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thewintersoldierdisaster · 5 months ago

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a/n: i’m almost shocked at how fast this fic got written?? thanks to anon who indulged my fun little request for a new hockey to write about (inspired by @wyattjohnston ‘s post earlier about how there’s only fics for certain hockeys in the nhl fic tag and also bc i have so much fun writing for new guys in the fic exchanges!!)- how could i resist vancouver’s own prince charming? hope you guys enjoy because i had fun writing! ☺️

word count: 2.7k

tw: single dad!brock, nanny!reader, dirty talk, minor daddy kink, fingering (f receiving), handjob, dirty talk, nipple play

summary: you’re nothing but the nanny for brock’s daughter, until one night all the lines get blurred

Kya snuggles closer to you in her sleep, blonde hair tickling the underside of your chin. Her cheek is pressed up against your collarbone and her little body is hot, making you feel all sweaty where she’s connected to you.

The TV casts the room in a faint blue light, the low volume serving as white noise along with Kya’s little puffed air snores.

You think about moving her to her bed, but she’s so soft and cuddly when she hasn’t been lately and you can’t find it in your heart to get up. Unfortunately, the four-year-old has your heart in a vice-like grip and you’d do anything for her. Including being a human mattress.

So you stay on the couch, stroking her back and humming softly when she stirs briefly. Eventually, the clock ticks over to the eleven o’clock hour and you know it’s only a matter of time before Brock’s home and your shift is over. Not that you have to go very far to get home - your pool house turned bachelorette nanny pad is practically spitting distance from the back door. If you tilted to the left a bit and angled your neck, you’d be able to see the little planter with multicolored flowers that Kya had helped you plant last week.

And by help, you mean crushed a few daisies in her little fists and ate a mouthful of dirt before you could stop her.

A+ nannying for sure.

You’re still thinking about it when a familiar voice startles you from your thoughts.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Brock’s voice rumbles through the dark room, laughter around the edges.

Without thinking, you reply, “just thinking about the handful of dirt I let Kya eat last week.” Then you wince, wondering why Brock’s presence always makes you say the stupidest things.

He laughs fully now, stepping around the couch and dropping into the armchair. He’s in his post-game look - rumpled suit pants and button down with the sleeves rolled up, bare feet with his loafers kicked off in a pile at the front door, and blonde hair darkened from his shower. His palm rasps over the few days’ worth of stubble growing on his chin and his face splits into one of those smiles that makes Twitter (and you) swoon.

“She’s gotta get vitamins and minerals from somewhere, right?” He teases and your cheeks heat.

This.

This is why he makes you say the stupidest things. Because he’s a real-life Prince Charming with the personality to match.

You smile back at him, a reflex. “There are some leftovers in the fridge, if you’re hungry and want to get in your own vitamins and minerals,” you joke back, shifting Kya on your chest when she starts to slip.

Brock shakes his head. “I’m good, thanks. I’ll take Princess Ky upstairs and you can get some rest,” he stands, arms out to grab Kya.

Weirdly, you shift and hold her closer. “It’s, um, I don’t mind. She’s been really snuggly today and it’s nice,” you shrug one shoulder. “She watched a little bit of the first.”

“Yeah?” Brock’s face lights up. He loves it when you bring Kya to games and he gets to wave at her during warmups.

“Mhm,” you smirk, “she was obsessed with Quinn.”

Brock narrows his eyes at you, scrunching his nose in disgust. “Real nice,” he shakes his head, “making fun of the guy that your best friend over there belongs to.”

Your cheeks lift in a smile, your arms holding Kya comfortably. “Don’t be jealous of my bond with Ky. Daddy’s still her favorite.”

Something flickers across Brock’s face, there and gone before you can analyze it. He chuckles, says, “I better be since I pay for all those chicken nuggets she inhales like a freaking vacuum,” and excuses himself upstairs to change.

You watch him leave, chewing at your lower lip while you study the curve of his ass in his slacks, feeling awful even as you’re appreciating his form. Kya mumbles in her sleep, nonsense words and a ‘Daddy’ and your name, eyelids twitching as she dreams.

Brock’s back a few minutes later, comfortable in sweats and a threadbare t-shirt. Still barefoot, now he smells like mint toothpaste in addition to the locker room soap. “Sure you don’t want me to take her?” He asks, sitting down on the couch with you, a cushion’s worth of space between your bodies. “Feels like I should let you off the clock and hold my kid now that I’m home.”

“I really don’t mind,” you promise him. “Kya’s…she’s exactly what I want my own daughter to be one day.” You think maybe you’re over sharing, but it’s late and Brock just looks so domestic and comfortable. It’s easy to pretend when he looks like this. His eyes soften as he studies you and the way you’re holding Kya.

