you’re going to be just fine. In about fifteen minutes, the floor nurse will come in and get you the discharge papers and you two will be free to go.”

Just as you were about to turn on your heel, Bob’s voice caught you. “Y/N?”

You turned. “Yes?”

He looked down at Andie’s blonde head and then back up at you and sighed. “Um, thanks. For everything.”

You smiled but it was thin. “Of course, it’s my job.” You waved. “Bye sweetheart.”

“Bye!” Andie’s sugary voice rang out in the sterile room.

You turned on one heel, flattening yourself to the hallway after shutting the door, letting out a breath. For a moment, you had thought he was going to ask you out. But of course he wasn’t. Who were you kidding? A gorgeous pilot with a daughter? He was surely off the market, even if he wasn’t wearing a ring.

You opened your eyes just in time to see an incredibly beefy guy slide down the hallway, his brown eyes landing on yours. He grinned, white teeth, slightly crooked smile. Fuck, he was beautiful, too. What was going on?

“Hi,” he said, stopping in front of you. “I, uh, I’m looking for Bob Floyd’s room?”

You hooked a thumb to your left. “Right there,” you said.

He grinned. “Thanks.” He didn’t make a move to leave.

You pushed yourself off of the wall and nodded. “Anytime.”

The mustache man followed you with your eyes as you walked away from the room, as far as you could get from the tiny little corner of the hospital that was inhabited by the most beautiful people you had ever laid eyes on within a ten minute span.

Back at the nurse’s station, you collapsed into your chair.

“I know that look,” Liz said, eyebrow raised.

“What look?”

She shook her head, grabbing for her water bottle. “Watch out, sweetie. There’s only one reason you could possibly look like that?”

“And how do I look?”

“Fucked.”

***

You hadn’t been able to get Bob Floyd out of your head. That’s why, two weeks later, when he rushed into the ER in the middle of the night, you blinked rapidly, convinced that the night shift was melding with your subconscious somehow.

“Hello?” he called out into the hallway and you rushed forward, noticing that he had Andie in his arms, her face pink with anguish. “She won’t stop crying and throwing up and oh my God, I don’t know what’s happening.”

“Put her down here,” you said, leading them to a bed and drawing the drapes tightly. Andie rolled onto her side, clutching her abdomen. “Hi honey. I’m just going to take a look at your belly, OK?” She nodded, but continued to cry as you lifted up the hem of her pajama top, touching her distended belly gently as she cried out. You looked up at Bob. “It’s most likely appendicitis but we’ll need a CT scan to confirm.”

Bob ran a hand through his hair. He looked much more disheveled this time and you almost wanted to sling an arm around him, pull him into a hug. He looked like he needed it.

“Let me call down to radiology, we should be able to get her in immediately.”

You stepped toward the phone on the wall, speaking quickly, eyes on Bob as he hovered near Andie’s bed, whispering softly in her ear.

“Another nurse will come and take her down in a minute,” you said gently.

Bob looked up. “Can I go with?”

You shook your head and his face fell. “I’m sorry. But you’ll get to see her before she goes into surgery.”

“Is there anything you can give her for the pain?” he pleaded. “I just, I don't know what to do.”

You nodded. “We’ll give her some medicine before the procedure and after.”

A knock on the door stole both of your attention. “Mr. Floyd? I’m here to take Andie down to radiology.” A short nurse with her hair tied back smiled at the door. “Are we all set?”

“Yes.” You looked at Bob and Andie. “It’ll only be twenty minutes, I promise.”

He nodded, leaning over and kissing Andie’s head. “I’ll be right here, baby, I promise. Be good for me, Sugar.”

“Daddy!” she cried and you saw how it gutted him.

He swallowed the pain. “It’s OK, honey. You’ll feel better soon.”

And then they were wheeling Andie’s bed out of the room and Bob collapsed onto the chair near the wall, head in his hands. You waited a moment before walking over, squatting down and pressing one hand to his knee gently. “Hey. She’s going to be OK, I promise.”

Bob looked up and you saw tears in his blue eyes. He wiped at them. “I’m sorry. There’s nothing scarier as a parent than rushing your kid to the ER in the middle of the night.”

“Don’t be sorry,” you said softly. “I can’t even imagine.”

“Do you have kids?”

You shook your head. “I don’t.”

Bob sighed. “I never thought I wanted kids,” he whispered, like a confession. “And then Andie came along and she changed everything.” He paused. “She’s my entire world. I can’t explain how helpless I feel watching her in pain knowing it’s out of my control.”

Your hand was still pressed against his knee. “She’s going to be alright,” you said. “I promise, nothing bad is going to happen.”

“Thank you.” The two of you hovered there for a moment, eyes locked on each other. And then the door swung open and you stood up quickly.

“It’s a ruptured appy,” the nurse said. “We’re taking her down to OR two.”

“You have to let him talk to her first,” you said and Bob looked at you, surprised. “He has to tell her it’s going to be OK. She’s scared.”

The nurse nodded hastily. “Fine, but do it quickly. Dr. Roberts is already scrubbing in.”

The three of you trailed down the hallway to where Andie laid in a bed near the elevator, another nurse speaking with her quietly. Her eyes flicked to Bob immediately, widening with recognition and comfort. He reached out, stroking her hair. “Hi Sugar,” he whispered and you could hear in the pits of his voice how much he was holding back. “Listen, the doctors are going to make you better and when you’re done with your nap, I’ll be waiting for you.”

“With a toy?” she asked, her voice light and soft.

Bob smiled. “Yeah, honey, with a toy.”

“Promise, daddy?”

Bob nodded. “I promise. Be right here when you’re done, OK?”

Andie smiled and Bob pressed a kiss to her forehead before she was wheeled down the corridor, through the double doors at the end of the hallway. He turned to you with sad, wide eyes. You were an ER nurse – technically, you needed to hand over Andie as your patient to the surgical team. You would go to the nurses station and finish the chart, have it signed off by the attendings who completed her surgery after it was done. But something about the frazzled way that Bob looked and how his leg had felt beneath your palm made you throw everything else to the side.

“Come on,” you said, putting one hand on his arm gently. “Let’s get a coffee. It’ll be an hour or two.”

He frowned. “You don’t need to see more patients?”

You shrugged. It was three in the morning on a Tuesday. Only one bed was filled. “It’s quiet. They’ll cover for me.”

“Are you sure?”

You nodded. You didn’t want him to be alone. “Besides, I know where the good coffee is.”

That’s how you and Bob ended up on the third floor doctor’s lounge sipping out of mismatched mugs, the sun still asleep beneath the blanket of the horizon.

“So a pilot, huh?” you asked. “That must be exciting.”

Bob smiled but it was quick. Tight. “Yeah.” He took a sip of coffee and looked up. “Actually, can I tell you the truth?”

“Of course.”

