#Sid is clearly amused by it

[ikinremu]

Your smut and Head Cannons are chef’s kiss! Great work!

How about Tommy Shelby where reader is jealous but he’s reassuring her that he’s all hers while he’s making love to her? Encouraging her with lustful words like telling her “that’s your dick”.

Hey anonymous! First of all, thank you so much for reading and the support - so so appreciated. I’m so grateful for you being my first request (and sorry for the delay on a response!!) I really love this idea and I hope you love what I’ve done with it.. enjoy! <3

|| Nsfw || All Yours - Tommy Shelby ||

Tommy Shelby x Fem!Reader

Jealousy based smut oneshot!

! Smut Warning !

You were anything but oblivious to the phrase of jealousy being considered an ugly emotion - however, you also knew that you were only human.. and people were bound to gravitate towards Tommy with the position he kept.

Growing increasingly irritable, you watched on - an unfamiliar woman shifting her touch upon Tommy's shoulder, simultaneously making an effort to accentuate her faux amusement.

Well, that's how your brain computed it anyway.

It truly was moments like these that drove you to wish that the entire world knew the situation you shared with Thomas Shelby - even though you hadn't properly deciphered it yourself.

The flirtatious manor was a regular occurrence when it came to the likes of parties, however you hadn't expected to witness it on such a standard afternoon at the Garrison. You took a brisk swig of the whiskey your focus had been so shamefully drawn from, the rich substance sliding down your gullet as you fidgeted upon the booth you were keeping solitary.

Finally, your glare was graced with a response. Tommy's features may've been unmoving, though that didn't stop you from reading his thoughts like a book. He knew you far better than you liked to admit, there was simply zero doubt that he'd picked up on your tetchiness, regardless of however well you masked it.

Brow furrowed, you begrudgingly absorbed the sight of the - assumed - brash woman leaning toward the direction you felt especially strongly about. The mere millisecond her lips planted a peck against Tommy's cheek, your entire concept of remaining eloquent was tossed aside, shooting a sudden, upward stance from your seat. At that, Tommy adopted the approaching role, swiftly making his way over to you as he tossed back a neutral farewell - seemingly leaving the woman crestfallen.

He swept past the mass of scattered regulars, and soon yourself - hinting that you were to follow his path. Sauntering round the bend of one of the many corners, he effortlessly swung the double doors from their framing, a little black paintwork chipping in the process. You knew where he was headed, the Shelby brothers essentially had the room under possession, spending a more than substantial amount of time there - John and Arthur especially. With an ambiguous way about his person, Tommy strode inside the previously vacant space, awaiting the familiar click to indicate privacy.

Once the noise rung true, he pivoted on his foot, swivelling to face you with that terribly infuriating smirk staining his face - subtle, though visible enough to encourage your urge to slap it clean off.

"Please wipe that look off your face." You sighed at his audaciousness, arms assuming a loose fold over your chest.

"You know I don't want anyone else, right?" Were the first words to roll off Tommy's tongue, his grave voice firing a stinging excitement through your body.

"What?"

He'd never directed such words to you, practically handing you this vexingly clean slate.

"You've no reason to be jealous." The man resumed, clearly without the intention of postponing this monologue to allow interjection - which would've consisted of you denying jealousy. "I'm all yours." He finished.

"All mine?" You echoed, any previous tension fizzling into a burning desire.

"Mm." He confirmed, treading closer - hand reaching for the border between your hips and waist. Your arms flopped by your sides, soon finding their way up Tommy's clothed back. His supple lips crashed against your neck, sucking and nibbling at the skin.

You cracked a gentle smile, head angling back a little as he suckled at your bare neck. He snaked a lonesome hand beneath your hair, callous thumb running tender strokes over your jaw. Your fingers eagerly freed the dark waistcoat from his torso - sturdy material completely discarded as it crumpled against the flooring.

In unison, the pair of you stumbled to fall against the stretch of booth seating around the circular table, wood rattling as Tommy found himself seated. You climbed atop his lap, one folded leg landing either side. Adjusting your comfortability, your back took a slight nick from the empty table - though soon fading as the pleasing feeling of damp lips came in contact with your clavicle once more. 

Your fingers made light work of popping the buttons from Tommy's fresh, white shirt - leaving its purpose far less formal. Soon you shed your own blouse, crisp air hitting your chest without an ounce of hesitation. Your fingers, however, were not the ones to unclasp your bra; the very same ones groping your naked breasts as the temperature began hardening your nipples. With a hungry connection of eye-lines, both of you rid all garments from below the waist - disposing of them as you had the rest.

Tommy's touch glided from your breasts to your hips, savouring every caressing motion he planted. He raised you slightly upwards, nude body sliding against the leather seating as he positioned himself beneath the intensity of your heat. 

"Look at me, eh?" He instructed, authority weaving through - despite the mere hum that he spoke in. You could do nothing but that; the pair of you maintaining such naturally ravenous eye contact, no doubt to the deepest level as he lowered you onto his hard cock. 