“She’s a pretty cool little girl,” he agrees warmly, reaching out to run a hand over her head. His palm

makes her hair staticky, fine strands lifted into the air. You blow at them gently, giggling when they stick to your face even after you try smoothing them back with a hand.

“You know,” he says too casually after a comfortable pause, “she, the other day when you were off, she said that she never wants you to leave.”

A little piece of your heart breaks with his words because you know one day you’ll have to leave. It’s easy right now, nannying for Kya while you get your Master’s, but what happens next year when you’re finished with school and you have to find a real

job.

Your face must show your distress, because Brock coughs slightly and rushes to say, stumbling over his words, “I didn’t mean, she’s four. You know, they say stuff all the time. When you do have to leave, it’ll be okay. She’ll be okay.”

He means well, you know that, but it doesn’t help and to your horror, your nose starts to burn and tears well in your eyes. You don’t really want to cry in front of Brock, not over something that’s at least a year away, but you feel the dam starting to break.

“Um, I do think I’ll head out for the night,” you say quietly, trying to not let your voice crack. You shift Kya in your arms and transfer her to Brock’s, making sure she stays asleep. “She really should be out for the night. So, um, I’ll see you in the morning.”

He takes her easily, arms practiced with adjusting her weight against his chest and her head on his shoulder. You jump up from the couch and wave over your shoulder, heading for the back door, ignoring Brock’s whispered shout of your name.

It’s so silly, to get so emotional about Kya outgrowing her need for a nanny, her need for you. But you’re more attached to Ky and Brock than you’re willing to admit, even to yourself.

Right now, your best option is to play your sad music playlist and cry, just to get it out of your system before getting back to normal in the morning.

The music helps. The crying helps more. The two glasses of wine help the most.

And then there’s a knock on the door, scaring the ever living shit out of you. It’s so late your visitor can only be one person.

“Brock?” His name is a question on your lips when you open the door, your brow furrowed.

“Hi,” he looks upset and your brain works sluggishly to figure out what could be bothering him. “Can I-?”

He gestures a little and you nod, stepping back automatically. “Yeah, of course. It’s your pool house,” you say. “Is Kya asleep?”

He nods, holds up the baby monitor. You can see Kya’s little body sprawled out on her bed and a smile curls your lips - she sleeps like a starfish, arms and legs akimbo. “She’s done for the night,” he replies quietly, setting the monitor on the little table you have next to the door for your keys.

Brock’s been in the pool house before, a million and one times. But this time, the air crackles like it does before a thunderstorm, your nerves on edge.

“What are -“

“I’m sorry.”

You and Brock speak over each other, words getting jumbled in the air. You giggle a little and Brock smiles, his shoulders relaxing.

“I’ll go,” he says, still smiling. His hands run through his hair, the strands flopping over his forehead before getting pushed back into place. “I’m sorry, for what I said. I didn’t mean to make you cry.”

“Oh,” you aren’t expecting the apology and you start to excuse him, “I didn’t -“

“You did,” Brock cuts you off. “Your eyes are all red and I’m so sorry. I just thought, Ky loves you so much, that you’d want to hear what she said about you. I wasn’t thinking about - about you leaving.”

“I’ll have to eventually,” you shrug, the wine dulling the sharper edges of your emotions.

Brock’s jaw works and you wait for him to speak, patient like he’s Kya. A few seconds go by and he scratches at the back of his neck. “I’m not good at - I want you here, as long as you want to be here. I don’t care if Kya is a grown woman with her own kids, I’d want you here.” He pauses and his words sink in, battering at the boundary you’d built around your heart.

“What?” You whisper, hands fluttering at your sides. You suddenly don’t know what to do with them.

“I…I think, no, I am. I am definitely falling for you,” Brock says, tone firm and eyes soft, crinkled at the corners. Those damn blue eyes that have starred in a fantasy or two of yours. He reads your silence as negative, apparently, because he frowns and continues, “if I just made this uncomfortable, we can forget it ever happened.”

“No!” You nearly yelp, Brock’s eyes widening at your sudden increase in volume. “No,” you repeat quieter. “I don’t want to forget this happened. I’m just … surprised. I didn’t think you thought of me as anything but Ky’s nanny.”

His smile is contagious and you’re both grinning like idiots at each other.

“You haven’t been Ky’s nanny in my head for a long time,” he confesses. “Just been hoping you felt the same way.”

“Definitely feel the same way,” you giggle, feeling hysterical.

“Can I -?” He steps forward, into your space, and you nod, knowing what he’s asking. And then all you know is Brock’s mouth on yours, his hands warm on your waist, his hair soft under your fingertips. His tongue traces the seam of your lips, teeth nipping at your bottom lip when you open your mouth. A groan fills the air and you’re not sure if it’s yours or his.