“People always say that and I always respond the same. Yeah, it’s exciting. Yeah, it’s cool. But the truth is, it’s fucking terrifying. Going up in jets every day not knowing if I’m going to be able to pick my daughter up from daycare later or not.”

“So why do you do it?”

“Only thing I’ve ever been good at,” he replied.

“That can’t be true.” Your eyes wandered over Bob’s strong hands, the way the coffee mug was engulfed by them. The wire glasses slipping down his nose. The way he carried himself. Like he was too much of a burden to compete for space in the room, even though there was no one in there besides the two of you.

“Being a dad,” he said softly. “I’m good at that. I think.”

“You are.” He lit up. “The way Andie looks at you? You’re her hero.”

Bob put his coffee cup down. “You’re just saying that.”

“You don’t know me,” you said, “but I don’t really make a habit of lying just to make people feel good about themselves.”

He laughed. “So that’s why you became a nurse, huh?”

“That and an oppressive need for academic validation. Plus I look cute in the uniform.”

Bob smiled at you. “True.”

You blushed. In the dim light of the lounge, you could see Bob’s profile and he was even more beautiful than you had made him to be in your head. “So, Andie’s mom?”

He shook his head. “She’s not in the picture.”

“Sorry to hear that.”

“I am, too,” he said quietly. “For Andie, not for me. We were never good together. Right now, I’m just trying to be enough. I’m doing everything I can, but I know that one day she’s going to grow up. And I am going to be useless when she comes home asking me to buy her a miniskirt or what dress to wear to prom or how to put her hair in French braids for some costume party.” He smiled at you sadly. “I just know that I won’t be enough.”

“The fact that you’re already thinking of that tells me you’re more than enough,” you replied. “She’s lucky. And I’m not just saying that.”

Bob chuckled lightly. His voice was deep and silky. “Do you give all your patient’s parents the VIP treatment?”

“Nope,” you said, setting down your coffee cup and turning to where he sat in the leather chair next to you. “You’re special.”

“Oh yeah?” Bob murmured, leaning forward over the arm of his chair, his face dangerously close to yours. “Why is that?”

“Because–” Just then, your pager beeped. You leaned back and pulled it off your waistband. “It’s Andie’s surgery. She’s in recovery.”

Bob jumped up, cheeks flushed. “And?”

You smiled. “No warnings. It must have gone perfectly.”

“Oh, thank God.” The relief coming from his voice could sooth a thousand wounds.

You grinned. “I’ll take you down to her room.”

As you turned to head out toward the hallway, Bob stopped you, his hand on your wrist, fingers circling yours. “Y/N, I–”

“I know,” you said softly, letting his hand slide into your own. “We should go, Andie’s waiting.”

You understood what people meant when they said their ovaries were going to explode the second you saw Andie and Bob reunite in the post-op room. Her tiny face lit up as she watched Bob walk through the door, her little arms reaching for him instinctively. The way he cradled her head to his chest, patting her back softly, kissing her temple. There was a warmth spilling out into the room, radiating off of the two of them like an aura. You stood in the doorway as the sun crawled over the horizon and watched father and daughter reunite.

After a while, you stepped up to the bed. “Hi sweetheart, heard you did great in there,” you said softly and Andie beamed. “I’m going to let you and your daddy get some rest, OK? Someone will be back in a bit to check on you.”

“Bye!” Her small voice was like a thousand little violins.

Bob turned to you, one hand still touching Andie, making sure she was there. She was safe. “I can’t thank you enough,” he said quietly. “Is this the end of your shift?”

You checked your watch. It was six thirty. You had been off for thirty minutes. “Yeah, it is.”

“I, um.” He looked down at Andie, her baby blue eyes tracking him. “Maybe I’ll see you tomorrow if we’re still here.”

You smiled. “You two will be released by then, I’m sure.”

“Oh.” There was something dejected about the way he said it. You shuffled from foot to foot. “It was nice seeing you again. Bob.” The way his name felt on your tongue. It was fuzzy and soft and you wanted to hold onto it for as long as you could.

“You too, Y/N,” he said softly.

You turned, heading for the door, before spinning back around, digging in your pocket, pulling out a tiny stuffed penguin on a keychain. Your niece had given it to you a few months ago for your thirty-first birthday and you had almost forgotten it was still in your pocket from where you had scooped it up earlier after it fell out of your bag onto the locker room floor as you were rushing for a code. “Bob,” you said quietly and he turned, eyes bright. You slipped the toy into his hand quietly so Andie wouldn’t see. He looked down then back up in surprise. You grinned. “You promised her a toy, remember?”

His fingers lingered over yours before finally you pulled away, the heat of Bob’s stare warming you from your core like lava. “Thank you.”

You smiled. “Bye again.”

This time you did leave, your chest tight as you shut the door softly, turning down the hallway, putting as much space between you and Bob Floyd as you could. Because you knew that if you didn’t, you’d embarrass yourself. You’d run back into the room and beg him to take you out. To kiss you. To talk to you with a fraction of the love that he spoke to Andie with. That would be enough.

It would be more than enough.

***

It was the end of a long day. You sat down at the nurse’s station with a sigh, kicking your feet up on the desk, closing your eyes. Only a few seconds passed before someone was tapping your shoulder incessantly.

Your eyes snapped open and you groaned. “What?”

“You’re going to want to see this,” Kirsten said. She had one hand on her hip, head tipped toward the lobby area.

“Bloody?” you asked excitedly.

She shook her head. “You’re nasty. No, it’s better.”

“If it’s not a bloody accident I don’t want it.”

Kirsten rolled her eyes. “It’s better so just shut up, put a smile on that face and maybe puff out your boobs a little, you’re looking saggy.”

“What?”

She laughed as you stood up, fiddling with your scrub top, frowning as Kirsten pushed you around the corner toward the lobby doors. You stopped dead in your tracks.

Bob Floyd stood in the atrium of the hospital, still wearing his green flight suit, blond hair perfectly combed back, wire glasses slightly askew. He had a bouquet of pink roses in his hands and a brilliant white smile when he spotted you.

“Hi.” His voice wobbled a bit as you approached.

“Hi back,” you said quietly. “I hope those are for me,” you said, gesturing to the flowers, “because you really need to stop showing up with emergencies, Bob Floyd.”

He laughed, a throaty sound that eclipsed all other laughs in your memory. Now, anytime you ever thought of a laugh it would be like what Bob Floyd sounded like on a random Thursday evening. “Well it is the ER. Besides, how else would I be able to see you?”

“You'd see me if you ever asked me on a date.”

Bob flushed. “Well, that’s why I’m here.”

“Oh yeah?”

He nodded, thrusting the flowers out to you. “I, um, I wanted to ask you out the first time we met. But that didn’t really turn out like I planned. Practically fainting in front of you wasn’t what I had in mind.”

You smelled the flowers. They were clean and crisp and you couldn’t remember the last time a man bought you flowers, let alone went out of his way to see you. You stepped closer. “It was kind of charming,” you admitted.