As he slid inside your soaked arousal, a sharp gasp spiked the air, a low grown accompanying from a different mouth. Tommy buried his face in the soft valley of your cleavage, tongue licking sloppy stripes across the delicate surface of your polished skin. Your arm took to the secure position of a sudden wrap around his neck, one hand clutching rather desperately at the back of his head - dark strands trapped between your agile fingers. Tommy's skilful hips began bucking, raw erection teasing your hole with his harsh thrusts.

"Fuck, you feel good.." A gruff grunt extracted from his mouth, humidity spreading between your breasts. "And you thought I'd want anyone else, hm? I wouldn't miss out on you squeezing my fuckin' cock like this.."

His breathy pants incorporated with the trails of lustful words only assisted your provoking, arousal pooling even further around Tommy's length. 

"Shit.." You whimpered just beneath his left ear, beginning to grind your body in rhythm with his pleasingly deep thrusts. With a growing need to feel him throughout your entirety, you leant forward with the overpowering yearning of smashing your lips together. Tommy retracted from the warm - now dampened - crevice of your chest, pushing his senses your way as your lips met. 

His cock slapped against your sweet spots, tip throbbing within your seeping cunt as you let a contained moan slip from the heat of your mouth to his. Your tongues intertwined, greedily twisting and sliding against one and other with an exceptional ease. Needily bouncing on Tommy's erection, you felt the helplessly taunting feeling of him pulsing inside your dripping hole - his thrusts growing rougher. 

"This fuckin cock is all yours. No one else's, you got that?" He groaned, parting the mess of a kiss. His further reddened lips contorted into a responsive smirk, observing the effect his words alone had inflicted on you - despite being unable to see the more intense, internal side. 

"Mhm." You uttered, "All mine." You upped the intensity of your bouncing - the craving for a release sparking to a new, relentless extent. Tommy's hand ventured from its previous resting, arching the small of your back, your chest pushed right against his. His other hand took a highly different path, taking an unexpected grasp of your swinging hair, tugging it just a single time as your head draped backwards, neck snatching the prominency. 

Tommy returned to his earlier action of sucking at your exposed neck, not leaving a single spot untouched by his mouth. The sensations practically submerged your whole body, all blending into a single, tightly wound coil.

“Shit, Tommy, I’m getting close..” Your breath hitched, spluttering the words rather mindlessly.

“You gonna cum on my cock, hm?” He gave a low taunt, hot breath brushing your skin in the utmost teasing way. The fierce focus of his tongue developed a sudden fixation upon your pebbled nipples, flicking at one as his lips surrounded your areola.

The tight-knit coil in your stomach reached its greatest bind, moments away from unwinding. As Tommy marked his final thrust, your sopping hole began convulsing around his throbbing erection - his eyes screwing shut. The purest euphoria washed over you like a tidal wave, coil snapping as your craved release finally hit. You felt a large burst of warmth within your pulsing cunt, eyes meeting Tommy’s as he finished.

Much like before, the pair of you found a rhythm - though this time of some notably heavy breathing.

“Fuck..” You exhaled, smile creeping through your exclamation almost immediately.

The large, callous surface of Tommy’s hands trailed to your back, dragging you in once more. He placed a tender kiss to your lips before shortly opening his to speak.

“All yours.”

Thank you for reading and hope you enjoyed! Please feel free to use the asks feature on my page for requests of oneshots/drabbles/blurbs etc.. would be greatly appreciated! <3

[myersgirlxxx]

Shadows of the occult

0.8 The encounter with Gal

Wednesday x fem reader

summary: In the shadowy halls of Nevermore Academy, you navigate the delicate balance between reality and the Other Side. As an occultist with a powerful yet unstable connection to the elements, you learn that the Other Side does not come easily. it demands secrets and sacrifices. Caught in the gaze of the enigmatic Wednesday Addams, you must confront the darkness within before it consumes you.

Warnings: Dark themes, mental health, supernatural elements, intense relationships and mature content.

The air grew thick as a strange, dark mist started swirling in the corners of the room. Wednesday instinctively moved closer to you, her gaze never wavering as she scanned the room for any threat. Both of you had felt this pull, this ominous sensation, but neither could have anticipated the figure that materialized next.

A tall man, dressed in a long, dark robe adorned with symbols of an ancient language, stepped out from the shadows. His eyes were piercing, filled with a glint of unsettling intelligence, and his face twisted in a sardonic smile. You recognized him instantly—Gal, leader of the Scribes, the Cult of Knowledge, a group infamous for wielding forbidden knowledge with ruthless dedication.

"So," Gal sneered, his voice dripping with mockery, "the infamous Wednesday Addams and her... accomplice." He eyed you with a mixture of curiosity and disdain. "It’s almost poetic, don’t you think?"

"Gal," you replied, trying to keep your voice steady, though a chill had settled over you. "What are you doing here?"

He chuckled softly, crossing his arms. "Isn’t it obvious? Knowledge must be preserved, and you’re both standing in the way of something... magnificent." He turned his gaze to Wednesday, his eyes narrowing with a sinister glint. "Especially you, Addams. The Other Side craves you, yet here you stand, oblivious to your purpose."