Your chest crushes against Brock’s, bodies flush against each other. His cock is prominent against your thigh, hard and hot through the layers of fabric separating the two of you. For months, you’ve fantasised about this, wondered what it would feel like to get your hands on Brock and it’s better than you ever imagined. Hot and hard, his lips soft against yours, his hands gripping at your ass, dragging you closer and closer. Your hips chase his, involuntarily moving for relief.

“Brock,” you whine his name, surprising yourself with the neediness that colors your tone. He growls against your jaw and lifts you, arms braced under your ass, settling you on the countertop in your tiny kitchenette. He steps into the space created by your spread legs, your thighs at his hips, ankles locked at his lower back.

“Shit, wanted to do this for months,” he mumbles against your skin. His lips mark a hot trail down your neck and over the heated skin of your chest. His hands are down the back of your shorts, kneading at your ass.

His cock presses against your heated core and you moan, loudly and unashamed. Brock’s laugh is clearly delighted and he presses himself against you harder, drawing a strangled moan from your throat.

“Making such pretty noises for me,” he croons, dragging one hand up your side to grope at your breast, rolling your nipple until it’s a stiff peak. “What other noises are you going to make for Daddy?”

“Oh my god,” you keen, arousal flooding your panties. “Brock, oh my god, I need you to touch me.”

“What’s the magic word?” He replies, ducking his head to suck at your nipple over your shirt. The scrape of his teeth and the wet fabric makes you shiver, clit throbbing.

“Please,” you wail, grinding your hips against his.

“Please…?” He trails off and your heart pounds in your chest, pleasure coiling low in your stomach.

You sigh, a shaky exhale. “Please, Daddy, touch me. Please make me come,” you whisper the words in his ear, nipping at his earlobe.

Brock whips your shirt off, tossing the fabric to the floor. You’re not wearing a bra and normally you’d be self-conscious, but Brock’s staring at you like you’re the first woman he’s ever seen and you’ve never felt hotter. “Christ,” he mutters, palming your breasts and kneading them tenderly. “So fucking gorgeous. Just, just fucking stay with me forever, please?”

You nod, agreeing. “Yours, I’m all yours, I promise,” you cradle his face in your hands and kiss him deeply, leaning in as close as you can.

Somehow, his shirt ends up on the floor with yours and your fingers can trace each muscle on his chest and stomach. You drag a nail over his nipple and his skin erupts in goosebumps, so you do it again, skimming your nails over his skin and scratching at his biceps.

“Mark me up,” Brock encourages you, lifting your ass off the counter with one hand so he can tug at your shorts and panties. “Make sure everyone knows I’m yours.”

He’s certainly doing the same, sucking bruises onto your skin. There’s a bite mark over your breast and it feels like his fingers dug bruises into the flesh of your ass.

“Just want you,” you blink away a sudden rush of tears, still in disbelief that this is happening. “Been thinking about you for so long, Brock.”

Your fingers dance down to the waist of his sweats, pushing at them until his cock springs free and you can get a good look at it. It’s just as perfect as his face, thick and long and hard as steel.

“Come on, honey,” his fingers swipe at your clit, making you inhale sharply and arch your back. “Put your hands on me. Touch me.”

You obey, wrapping your hands around his cock and stroking him. Softly at first until Brock grunts and wraps his hand around yours to increase the pressure and speed. “Like that,” he instructs you, leaving his hand in place and using the other to smear your arousal over your clit and inner thighs.

“I don’t have any condoms!” You gasp, Brock’s index finger teasing at your entrance. The thought hits suddenly, annoyingly.

“Doesn’t matter,” he replies, kissing the moan from your mouth when he plunges his fingers into your cunt. “I’ll make you feel good just like this.”

Brock’s a man of his word.

He makes you come twice, once on his fingers and one on his tongue. The first time you make a mess of the counter, dripping all over the place. The second time he’s got you laid out on the couch, his stomach splattered with his own come from the handjob you’d given him.

And then he cuddles.

Wipes between your legs with a towel and wraps

you in his arms under a throw blanket. Kisses the crown of your head and tells you all the filthy things he’s thought about doing to you.

“Hey,” you pipe up, amusement bubbling in your chest, “do I get a bonus for every blowjob I provide?”

Brock’s surprised laughter vibrates at your back, shaking your entire body. His arms wrap around your chest and squeeze. “No,” he deadpans, sounding like he’s struggling to hold back his laughter, “but we probably should talk about your job.”

��Tomorrow,” you insist. “I love taking care of Ky. So we’ll work on a transition.”

The transition from Ky’s nanny to Brock’s wife and Ky’s mom takes about six months less than you anticipated.

“Best job promotion ever,” you tease Brock at the altar, Kya practically glued to your side and shouting her excitement when you kiss for the first time as husband and wife.

#brock boeser #brock boeser x reader #brock boeser x you #brock boeser fic #nhl fic

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