Bob laughed again, that sweet chuckle that was quickly imprinting itself in your mind. “I’ll take it. So what do you say, will you go on a date with me?”

“I don’t know, what can beat stale coffee in a doctor’s break room?”

“What if I cook you dinner?” Bob offered and your eyebrows shot up. “What’s your favorite dish?”

“Eggplant parmesan,” you said automatically. It tumbled out of your mouth.

“Done.”

“So you can cook?”

“No,” he said and you laughed. “But I can Google it.”

“You’d go to all that trouble just for me?”

Bob stepped in closer, reaching out one hand, tucking a chunk of hair behind your ear. His touch was warm and it practically electrocuted you with the fervor that started to course through your veins as his skin brushed against yours. Bob let his hand linger on the side of your neck, cupping you gently. “It’s no trouble,” he murmured. “Besides, Andie keeps asking about the pretty nurse who gave her the penguin doll.”

You grinned. “Did she like it?”

“She sleeps with it every night. But apparently, Mr. Penguin has requested that you come by the house to read him a bedtime story. So what do you say? Dinner and a book reading?” he asked.

You locked eyes with Bob, nodding. “Is it weird to say I’m glad you got a hook in your foot and ended up in my ER?”

Bob chuckled. “Is it weird to say I’d do it again every day if it meant I got to see you?”

“Honey,” you whispered. “No need to stab your foot again. I’ll be at dinner any night of the week. Just say the word.”

He held out one hand. You slipped your fingers into his. It was enough. It was more than enough.

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holy-puckslibrary · 3 months

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━ 𝐁𝐋𝐔𝐄 𝐇𝐀𝐖𝐀𝐈𝐈𝐀𝐍.

main masterlist

pairing(s) — MITCH MARNER x reader (est. relationship) wc — 4.5k synopsis — think hilary duff’s balcony engagement circa 2007

note — this belongs to the i don't remember this bar collection

specific content warnings below the cut.

cw — profanity and other vulgar language, taking the lord’s name in vain + other religious-ish imagery, oral sex (m receiving), unprotected PIV intercourse (multiple) + creampie/breeding kink, discussion/thoughts of cum play, outdoor sex and mention of previous exhibitionism, mention of previous choking + breath play (f!reader receiving), pain kink situation (both), one line of blood play (f!reader receiving), justified violence (not directed at reader!!!), slight d/s dynamics, and possessive!mitch being a domestic little horndog

“Before we talk about that beautiful, game-tying goal in the tail-end of the second and your overall command of the offensive zone throughout tonight’s game, I first want to congratulate you on some major life news. A few weeks belated; my apologies.

For those who don’t know, you came back from the All-Star break with more than just a tan; you came back with—and as—a fiancé.”

Mitch does nothing to dim his megawatt smile or to dull the sparkle in his eyes. The mere mention of you coaxes out an impossibly giddier version of himself, unencumbered by the stress and pressure of a waning season. It’s always been that way.

It's difficult to remember a time before you. He doesn't want to.

Despite of meeting on arguably one of the worst nights of his life, somehow, all he feels when the memory rises to the surface of his mind is joy.

He remembers your laughter, warm and buoyant, and the way the low light painted flattering shadows across your kind face as you spoke animatedly about your passions and dreams. He remembers being treated like a person before anything else, not some character in a video game or a pawn in someone else’s fantasy league, and he recalls your fervent, genuine interest in his off-ice hobbies. Not once did you ask anything invasive or demand he share more than he was willing.

Nor did you fish for tickets.

For Mitch, privacy was paramount, and the sentiment echoed throughout your lengthy relationship. It was your through-line, and it should’ve blanketed the intimate proposal in safety.

He gets hot under the collar just thinking about it.

Mitch will entertain the host’s questions to an extent. Because, despite his insistence on privacy, he will never pass up an opportunity to sing your praises or brag about his luck.

“Did you bring anything else back? Any special souvenir to commemorate such a momentous occasion?”

Mitch is instantly hard, his pale cheeks ablaze, eternally grateful that the camera is filming from the chest up.

Carried in on a warm evening breeze, the evocation is so palpable he can taste the blue curaçao on his tongue and feel its muted burn in the back of his throat. The air smells of pineapple and your fragrant shampoo, a comforting scent that clings to him like a second skin. The phantom of your touch sends a shiver down the expanse of his sore, sweat-drenched back.

“—holy fuck.”

The crinkled, two-word curse tumbles from Mitch’s mouth with little effort.

Every modicum of tact was either battling against the warm rum coursing through his body or fighting to keep his guttural, damning moans at bay.

They are getting hot and heavy on a patio, after all.

Mitch knows this isn’t smart. He knows he should’ve moved the celebration indoors, that he should've waited until you were curtained in safety to give in to his desire and your wandering hands.

He knows, he knows, he knows.

The problem is he just doesn’t care.

Mitch wasn’t about to delay the appreciative mouth of the woman he was going to make his wife, not even for a second.

Even if she dropped to her knees with only a hedge to play look-out. A line of decorative foliage is their first and final defense, the leaves carelessly swaying between them and the rest of the luxury resort he booked for All-Star weekend.

It’s difficult to make sound decisions when the hand wrapped around your cock is newly weighed down by five carats.

The dazzling rock shines proudly in the concluding rays of a setting sun. Glittery and perfect, like the woman who wears it.

Mitch hisses when the tip taps the back of your throat for the first time that night. The sensitive skin melts into your tongue like an ice cube, the creamy droplets of anticipation swallowed greedily by your ravenous mouth. He sees stars in the cotton candy sky peeking through the palm trees.

It hasn’t been that long; his day began with your nose nuzzled against his pelvis, his head limp against the cool tile of the shower a few feet away.

When it comes to you, nothing is ever enough to curb his appetite.

Always needy, never satiated—a pair of perverted peas in a pod.

Your tongue repeats the delicious motion it had previously, too, lazily tracing along the underside of his length until he’s whimpering with no regard for anything besides spilling himself down your throat. He feels you smile around his thickness, pleased by the ease of his undoing. You were damn good; you deserved to be proud.

In all honesty, it took very little effort on your part to make him weak in both his knees and in his resolve.

However, there was a special kind of magic in your pretty face, now dusted by a salty sheen, nestled against his taut abdomen, his cock engulfed by the vice-grip of your throat.

Mitch is close already.

White-hot sparks descend through his quads and calves to zap his sandy toes. Electrified, his hips sputter of their own volition, but like the godsend you are, you accommodate every jolt and tilt in stride.

With one hand braced against his hip and the other gently massaging the heavy weight of his balls cradled in your palm, you peer up at him through a fan of fluttering lashes.

He whines—at the mischievous glint in your glassy eyes or the bite of your manicure as you sink your nails into his burnt skin, he can’t be sure.