Wednesday’s jaw tightened, but she maintained her composure. "If you know something, Scribe, then share it. Why does the Other Side want me?"

Gal’s smile widened, his eyes glinting with delight at her defiance. "The Other Side is no place for weak wills, but it seems to have taken an interest in you, Addams. You’re... out of place, as if reality itself is resisting your presence." He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a menacing whisper. "The Other Side needs an anchor, a connection. And you, my dear, are its chosen key."

Gal’s words hung heavily in the air, the weight of the truth pressing down on both of you. You exchanged a quick, tense glance with Wednesday, both realizing the stakes were even higher than you had imagined.

You stepped forward, defying the fear creeping into your bones. "So, that’s why you’re here, Gal? To watch this world collapse? Or are you planning to be its executioner?"

Gal’s eyes flicked to you, his expression darkening with irritation. "Watch your tone, conduit," he spat. "The Cult of Knowledge isn’t interested in trivial destruction. We seek understanding, a higher purpose." He glanced at Wednesday, his gaze piercing. "She’s the disruption. And if balance demands a sacrifice, so be it."

Without warning, Wednesday took a bold step toward him, her eyes fierce. "You’ll have to go through us first," she stated, her voice unwavering.

Gal chuckled softly, clearly amused. "Oh, I wouldn’t dream of taking your life, Addams. Not yet. The Other Side will make its claim soon enough, and you will be powerless to stop it." He paused, his gaze flicking back to you. "But you... I wonder how much time you have left before it devours you whole."

A shiver ran through you, but you held your ground. "I won’t let it take me—or her."

Gal simply smirked, his eyes gleaming with dark anticipation. "We’ll see about that."

And as the shadows seemed to pull him back, he vanished, leaving the room colder and darker than before. The weight of his presence lingered, but it was the knowledge he’d shared—the revelation that the Other Side had marked Wednesday as its key—that hung over you both.

"We need answers," you whispered, glancing at Wednesday, whose expression was unreadable but determined.

"Then we’ll get them," she replied, her voice like steel. "I’m not letting anyone decide my fate—especially not the Other Side."

With a final, resolute look, you both turned toward the unknown, ready to face whatever horrors the Other Side had in store.

[lovetgr76]

Catherine & Jackson

They’re not a couple, but they kind of are… here’s how… or why… maybe… Starting from S1e1 - written for a friend to show how this show is NOT about Catherine and Jackson... but also, it's TOTALLY about Catherine and Jackson! lol - feel free to chime in with thoughts, feelings, etc.

S1e1 Failure is Contagious

First time we see Jackson, he’s waking up, it’s a mess, he’s coughing and smoking at the same time, he looks outside, gloomy, raining, but wait… his eyes are caught by something, and he follows …

Catherine is seen crossing the street, in her boots and coat and purse strapped across her chest, with the floral print umbrella.

Standish, make her way up the street, clocks Moody at the bus stop, makes her way up the 4 floors at Aldersgate and is unseen/ignored by all of the other Slow Horses.  She gets to her office, turns on the light, puts away her things and 3 seconds later…. “STANDISH!” lol – she’s been noticed!

She is seen making her way to his office with a stack of folders but stands at the doorway to his office and doesn’t speak until she is spoken to –

Are they all in? – Lamb; All except River and Sid – Standish; Last one in can clean my lav - Lamb

*banging happens as someone is opening the door downstairs*

Standish and Lamb look disappointed in the slow horses in general for a moment.

I thought spooks were supposed to be stealthy – Lamb

Catherine grants him a tiny smile as she turns to go back towards her office.

Other Slow Horses comments and interactions w/ Standish

River – makes the “a reason not to blow my brains out!” comment

Struan – that Catherine is a tough nut to crack

Min – She never lightens up. Lamb’s lackey.

Louisa – talks about … what happened before (aka Partner)

Sid arrives with the laptop – aka SOMETHING happens at Slough House and …

“STANDISH! Flash Box!” – Lamb

Standish brings the Flash Box, stands silently, assists in getting it open…

“I’ve got a call to make, so if the pair of you wouldn’t mind, you know, fucking off” – Lamb

To Standish – Get me Lady Di.

Jackson is sleeping (or is he?) with his feet on the desk & Catherine (with coat and scarf on, as if ready to leave for the day) comes in to put a stack of folders on his desk.

She moves another folder to make room for the stack, putting them carefully on the edge of his desk.

Lamb kicks them over, on purpose, without reason… other than his… amusement? Into the trash can next to his desk and onto the floor as he leans back and sighs while watching her

What did your last servant die of? – Standish

Interesting that she calls herself servant, instead of secretary or personal assistant.

She immediately kneels to pick up the folders.

What did your last boss die of? – Lamb

He puts his feet back on the floor and reaches into a drawer to pull out TWO glasses and a bottle.

Because Standish is kneeling, this is at eye level for her and she hears the clinking of glass, trying to keep her head down.

She clearly sees Lamb pulling out TWO glasses, while gathering the folders in her arms, but is seen looking up at him, and then back down to the floor, then at the glasses being filled… as the moody music starts to play – this is dangerous territory, even if we don’t know it yet.

Standish puts the stack back on the corner of his desk and stands up while staring at the two glasses… she glances at Lamb, but goes back to staring at the booze. Dark music continues to suggest the seriousness of the moment.

Standish standing straight is seen as trying to calm her own desires as we see her shoulders go from tense and tight to her seemingly sighing and becoming resolved… as Lamb moves a glass of whiskey directly in front of her, taking a deep breath himself, in direct contrast to her own breathing.

Wanted to add that this particular moment has been brought up to the actors in interviews where Gary Oldman was asked WHY Lamb would offer Standish a drink knowing she’s an alcoholic.  Oldman stated that he sincerely believed Lamb was a bit jealous of her, her ability to say no, her resolve.  He, Lamb, would not or could not say no to whiskey and he admires / appreciates that she won’t… no matter how he tries to needle her – to anger her – to provoke her – and then to offer her – her preferred poison… his preferred poison!

Standish glares at him for a moment shaking her head “NO”… she will NOT drink today, and walks off as he’s already finishing his own drink.

Lamb finishes his drink in one gulp as Standish walks out and he’s left alone looking down at her offered drink, gulping that one down as well.

Next time we see Standish, she’s at her AA meeting.  She is not speaking, just listening, but we see her struggling a bit emotionally.  She is remembering finding Charles Partner’s, her ex-boss…

She is seen with flowers, she’s younger (hair color is darker?!) – she’s got makeup on – she wears no makeup now – her skirts are a bit shorter, her neckline a bit lower – she’s smiling and looks beautiful as she calls out for Charles. She finds him, though, we only see clues – he’s got Opera music playing, he’s in the bath, there’s blood dripping outside of the bath, and she sees him, she gasps and covers her mouth in shock. Music is intense and dramatic, this is traumatic.

Catherine is called out in her AA meeting, asked if she wants to speak. 

My name is Catherine and I’m an alcoholic. I’ll just listen tonight. – Standish.

Slow Horses are gathered in Roddy’s office watching the latest news about the hostage situation when Lamb is seen walking in from the stairs. Lamb says explaining the situation to them is like explaining Norway to a dog, and demands that they all go back to shuffling papers.

[slusheeduck]

Dubious Associates

Sid's always had a feeling there was a little more than just antagonistic, insufferable lawfulness when it comes to how Inspector Sullivan feels about him, and he's proven right exactly twice: once under extreme duress, and once right as they say goodbye.

Chapter 1: Evidence

“709, Frankie the Fence. I made the arrest.”

Sid half-listened as Sullivan searched. Too much talking for a good job, but still. Not like he couldn’t make good use of his own time in here.

“Well, well, what do we make of these?” Sullivan held up a pair of shoes, a smug smile on his face. Sid glanced over them, unimpressed.

“Frankie the Fence has size ten feet.”

“Frankie the Fence is a woman.”

The sheer, almost manic victory in Sullivan’s usually dour face might have been amusing, charming even (if Sullivan could ever be charming). But not in an evidence room where, Sid was pretty sure the inspector hadn’t registered this yet, they were breaking and entering. He blew out a breath, cheeks puffing out.

“Come on,” he said, voice low. “We have not got time for this.”

All at once, Sullivan popped back up. His eyes went to Sid, then to the evidence shelf. He was a sharp one, for a copper, so by the time their eyes met again, it was clear he’d picked up on Sid’s own bit of shopping.

“Put that back.”

Sid’s gaze didn’t so much as waver, even as Sullivan’s eyes swept down to the back in his hand before looking back to the shelf. (Funny, how this inspector’s once-overs always looked more interested in the whole of him than Valentine’s ever had.) But when Sullivan’s eyes traveled back to his, he let out the smallest hint of frustration as he held the bag up.

“This evidence will get me six months in the poke. The way I see it, you owe me,” he said, doing his best to keep his voice low enough to keep from being heard.

“The debt doesn’t extend to the theft of your evidence,” Sullivan said through his teeth.

Sid’s eyes casually went down to the shoes. “Says the man holding stolen evidence in his hands.”

Sullivan stood up straighter, puffing up with his usual righteous indignation. It’s funny, normally, when Sid can get under his skin, but right now it’s unfortunate, because said indignation made him loud. “The distinction being, I’m innocent and you were caught fair and square. Put it back.”

There wasn’t much room to get in Sullivan’s face back here, considering they were already practically nose to nose, but Sid did try to get the air of it as he said, “Or what, you’ll raise the alarm?”

Sullivan’s chin jutted out, the sharp, stilted inhale that typically came before a self-righteous screed escaping him. While this would normally be an excellent time to rile the inspector up to boiling point, this was, in fact, a job, and keeping a cool head was essential, even as he could feel Sullivan’s frustration radiating through the whole room.