Some of your fingers curl into the nasty bruise eating up his lower back, the by-product of a gruesome communion with the ice a few days prior. Sharp nails nip at the fragile skin. Mitch doesn’t know if the twinge of pain was intentional on your part, but he loves it either way. Perhaps a little too much, he thinks to himself as he twitches violently in your grasp.

And perhaps you aren't the only one with a masochistic streak. It's clear from the heaviness of your lids the converse applies to you.

His sweetheart's sick and sadistic. He's never been prouder.

“Get off,” he husks. Abruptly, he steps out from your embrace.

In retrospect, Mitch could’ve been nicer about it. At that moment, however, he was far too desperate for chivalry.

Staring down at your wide, despondent eyes—a pup deprived of her favorite bone—your fiancé amends, “Calm down, sweetheart. I’ll give it back soon. There’s no way in hell I’m wasting a load in your mouth when I know how good your pussy feels around my cock.”

Heat scales Mitch’s spine as he spreads you wide open against the chaise. Your folds glow brighter than the jewelry on your left hand.

With the tip of his finger, he tests the waters. Gingerly, at first, like he's still unsure you'll be able to take him. That charade hardly lasts, but tonight, it's barely a blip.

Your body eagerly welcomes the attention, mouthing at him before sucking the touch past the taut, elastic ring of your entrance. Your faint groans elicited by the intrusion harmonize so sweetly, so perfectly, that Mitch’s eyes fall shut in tranquil bliss.

When your hips rock against his palm, they snap open.

Blinking at him hard and fast, your teeth sink into your bottom lip, turning the plushness a sickly shade of pink—of desperation. Tears crowd your lash line but never cascade down your shiny cheeks; they, like you, are impatiently waiting for reprimand.

Mitch almost laughs. You did jump the gun, so he can't fault you for expecting the corresponding punishment. But it's a special occasion—you're celebrating, so it never manifests.

And Mitch wants to do more than just spank you silly. Plenty of time for that later. A lifetime's worth of it.

Instead, with the flick of his wrist, Mitch encourages you to take your pleasure.

The subtle, tantalizing movements, building in speed and ferocity with each pass, beckon him forward until his sunburnt skin is close enough to burn yours. Feeling you beneath him, feeling his weight rest against your body, feels better than heaven, and he’s barely started.

Like before, Mitch is painfully aware he won’t be able to last long. Judging by how silky-slick you are against his palm, you won’t be either.

With his free hand, he catches your jaw and, with little resistance, tilts your head to keep your gaze from straying. Your mouth falls open when he slips another finger inside. Mitch grins down at your lust-blown pupils and the feel of your hot breath against his lips. He leans down and licks into your idle mouth. A third finger causes your bottom lip to tremble between his and your forehead to ease, every little muscle going soft and pliant between the cushion and his chest.

“Atta girl,” Mitch praises. His lips press briefly to your cheek before beginning their descent along your throat. The touch is featherlight and sends a shiver down your spine, coaxing your chest further into his. “—love seeing you like this, all beautiful and open. And all fucking mine.”

Mitch wouldn't necessarily consider himself a territorial person, and he can't recall ever feeling possessive of a partner. Until he met you.

It had nothing to do with trust or a lack thereof; you were his the minute your eyes met through the crowd, and you reassured him of that fact constantly. It was never you that needed a reminder—it was everybody else.

The men who openly leer at you from every corner of Scotiabank Arena. The NHL hopefuls in your Instagram comments shamelessly flirting as if he didn’t exist or wasn’t in the photo, too. The unprofessional commentators who found ways to sneak in a lecherous comment or two under the guise of camaraderie whenever they spoke about his prowess.

You weren’t some object to be won or bought. You made a choice, and he’d make sure they knew and respected it.

Sure, the engagement ring will aid in this up-hill endeavor, but a little due diligence never hurt either.

“Tonight, it's gonna take. I’m making damn sure of that, sweetheart.”

Your walls squeeze his digits in recognition. Mitch chuckles, dark and dry, against your shoulder. You might like the implication more than he does.

You two weren’t trying, but you weren’t not trying either. Seeing you wearing his ring—the one he picked and purchased—kicked him down a perverted spiral. Flipped the last switch, cut the final cord. He wanted to complete the picture. He wanted to give those good-for-nothing losers one more reason to keep their mouths shut and their eyes to themselves.

“You’d love that, wouldn’t you? Love for me to fill you in a way that’ll last? C’mon, sweetheart, tell me what you want. Tell me how badly you want to be stuffed full of me, how much your pussy needs it—how badly you want to be heavy and swollen with my kid."

Mitch tends to your clit, keeping you borderline incoherent as he tickles your ears with more filth before you can reply to the first goading.

Your eventual responses are muffled by a long, primal whine.

When he has you swaying on the brink of collapse, he’s painfully hard against your inner thigh. There's an iridescent river pearling from the weeping head, freely flowing down to pool beneath your ass. It beams in the dim light like a beacon.

Transfixed and desperately in love, Mitch could cum right now. Just like this.

But staining a stupid fucking cushion would be more of a waste than shooting himself your throat. So, much to your chagrin, he, once again, retreats back onto his knees.

“C-come back,” you whimper with a loud hiccup. The choked sound is as pitiful as your attempts to reach for him. “Please, please, please—”

Satisfaction spreads over the bridge of his nose, leaving him rosy from one cheek to the other. He pins you with a heated, half-lid stare as he strokes himself.

His palm doesn’t feel as good as yours, but Mitch is grateful for that. He wants to drag this out. Instead of rutting into you like a teenager in the backseat of a car, or like himself after a long stint away.

That can’t—and won’t—happen if he keeps touching you. He has to back off before he loses his ever-loving mind.

“Stop being a tease,” you chide. Irritation weighs heavily on your voice. “Haven’t I waited long enough?”

“There’s something I want you to see first, you little brat,” he replies, adopting your sharp tone as he brings his open palm down on your inner thigh.

You shriek, but your eyes beg for another. Maybe he shouldn't have cut you any slack earlier...

He grants your silent wish with a matching blow to the other side before guiding his rigid cock to rest over your body.

And it was better than Mitch ever imagined.

He groans at the sight, “Can you see it? Can you, sweetheart?”

Mitch waits patiently for it to click in your mind, but the confusion that swiftly overtook your fucked-out features never dissipates. Eyes rolling, he shifts forward. Hand still wrapped around the base, Mitch leans over until the full length of him sits against your bare stomach.

Your body quivers over the contact, so he has to hold your hips down to keep you from wiggling and ruining everything.

“I know you can feel it, but I want you to see it. I want you to see how deep I get inside of you, sweetheart. All the way up…” Mitch trails off as his hands glide from your outer hips to the center of your abdomen.

His voice is so deep. So hungry. Your whole being—mind and body—goes weak at the foreign richness.

With tender thumbs, he applies pressure beneath his swollen tip. “—here.”