But before he could get so much as a word out, a voice floated in from the other side of the door—one Sid didn’t recognize, but given the wide-eyed, panicked look that crossed Sullivan’s face, he could pretty confidently guess it was Trueman. (He wasn’t the Father, of course, but contrary to popular belief, he could, in fact, put two and two together.)

“Open the door, Sergeant. I think I heard voices.”

They both moved quick. Sullivan turned, tucking the shoes against his chest. Sid put the evidence back where he’d grabbed it, lip curling in frustration. He might’ve pulled it off if Sullivan hadn’t—no time for that, not with keys jingling on the other side of the door. He dove down to sit beside Sullivan; the inspector had tucked himself up around the corner. Not a great hiding spot, so Sid merely tucked his legs up and waited for the inevitable.

“No-one signed the key out. I’ll take a look around, sir.”

That was Goodfellow. Not too bright, but decently lived up to his name when he wasn’t toadying after Sullivan. As Sid settled back, he had to admit to being a little curious what would happen when they were caught. Clearly Sullivan was, too, given the way he was practically shaking beside him.

It was tempting, of course, to sneer at the state of him, but Sid kept his gaze down. He didn’t like the inspector, let’s get that clear. But…well, honor among thieves, he supposed, and Sullivan—at least for this moment—was in with him. And yeah, it was a little gratifying to see the inspector on his side of the law for once. But he was a prideful man, and this was a hell of a fall. Now, he was frightened, desperate—Sid was careful not to look directly at him, to let him keep a small shred of his pride, but out of the corner of his eye, he caught Sullivan clutching the shoes like a teddy to his chest.

Nah, he couldn’t kick him while he was down. If they got out of this, it’d ruin the fun of riling him up. Besides, Sid could remember all too well how he’d done on his first job—he’d been just as spooked.

Footsteps came round the corner, and Sid finally lifted his eyes to look up at Goodfellow. Well, jig was up. Both he and Sullivan stared up at the sergeant in silence, the slightest noise from beside him suggesting the inspector was mouthing something. Goodfellow stared down at them for what felt like a lifetime.

“All clear, sir,” he finally called, sparing one last glance to Sullivan before he made his way out.

When the door shut behind him, Sullivan sagged down in relief, practically going limp against Sid as he relaxed. Sid kept his eyes on the door, body tense as he listened for their footsteps to fade away. Once it was silent again, he caught Sullivan’s head turning to look at him. Sid met his eyes, finally. He was about to say they ought to get up and moving, but then Sullivan lunged at him.

His hand scrambled against the side of Sid’s head, catching his ear before going to his neck, and he tugged the other man forward to crash their mouths together, all teeth and adrenaline. Somewhat shamefully, considering his reputation, it took Sid a solid ten seconds to realize that the inspector wasn’t attacking him; he was kissing him.

This...wasn't as much of a surprise as Sid thought it should be. After all, there had been looks, and he'd always had a feeling there was something more than sheer morality that made him Sullivan's favorite target. But all the same...things suddenly got a whole lot more interesting.

 Not that this was the time, though. It took a great deal of strength—literally, Sullivan had a hell of a grip—to pull himself back. Sullivan’s eyes were bright, and his chest heaved as he gripped Sid’s collar. Sid kept a hand on his chest, just in case he dove in again.

“We need to get out of here,” he whispered, voice clipped and nose still brushing Sullivan’s. He nodded to the window. “You go down first, and keep your head down.”

Sullivan swallowed, throat bobbing, and he seemed to come back down to earth. He nodded, then carefully stole to the window. Sid followed, watching the inspector go down before he followed. He shut the window after them—the crowbar had left it a little worse for the wear, but hopefully Sullivan would be back in business by the time anyone noticed.

Sid was quick to pull down the ladder, silently directing Sullivan to dump out the water from their cover bucket. He watched him as he did, noting the way he shook. Ooh, not good. He wasn’t handling this well—granted, the kiss kind of gave that away. As Sullivan turned back around, he nodded for him to follow after him.

Now, time for a detour.

He, of course, knew all the best ways to slip out of sight. So, with a sharp whistle, he directed Sullivan down a narrow alleyway, ladder just able to pass through with them. No windows on either side, and hardly noticeable provided they didn’t make much noise. All at once, he stopped and propped the ladder against the wall.

“What are you doing?” Sullivan hissed, voice shaking. “We need to get back to the presbytery. I need to figure out what Finley’s shoes are…”

And time to help get him grounded.

Sid was much smoother than the inspector had been, hand easily resting on the other man’s neck and thumb directing his jaw up for a deep kiss. This time, Sullivan froze, and Sid mentally cursed as the bucket went crashing to the cobblestone. But it certainly wasn’t enough to get either of them to stop.

Sullivan’s free hand gripped Sid’s collar again, tight enough to threaten to tear it, and he pushed into the kiss with all the dogged energy he’d had in the evidence room. Sid coaxed him back against the wall, one arm propped against it. Meanwhile, Sullivan’s teeth teased at Sid’s lip, tongue meeting his without a bit of hesitation.