Mitch moves slowly at first, as if he'd just been sheathed inside of you. With each careful thrust, his stones caress your aching clit, all puffy and pouting.

It feels wonderful to be touched again, even if only in short bursts. But it's not enough friction or force to do much more than aggravate you further. Even when he picks up speed, it’s more hurtful than helpful.

Still, you cannot tear your eyes away from the angry, ruddy head dribbling out ropes of arousal or voice a shred of discontent. The opaque beads form a nonsensical pattern, but it's mesmerizing nonetheless.

If you were any less needy, you’d take your time running your fingers through the milky mess. Swirling around in the evidence of Mitch’s desire until you had enough to lick clean.

As if privy to your thoughts, he pins your wrists at your sides again.

Mitch isn’t faring much better than you. His eyes are trained on the shadow bisecting your middle. Locked, laser-focused. This little…exercise was as much for his amusement as it is for your education. He knows how far he can reach inside of you—knows how fucking fantastic it feels to be buried at the root, but seeing just how deeply he can fuck you is something else entirely.

It's enough to make him question why and how he ever stops fucking you. He’s an idiot for depriving himself. For neglecting you. An exercise in frustration as much as his fruitless effort to shun the rose-colored perversions dancing wild in his mind, Mitch has wasted so much time.

Fuck penance and fuck propriety—it would be a sin to do anything other than worship at your altar as a devoted acolyte. Cardinal, even.

His stomach tightens as he considers how empty you must feel in his absence—and how deliciously whole you must feel when he drives home. He wonders how forlorn your folds must look right now as he keeps what you covet just out of bounds. His body obstructs the view, but Mitch knows you’re open and fluttering around nothing, pleading for mercy.

If he were a cruel man, he’d ignore your begging and continue on like this until his balls were empty and your chest was covered in ivory threads. Lucky for you, your future husband is of the clement variety.

Before you can get another babble, his mouth is back on yours. He keeps your arms tight to your sides, so you’re incentivized to convey your fervent need for more—of anything, really—through your lips and tongue.

Mitch is greedy when he kisses you and needy while lapping up your fire—happily, and without pause. His head pounds like he finished a handle in a single sip, but he doesn’t want it to stop. Ever. It’s disorienting, and yet, he can’t seem to get enough no matter how much of you he drinks down. Mitch wants to spend the rest of his life drunk on your lips.

Begrudgingly, he tears his mouth from yours. Then, tanned chest heaving, he positions himself between your glistening southern lips. Mitch looks down at you, and when your vision finally focuses, his eyes have been shadowed in darkness by his hulking brow.

His prior impatience dwindles ever so slightly even though he's on the precipice of complete satisfaction. Mitch hasn’t gotten a good look at you since your nimble hands relieved him of his shorts some twenty minutes ago, and you are glorious. A celestial nymph with dominion over his heart, devastatingly beautiful and all-consuming in every conceivable way. The hold you have over him is dangerous, verging on obsession. There isn’t a thing he wouldn’t do or say if it appeased you so.

He isn’t fearful. He’s honored. The gratitude he feels knowing that you were, and remain, receptive to his devotion is overwhelming. And now, watching the lucid waters of lust ebb and flow in your glazed eyes, he’s never felt luckier.

Mitch thumbs the gem resting atop your finger, and you shudder as if it were the one tucked between your thighs.

His other hand lingers around your right wrist, though not as tightly as before. With his pulsing head shallow in your heat, he knows you’ll behave. Disrupting him now would only prolong his teasing. A lesson you learned—and were often reminded of—the hard way.

As his fingers trace the metallic band, warmed by the tropical sun and his furnace-like touch, Mitch pushes his hips forward, slow and steady, until he’s fully enveloped by your wanting walls. With your snug, pillowy softness stretching and constricting to accommodate his generous blessing, his grip on reality slips.

“You’re a fucking dream,” your fiancé rasps.

His hands are now splayed wide on either side of your head, effectively caging you beneath him as he builds a faithful rhythm. Teeth clenched, he works diligently to fashion a tribute worthy of your ethereal beauty and power.

“—always so warm and wet for me, just begging to be split open on my thick fuckin' cock. How long have you been this needy, sweetheart? Since I bent you over on the boat? Right over the railing where anyone could’ve seen you?”

You nod, bruised bottom lip pinched between your teeth. Tears well in your eyes.

Your afternoon tryst had been as quick as it’d been rough. Sundress bunched high, the fragile fabric wrinkled between your hips and the cool metal railing as Mitch’s right hand wrapped around your throat. His talented fingers pressed firmly into your sun-kissed skin, relentless in their torment, as he pawed at the pathetic knot struggling to hold your bathing suit in place. His mouth curled into a smirk as it whispered a heady mix of degradation and praise. All while you preened for him, a large crowd just steps away.

That wasn't the first orgasm you were robbed of today.

The hem of the thin material that clung to your anguished body floated demurely above your ankles, landing just shy of the bone. The sullied garment hid the incriminating evidence that inched down your sore thighs with every step you took. The irony was not lost on you as you walked back to your room.

“D’you know how hard it was to stop myself from fucking you in front of all those people? To hold back like that—to not bend you over and take in broad daylight? Of course you do, you sweet, sadistic minx. You always know how to rile me up—and you always find a reason to.”

Mitch grins against your lips before his teeth momentarily replace yours. They nestle into the grooves as if that was the expressed purpose of the faint indentations.

“With the way you’ve been behaving, I’m willing to bet you want a better souvenir than a gift shop tchotchke, hm? Y'gotta be patient for me, though—good girls wait for their rewards. Jus' wait… Oh, I don’t know, nine months? Give or take? Think you can do that for me?"

He’s being cheeky on purpose. He likes the way gentle irritation plays out between your legs—always has and always will.

Mitch releases your lower lip again, but only after he’s nicked it with his canines. A dainty bead of crimson materializes. Covetous, his tongue laps it up without pause. Painted lips kiss from cheek to cheek.

Your back arches. Your hips lift to rock in time with his thrusts.

“God, I can’t wait till we get those fuckin’ keys,” Mitch mumbles, almost absentmindedly.

The lean muscles of his upper body ripple as he sits up to grab ahold of your jaw, a calloused hand on either side. He has an unimpeded view of your dazed, saccharine countenance. His hips slow until they match the thumbs stroking escaped tears into your cheeks.

“—m'gonna take you in every room, against every surface. That way, there won’t be a single thing in our home that—fuck—that doesn’t remind you of me and how well I take care of you—you and your tight cunt.”

With little fanfare, he threads his arms under your dewy legs. Mitch uses the newfound leverage to tug your body even closer.

A shriek rips through the firm seam of your lips as his length traverses an unexplored depth. Your knees snuggle against the pit of his elbows, pleased to be so close in spite of the pain.