All at once, he pulled back, breathing hard and eyes bright. “What are you doing?” he asked, belatedly.

“You were about to break. I’m getting your head on straight.” Sid paused. “Well, in a way.”

“I wasn’t about to break.”

“You’re a shit liar.” Sid’s head dove down, lips going to his jaw. “And anyway, you started it.”

Sullivan swallowed, head falling back. “It’s…adrenaline. That’s all.”

Sid snorted, right next to his ear. “Sure, tell yourself that. We can both pretend you haven’t been practically undressing me with your eyes every time you give me a once-over.” He gave the lobe of Sullivan’s ear a sharp bite—not as playful as he’d done with others, for obvious reasons, but the shuddering breath the inspector let out was very gratifying.

“This is illegal,” he finally whispered.

“Gonna arrest us yourself, then?” Sid murmured in his ear, then pulled back with a shit-eating smirk he couldn’t force down. “Oh, wait. Can’t do that right now, can you?”

Sullivan stared hard at him, then pushed forward. Sid fell back against the other wall as Sullivan dove down to his neck, biting and sucking at the skin like a man possessed. Sid, melting back, didn’t fight it in the least. Not only was it very nice, but he was pretty sure he’d seen less repression in all those priests-in-training at the Father’s old seminary.

Sullivan let out a frustrated grunt as he tried to work open Sid’s coveralls one-handedly, and he automatically brought up his other hand to get at the button. And that was when the shoe dropped—literally, in this case. He pulled back, startled back into the moment by the noise, and he stared up at Sid with pupils large enough to nearly swallow up the blue. They both breathed hard, staying still, but Sullivan finally ducked down to pick up the shoe.

“There’s something inside,” he said, trying not to sound breathless as he stood back up. Sid adjusted his collar as he watched him dig in the shoe, only to pull out a small slip of paper.

“What is it?” he asked, idly rubbing at his sure-to-be-bruising neck as Sullivan looked it over.

“Left luggage ticket,” Sullivan muttered. “For a briefcase.” He paused, eyes darting back and forth. “The expose, that must be it.” He looked up at Sid, holding the paper up. “And that briefcase is the key to my innocence.”

“Then we ought to get back to the presbytery,” Sid said, going to grab the ladder. “Might want to get yourself back into order; Mrs. M’s bound to notice otherwise, and that’s not a conversation you want to have.”

He glanced back at Sullivan, smiling a bit, but it faded as the inspector stiffly put the paper in his pocket. He cleared his throat, pointedly not looking at Sid as he smoothed his coat.

“This doesn’t change anything,” he said, voice quiet and short. He bent down to pick up the other shoe, and the familiar hard expression was back as he finally lifted his head. “You are being charged for theft when this is over, and I’ll be the one ensuring you go to prison. Like you deserve.”

An odd sort of pang went through Sid’s chest at that, and he stared at Sullivan for a moment before he let out a sharp breath. “And just when I thought we were chums,” he drawled out, then pushed past Sullivan to lead the way. “Keep your head down. I know a shortcut back.”

~

Funerals weren’t exactly Sid’s favorite thing, even less so when he didn’t know the deceased. But it did feel right to go to DC Albert’s. The kid had done a lot for this case, and paying his respects was the decent thing. And, for all of his faults (and there were plenty), Inspector Sullivan—reinstated and decked out with all his various medals and finery—seemed to recognize that too in the speech he gave. And, perhaps, he���d even turned over a new leaf; at least, that’s what Sid, Lady Felicia, and Mrs. McCarthy silently hoped for as he pulled Father Brown aside after the Mass. Sid was even playing with the idea of inviting him out for a pint to celebrate.

“I thought you’d like to know,” he said, voice low. “Sir Jeffrey Greensleeves has been charged with accessory to murder, and Chief Constable Busby with perverting the course of justice.”

“And Inspector Trueman?” Father Brown asked.

“Gone.”

“And that’s an end to this horrible business, I hope,” Mrs. M interjected, firm enough that any Illuminati within earshot would think twice before causing mischief.

Sullivan glanced over at her, then looked back to Father Brown. “There is something I’d like to say, Father. Grateful as I am for your assistance…”

Father Brown smiled.

“…nothing that’s happened will change my opinion of you…”

The smile faded.

“…as a somewhat dangerous and subversive influence. By rights…” Sullivan glanced over at the three huddled nearby. “…I could have you all arrested.”

“Go on, then,” Mrs. McCarthy challenged, but Sullivan was unswayed.

“If you imagine this will in any way color our future dealings, or that your meddling in police matters is any more welcome, you are sorely mistaken.”

“I see,” was all Father Brown said, placid as ever even though the disappointment was clear on his face. That alone was nearly enough to get Sid winding up his arm to knock those stupid medals right off of Sullivan’s chest. But then, the Father wouldn’t like it very much if he did. So he stayed put as Sullivan turned to walk off, having the audacity to tip his hat as he did.

“Well, that’s gratitude for you,” Lady F. said, more than loud enough for Sullivan to hear. But the inspector needed something a little more direct after pulling off a stunt like this to the dubious associates that had saved his hide.

Sid stepped forward, hands clasped—it was the only way he’d keep from popping Sullivan in his stupid jaw. All this work, all of their sticking their necks out, and this stupid blighter was still too goddamn proud to admit that he’d needed their help. Not to mention the evidence room, and the alley, and… “Yeah, thanks for nothing, inspector. Guess I’ll see you in court.”

Sullivan paused as Sid spoke. His head tilted slightly, and he slowly turned to face them again. Sid, chin lifted, waited for the reprimand, the gloating.

Sullivan met his eyes for a moment, and he shifted back and forth, legs restless as he wrung his gloves. Finally, he said, “I’ve been informed that due to an…administrative error, the evidence in question has been mislaid.” The words came out awkward and stilted—the bloke really could not lie to save his life. But Sid (and Lady Felicia, and Mrs. McCarthy, and Father Brown) were listening all the same. It took Sid a moment to register what exactly that meant, but Mrs. M’s big smile helped clue him in as Sullivan added, “Isn’t that right, Sergeant?”

Goodfellow stared.

“Sergeant.”

He caught on, too, and lived up to his name. “Oh! Right, sir. Yes, sir.”

“Which means,” Sullivan continued, ignoring Lady F.’s smirk, “we will be forced to drop all charges on this occasion.” His eyes locked on Sid’s, and Sid was careful not to smile as he fiddled with his own gloves. “But rest assured, Mr. Carter, we will not be nearly so careless in future.”

At that, Sid’s lips did turn up, just a bit, as he nodded, with one deep one added as a silent “Thank you”. Sullivan started to turn, keeping his eyes on Sid until he finally snapped his head forward.

“I want a full investigation on how this was allowed to happen, Sergeant. Heads will roll, mark my words,” he blustered. Oh, bless, he even included a little indignant shake of his gloves. Definitely laid on far too thick, but Sid was hardly going to complain about it as he shared a grin with the group.

And, maybe, he’d rethink buying Sullivan a drink next he saw him…as thanks, of course.

Chapter 2: Conclusion

[youngparadisedonut]

When did you make this account? Was it during s4 cause it remember that’s when I started seeing you. Sid you decide to make it cause everyone was just so ok with the iris thing and you just couldn’t take it.. (cause same)

I started this account March this year.

(Interesting enough I do have another account, but I never posted anything on it)

To be honest I was really nervous in the beginning, I knew a lot of people in the fandom wouldn't like me. What made me start this was pure frustration. I really tried to forget that storyline, to pretend it never happened. I didn't want to be angry at Carlos – no one likes to feel anger, it’s an awful feeling. But it didn't go away and I needed to vent.

The fact that TK interactions with Iris were labeled as funny and amusing is something that I will never get over with. I don’t think enough people in the fandom understand how dangerous that was – I don’t think enough people in the fandom get how often people with addiction deals with self-worth issues, sense of being inadequate and guilty. The things she said could have made so much damage.

And to made someone that deals with addiction to feel like they have to be approved by another person (a stranger, no less) in order to have their relationship with their significant other to be accepted is in such poor taste.

Carlos clearly blaming TK for her disappearance and act with that level of hostility? That was just another level of terrible. That could be the nail in the coffin. Yet there was no talking about it. No apologies, nada.

In the end I truly regret having watched this show.

[sc0tters]

https://www.tumblr.com/sc0tters/750855530080354304/rosie-is-her-mommas-ride-or-die-that-little-girl

AHHHH the little kiss on the cheek as thank yous are so cute and perfect for Rosie and Camille!! I can see Sid blushing when Camille does it in public but also the first time after their rough patch?! That’s when Sid knows things are getting better

Sidney had taken Camille out for breakfast when the kids were at school. They had a great time out and they were talking all about how they were enjoying their time together “thanks for coming.” Sidney had been so nervous when he asked her to come and those nerves got even stronger when she didn’t say no.

Camille stopped as she smiled at him “you know I’ll never turn down food.” Even as her words were amused, she clearly loved him as she kissed his cheek going to squeeze his shoulder.

He just stopped as he blushed watching her grin “I’m in love with you.” Camille confessed as he wrapped his arm around her.

[akirawrites24]

Day 2: Mundane Task

@theocxcanonweek

Fandom: Persona 5

Canon character used: Ren Amamiya, a mention of Morgana, mention of Sojiro

Fanmade Character used: Tammin Mikuriya 

Ship: Tammin x Ren

Prompt: Mundane Task

(Hopefully I understood the prompt, I never heard this word in English before)

_______

Tammin looked at Ren as it was obvious that he had fallen asleep while studying for the upcoming exams, which made her smile a little. He did have black circles under his eyes. Seems like he was staying up late to study when Morgana was away for some fatty tuna, she figured.

But Tammin frowned when she saw that there were still dishes to be done, and Sojiro did say that he wanted them to be done by the time he came back from running some errands. Tammin didn’t want to get him in trouble, so she decided to do the task herself.