Mitch holds your gaze, reveling in your silent screams. He winks, then slowly lowers himself down until your body is folded squarely beneath his. Your muscles burn with the fury of budding resentment, which you’ll surely feel towards him in the morning after this unprompted foray into acrobatics, but the new angle is too good to do more than just... take it.

His hands are glad to have been relieved of their duty and, eager to take advantage of their newfound freedom, palm your chest as his mouth descends on your poor neck. The delicate skin is utterly defenseless against the desire thumping deep within his chest and spilling over his ribs.

Mitch wants to stake his claim—to mark his territory. A stammer of expletives accompanies the vulgar jut of your hips when he rolls your sensitive nipples, swollen and begging for attention, between thumb and forefinger. Bracketed by his forearms, you surrender completely.

Mitch hums at the lewd, sucking sound made by your arousal. Wet squelches ricochet off the adjacent wall with each and every thrust.

“I’ve really made a mess out of you, haven’t I?”

You nod, eyes pinched in concentration.

You’re close. He can feel your body trying to milk him dry. Fortunately, Mitch isn’t far behind. You feel too fucking good to prolong the inevitable.

He brings a hand to your clit, and it moves in messsy circles as he speaks, “Not done yet, though. Gonna flood this pretty cunt—gonna leave you all sticky and hot. I know you want it, but I need you to cum for me first. Go on, sweetheart, I’ve got you.”

You unravel on command, your chin falling to the side in ecstasy. Mitch’s firm hand is quick to wrench it back; he needs to watch your face contort as you crumble like he needs air to breathe. Mitch won't be able to think straight until he reaps the rewards of fucking and rubbing you through it.

The sob that wrecks your body is high-pitched and perforated by little gasps, and the rush of wetness is more pathetic than any noise you could and would make in your lifetime. More than you ever thought your body was capable of, more than your new fiancé expected, more than either of you anticipated.

He's soaked in a matter of seconds—as are you and the cushion dripping onto the concrete.

Mitch's climax comes in quick succession but, unlike yours, without warning. Undoubtedly, his peak was triggered by the gush of your undeniable satisfaction.

Drained dry, Mitch hunches over to capture your lips once more, determined to distract you from the inevitable bodily ache on the come-down. Delicately, he places your trembling legs onto the chaise and nestles into the space they vacated. He feels every little muscle twitch and spasm when he hugs you tightly to his body.

The world is muted, fuzzy around the edges, and drowned out by the aftershocks, so you miss most of his sweet-nothing rambling, but the relief and contentment that flood your spent body is reply enough.

He isn’t sure how long you stay like that—tangled together in paradise. You doze off, dipping in and out of consciousness, and wake just after the buttery sun slips entirely behind the horizon. Through the darkness surrounding your bare bodies, silvery moonlight replaces the golden rays of sunshine, but you—and your ring—shine as if nothing's changed.

You keep up a quiet conversation. Nothing of importance is spoken; it's carried on purely for the enjoyment of one another’s voice. Mitch peppers your skin, sticky from humidity and exertion, with tender lips, and you return the favor tenfold. You’re both smiling so wide, so happily.

And you keep grinning into the night, even when your cheeks begin to ache. It’s only when the light breeze ghosts over your bare skin that either of you consider relocating. In no rush and reluctant to leave your deep warmth, he’s leisurely about moving into the dim suite.

Mitch freezes abruptly. His stomach splatters at his feet when his mind catches up to his instincts. Murmuring. He hears murmuring. Terror races down his spine like an ice-cold chill. It's quiet at first. Almost as if the evening wind picked up a distant conversation yards away and softly settled it in his paranoid eardrums. He can’t make out any particular words—except his last name.

His mood sours beyond repair with the realization that the juvenile whispering is much too close, the giggles muffled only by the permeable wall of greenery bordering the suite’s ground-floor patio.

“We just wanted to be the first to say congratulations!” A teenage voice devoid of tact and respect calls out above a chorus of snorts and giggles.

Mortified, you bury your head into the crook of his neck. His chain is cold in comparison to your shame.

Mitch growls and reaches beside the chaise. He shouts something that would’ve made even the most shameless of shit-talkers blush, then sends a half-empty bottle of Dom Pérignon clear through the leaves. It shatters, and the crisp bubbles spill out on the concrete, sending the herd of inconsiderate assholes scattering like mice.

“I’ll go pick up the glass,” he sighs, knowing you’ll chastise him for the mess. "—later."

Mitch couldn’t be honest with the journalist.

He wouldn’t even if he could.

He shares so much of himself and his life with the world already—a hazard of the flashy, public-facing occupation he chose—and you’ve offered up far more of your world than he’d ever ask of you. He doesn’t mind a photo here or a video there, sometimes a press junket or two in a philanthropic context, but Mitch won’t bring the media into your private moments beyond where they’ve already encroached.

Especially not for a leading question intended to bait him into saying something stupid. Or to prematurely announce the impending arrival of your first child.

So, instead, he simply says, “Towels. But if the Four Seasons—or my future wife—asks, I’m totally joking, and I definitely put them all back.”

⤑ to my inbox💌

⬸ back to the catalog (writing masterlist)

⬸ back to the main blog

All of the stories and fantasies written or discussed on this blog by the owner or by followers are purely fictional and are not intended to offend any parties.

©2024 holy-pucks, all rights reserved. I do not give consent for any of my work to be copied, re-posted, or translated here, on Tumblr, or on any other platform. Reproduction of any content from this blog is considered plagiarism.

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afeelgoodblog · 1 year

Text

The Best News of Last Year

1. Belgium approves four-day week and gives employees the right to ignore their bosses after work

Workers in Belgium will soon be able to choose a four-day week under a series of labour market reforms announced on Tuesday.

The reform package agreed by the country's multi-party coalition government will also give workers the right to turn off work devices and ignore work-related messages after hours without fear of reprisal.

"We have experienced two difficult years. With this agreement, we set a beacon for an economy that is more innovative, sustainable and digital. The aim is to be able to make people and businesses stronger," Belgian prime minister Alexander de Croo told a press conference announcing the reform package.

2. Spain makes it a crime for pro-lifers to harass people outside abortion clinics

Spain has criminalized the harassment or intimidation of women going for an abortion under new legislation approved on Wednesday by the Senate. The move, which involved changes to the penal code, means anti-abortion activists who try to convince women not to terminate their pregnancies could face up to a year behind bars.

3. House passes bill to federally decriminalize marijuana

The House has voted with a slim bipartisan majority to federally decriminalize marijuana. The vote was 220 to 204.

The bill, sponsored by Democratic Rep. Jerry Nadler of New York, will prevent federal agencies from denying federal workers security clearances for cannabis use, and will allow the Veterans’ Administration to recommend medical marijuana to veterans living with posttraumatic stress disorder.

The bill also expunges the record of people convicted of non-violent cannabis offenses, which House Majority Leader Steny Hoyer said, “can haunt people of color and impact the trajectory of their lives and career indefinitely.”

4. France makes birth control free for all women under 25

The scheme, which could benefit three million women, covers the pill, IUDs, contraceptive patches and other methods composed of steroid hormones.

Contraception for minors was already free in France. Several European countries, including Belgium, Germany, the Netherlands and Norway, make contraception free for teens.

5. The 1st fully hydrogen-powered passenger train service is now running in Germany. The only emissions are steam & condensed water.

Five of the trains started running in August. Another nine will be added in the coming months to replace 15 diesel trains on the regional route. Alstom says the Coradia iLint has a range of 1,000 kilometers, meaning that it can run all day on the line using a single tank of hydrogen. A hydrogen filling station has been set up on the route between Cuxhaven, Bremerhaven, Bremervörde and Buxtehude.

6. Princeton will cover all tuition costs for most families making under $100,000 a year, after getting rid of student loans

In September, the New Jersey Ivy League school announced it would be expanding its financial aid program to offer free tuition, including room and board, for most families whose annual income is under $100,000 a year. Previously, the same benefit was offered to families making under $65,000 a year. This new income limit will take effect for all undergraduates starting in the fall of 2023.

Princeton was also the first school in the US to eliminate student loans from its financial aid packages.

7. Humpback whales no longer listed as endangered after major recovery

Humpback whales will be removed from Australia's threatened-species list, after the government's independent scientific panel on threatened species deemed the mammals had made a major recovery. Humpback whales will no longer be considered an endangered or vulnerable species.

Climate change and fishing still pose threats to their long-term health.

Some other uplifting news from last year:

A Cancer Trial’s Unexpected Result: Remission in Every Patient

California 100 percent powered by renewables for first time

Israel formally bans LGBTQ conversion therapy

Tokyo Passes Law to Recognize Same-Sex Partnerships

First 100,000 KG Removed From the Great Pacific Garbage Patch

As we ring in the New Year let’s remember to focus on the good news. May this be a year of even more kindness and generosity. Wishing everyone a happy and healthy 2023!

Thank you for following and supporting this g this newsletter

Buy me a coffee ❤️

#best news of last week

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jackhues · 5 months

Text

oops - b's version

note: this takes place in 2030, bee's 22 years old and graduated uni. she's in med school

summary: in which sid accidently spills who bee's boyfriend is

buttercup's world! au masterlist

buttercupcrosby

liked by _connorbedard, mackinnon29, stephmarner & others

buttercupcrosby: life lately <3 (we're not including all the times i cried during med school)

view comments

kevinkorchinski: wow i can't believe you taught him how to put your shoes on -> buttercupcrosby: that's actually him taking my heels off and then giving me his shoes bcz i was tired -> kevinkorchinski: s i m p -> buttercupcrosby: okay? and what about it? -him

userone: nah girl's been soft launching THE SAME GUY for years now -> usertwo: we're never gonna learn who he is

e.malkin71geno: ooh what you reading? -> buttercupcrosby: percy jackson!!!!!! -> e.malkin71geno: the greek one that make you go crazy -> buttercupcrosby: ... okay that's fair

mackinnon29: i've noticed this isn't the spam, which means my comments will not be super unhinged -> userthree: NO NATE YOU NEED TO GO UNHINGED WE NEED TO KNOW WHO HE IS -> mackinnon29: please don't yell at me -> buttercupcrosby: he's tearing up rn -> mackinnon29: i'd watch my words if i was you

penguins: that's our baby crosby -> buttercupcrosby: AYEE PENG-WIN TN?? -> penguins: don't shoot the admin 🏳️ harass the players

stephmarner: ooh my girl's glowing 🥰 -> buttercupcrosby: mwah

userfour: WHO'S THIS YT MAN AND WHY'S HE WITH MY GIRL??

userfive: we're never finding out who he is are we 😭😭 -> usersix: frr! it's been yearsss

---

TRANSCRIPT FROM THE TSN PODCAST, GUEST STARRING SIDNEY CROSBY (3:09 - 7:35)

podcaster: switching gears a bit, you have a daughter, correct? she's in med school i think.

sidney: yeah, buttercup, bee, bumblebee - she's got lots of nicknames *laughs* she finished university, doing a double major in sports management and biochemistry. which is pretty tough, especially since she was on the hockey and lacrosse teams. but she loved it, and she somehow managed to graduate in four years, so i'll take it! she's going to med school in chicago now, trying to be an anesthesiologist.

podcaster: wow, that's - that's a lot

sidney: *laughs* it's a lot, yeah

podcaster: fans noticed that you've been going on vacations more during the summer. is that to get bee's mind off of school, because you're not playing anymore, something else?

sidney: oh, it's a mix of everything, i suppose. bee's real busy during the year. she went to stanford for four years, now she's in chicago - like over the last few years, she's just had a lot on her plate. so yeah, we like going out a lot during the summer. but we spend time at home too. we all play monopoly together, we go fishing, they push me in the water-

podcaster: i'm sorry, they push you in the water? you're sidney crosby, i thought mackinnon idolized you growing up

sidney: not anymore, bee made sure of that. it's worse because they got connor involved in this too, so it's three on one. i mean i used to hold the fact that i'm a better hockey player, but they've been breaking records and i'm out of the game now, so- *shrugs*

podcaster: *laughing* oh man, this is gold

sidney: what're you gonna do? i mean, nate's been here too long for me to kick him out, and connor - it doesn't look like he's leaving any time soon.

podcaster: connor bedard's been having a great career, especially over the last few years. do we have you to thank for that?

sidney: no, no, he's a great kid. he's really good at hockey, he was amazing even during his earlier seasons. but i think the media was a little bit crazy about him, and once they calmed down, he got a chance to flourish. nothing to do with me, he's great on his own

podcaster: but you still like showing him up?

sidney: *smiles and shrugs* i mean i don't go up against him in the league anymore, so sometimes i gotta do it in the garage

END TRANSCRIPT

---

buttercupcrosby and _connorbedard

liked by mackinnon29, calemakar_, kevinkorchinski & others

buttercups: bet you never saw it coming

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pinned buttercupcrosby: thanks dad 🙄 -> userone: THANK YOU SID

_connorbedard: you're not getting away from me -> buttercupcrosby: i fucking love you so much you have no idea -> usertwo: 😭 you don't get it 😭 he's using a percy jackson quote 😭😭 she loves those books

userthree: HOL UP! THEY'RE ENGAGED?? -> userfour: well they've been together for like three years now

mackinnon29: i'm so happy i can say whatever i want without checking whether it's ur spam or regular

mackinnon29: you guys are disgusting -> buttercupcrosby: disgustingly cute

marner_93: ugh we're finally allowed to talk about it

penguins: congratulations!! totally not crying at how big baby crosby is, nope -> e.malkin71geno: i am -> buttercupcrosby: aww geno🥺

#naqia's au's!#buttercup's world! au #naqia writes!#sidney crosby imagines #sidney crosby imagine #sidney crosby #dad!sidney crosby #connor bedard instagram edit #nhl social media au #nhl insta edit #hockey social media au #hockey instagram au

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heartfullofleeches · 11 months

Note

Do it. Show us the personal trainer reader and V!!! >:3c

[suggestive... If you squint? Just V being his normal gross/creep self so fair warning]

Of all the things he's ever done to gain the upper hand - this has got to be the dumbest of the lot by far. A man of reclusive nature like himself, Vince Alisa Carbone was no stranger to his physical strengths or lack thereof. With his sheltered upbringing, this hadn't been an issue majority of his life and would have remained as such had it not been for the new neighbor a door down and ten miles out of his league.

Outgoing and upbeat; it didn't take long for him notice. For someone like him, all it took was a smile It was.. enduring. Early morning jogs and daily exercises beside their window dragged that attraction along, and revealed their dedication and interest in physical activity. With their looks he figured them to be a fitness influencer, but when he checked all that came up was a listing for training at a gym not too far from home. Disappointed by the lost of quality material, his search was not entirely fruitless as his sleep deprived mind came up with a better alternative. The answer was right in front of him. If he wanted to get closer to them, all he had to do was sign up. By the time morning rolled around, the seeds of regret had begun to sprout, but it was too late to back out now.

Waiting for them at check-in, V had never felt more like a fish out of water. Sure there were others like him about, but for every thin figure there were three more he considered to be the peak of human physique and more attractive than him because of it. They probably came everyday, just like them. He wondered if anyone had tried to make a move on who he already thought of as his. The stress was enough to give him a headache. He should probably head home.

"Wah!"

V flinches as someone claps their hands before his eyes. He couldn't hear a thing with his headphones on, but after reading their lips each time the syllable was pronounced, he knew exactly what they were saying.

"V?"

Even muted, that voice gave him chills. V drops his headphones around his neck as that same smile he had made his lockscreen shines. Spreading their arms out wide, his trainer tackles him in a hug that knocks the air clear out of his lungs. V shoved his own parents and sibling away when they tried to hug him, but if it was you - he guessed he could endure it for a little while.

"It's so good to see you out of your appartment. I got so excited when I saw your name on the application, I didn't know what to do with myself. Was the walk over alright?"

"Yeah..." To be honest, V was already winded from a stroll that took no less than ten minutes, but at this very moment he felt like he could run a marathon. You were looking forward to your time together - how could he not. He swore his heart had bursted, but soon realized the gore he imagined to be leaking from his shirt was condensation bleeding from yours. You were sweating - the front of your tee drenched in the product of your hard work. Seeing the small patch on his shirt as you break free from the hug, V makes a vow to himself to never wash it again.

"Hope you weren't waiting here too long. Been here since opening to get a little warm up in before you showed. Just give me a sec to freshen up then we can go over today's workout."

You swing the towel from around your neck onto your palm. As you dab at crevices of your damp neck and chest with the sweat-soaked rag, V undergoes fatigue leagues beyond your own and his previous weariness as he leans against the counter for dear life and what little decency he had left. At this distance, the sweet stench wafting off is overwhelming; his tongue a lick way from a taste of the intoxicating perspiration drooling from your spent body and dampening your tee. That towel was ruining the mood already.

What he wouldn't give to take its place. Wiping you down with nothing but his tongue and the shirt off his back. Easing the tension in your muscles with his hands and praise. Given the hour, he would jump at the opportunity of being your personal rag; lapping at your sweaty skin like a dehydrated animal lead to water. Just a single drop would give him the will to live on for another decade.

Draping the towel around your neck, your expression twists to that of confusion. "You doing okay? You're looking a little clammy there yourself."

V blinks - unable to fully process your question. Smearing the drool hanging from his lips into his skin, he nods his head furiously. "Yup! I feel great. Fantastic. Never felt better..."

Your legs must've gotten good exercise too. He'd kill for a chance to have you wrap those things around his head and...

"sit on my face."

Your towel falls to your shoulder. "Pardon?"

V snaps back to reality. "towel...Your towel! Haha... worked up a sweat just by walking over here. You mind if I use your towel to dry off? Please?"

"Ah, well I'm sure you wouldn't want anything soaked with my sweat. I'll grab you a spare while we head over. Speaking of which, we've wasted enough time here. You ready to get started?"

You tilt your head in the general direction of the other half of the gym. V doesn't share the same enthusiasm as you, but he has other reasons to happily comply.

"Oh, wait before we head over - here." He reaches out to grab your hand as you turn, ignoring the shudder down his spine to enclose your fingers around a small white box.

You inspect the case as he lets you go. "What's this?"

"It's a fitness tracker. I overheard you mention something about losing yours, so I bought this for you as thanks for helping me out. I' can help you set it up later."

"Aw, that's so sweet of you, Vince." You lightly jab his shoulder. "I knew you'd be a good guy once we got you away from that monitor."

V laughs off the pain as he rubs the sore spot on his arm. You had no idea.

"And that's how you do a proper push-up. Remember to keep your feet spread at shoulder-width and try to stay off your knees. Think you got it this time, V?"

"I might need...just a little more guidance."

This has got to be the smartest thing he's ever done. There was the very real consequence of every bone and muscle in his body screaming at him when he got home, but V had no cares for any future besides the one where he could watch you bend over to touch your toes again. V wasn't the best at following instructions with one demonstration alone, so you had to perform most workouts twice or even three times depending on the position you were in. Showing off the different ways you could make your body contort and stretch - it made V sweat more than all of the exercise he had to do.

"Alright, then get back down here." You pat the mat besides you. V dives to the floor and places his hands down just like you told him. He watches you from the corner of his eye as he straightens his legs and lifts. Your hands fly out and rest right beneath his sternum, sinking into the tightened muscles as his lungs eject a wheezed breath.

" I told you, try not to let your stomach hit the floor when you lower yourself. Keep yourself as steady as you can."

Feeling the sudden urge to not disappoint, V does as many pushups as he can before his limbs give out at eleven. You call it there and tell him to catch his breath. He heads over to the benches where your water bottles sat. You thought it was such a funny coincidence you had the same bottle. V switches his with yours and downs the water as you roll up the mats and put them back where they belong. The liquid had never tasted more saccharine than it did then.

Returning home, V body immediately failed on him as soon as he dragged himself through the door. He hobbled himself over to the couch and collapsed as if his bones weighted tons. He could not do that four days a week. Fatigue overwhelms him - he almost didn't hear his phone going off with a new notification. You must've set up the watch without him and gone on another late night jog. At least this time he knows what route you're going in, and so he lets exhaustion catch up to him without fuss.

#yandere x reader #yandere imagines #yandere x you #yandere scenarios #yandere insert #yandere blurb #male yandere #yandere #yandere headcanons #yandere oc #V my oc #yandere drabble

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