‘Sometimes I am really wondering if he even takes care of himself properly, he looks like he hasn’t had a nice sleep for days…I hope that the Phantom Thief business isn’t tiring him out, we can always lay off of a mission if he wants’, Tammin thought as she got the dishsoap and poured in the water while grabbing sponge.

She looked back at her boyfriend. ‘Heh, I am still not used to the title boyfriend and girlfriend…It’s all very new’, she thought as she went to wash a cup of used coffee and some plates of curry she had the pleasure to eat earlier.

Ren was still asleep, absolutely having zero care in the entire world. ‘He should do that often, I just wonder if he himself realizes that.’

It was very quiet in Leblanc like it always was, calm as well, which is why people like it here. The smell isn’t bad either, if Tammin might say so herself.

She took a towel and dried every single dish that she cleaned, the kitchen itself following next. She wiped some sweat from her face as she sat down at the bar. ‘And like that, everything is finished! Applause for myself!’, she thought as she smiled, now just waiting for Ren to wake up so they can continue with studying.

….

If only Tammin herself almost didn’t fall asleep, as it was getting way too late. Sojiro most likely just went home after having texted Ren, not that he could check it at the moment.

“Hey, Ren? Wake up, it is getting way to late. You should go to bed”, Tammin said, nudging him awake. ‘Is he a heavy sleeper?’, was her first thought, so she went to drawstic matters and made her hands go into a megaphone.

“Hello, I am here to inform you about your sleeping schedule, it sucks and you need to work on it by going to bed now, and not sleeping on the table! REN AMAMIYA, WAKE UP!”, she said and yelled the last part.

Ren startled awake, rubbing his eyes as he remembered where he was. “You could have just shook me awake you know?”

“I tried that, you slept right through it! Had I known you were a heavy sleeper, I would have used water instead”, Tammin said, the last part clearly being a joke, which he could laugh about too.

“Then I stay awake just so that doesn't happen”, he said as he quickly remembered that he needed the dishes to be done. 

“Oh, don’t worry, I finished them for you! I didn't want to disturb your sleep, so I decided to do it! You deserve to have a nice sleep you know?”, Tammin said as she noticed his panicked face at not doing the task he was given.

It made him calm down and shook his head in amusement. “You didn’t have to do that, but thank you, really”, he said, looking like he fell in love even more.

“No biggie! Unfortunately it is also my time to go home if I want to catch my train! I see you soon!”, she sId and kissed him on the cheek while waving, and him waving back.

‘Every little thing you do really knows how to make me love you even more…’

[quackquackcey]

Rumpled sheets, smoke-tinged kisses, and sea salted lightning

Rated E, 13k words. Tags: A/B/O, mafia boss Derek x FBI agent Stiles, established relationship, case fic, porn w/ plot. Read on AO3.

(yes, I wrote this gif scene in the fic, it’s a need 😩)

(shoutout to @renmackree for this graphic—if you see this, you’re amazing! 💛)

Summary:

FBI agent Stiles and mafia boss Derek pair up to take down an elusive killer targeting both humans and supernaturals, but will they make it through the storm unscathed?~ 🚬⚡️

The canteen quieted from carefree chatter to hushed whispers, as it did everytime Stiles and Derek walked in.

“I heard he’s a dirty cop, but because of his connections with mafia, they just transferred him to the SID,” whispered Stiles’ fellow coworkers today. “And I guess that’s his handler?”

“Someone told me he’s from the main branch, top of the field,” others whispered, “temporarily helping out the SID. I feel bad that he got stuck working with a dirty cop. I’d rather deal with a criminal than a dirty cop, y’know what I mean?”

Stiles rolled his eyes.

The same old rumors, yet somehow, they just got further and further from the truth everyday. He shot a glare at Derek as they sat down at an empty table.

“Don’t look at me like that, detective.” Far too much amusement for Stiles’ liking shone in Derek’s silver green eyes. “I have better things to do than bribe some government dogs to up my reputation. Clearly, I don’t look like a lowlife criminal like a certain someone.”

Stiles rolled his eyes and stabbed his meatloaf. “This is all your fault, I hope you know.”

“If it makes you feel better to shift the blame, then go ahead,” said Derek, sipping his coffee without a care.

“I’m not talking about our deal—”

“Relationship,” Derek cut in.

“Okay, fine, our deal-turned-relationship-thing, I’m talking about your insistence to eat here for lunch!” hissed Stiles. “Why can’t we just go out to eat? There’re cafés and shops all along this street!”

“I never said we had to eat here.”

Stiles’ brows shot up. “Yeah? So you’re fine with getting the fuck out of here right now?”

“Sure,” drawled Derek.

The plastic fork in Stiles’ fist bent in half. “I will shoot you.”

“You have before,” Derek reminded him. “I just like the coffee here. We can eat elsewhere. The food is not great.”

“You couldn’t have said this two weeks ago?!”

“And miss out on the increasingly ridiculous rumors every time we walk in? Who’d have guessed that the FBI headquarters is worse than high school? It’s amusing that the nation’s so-called top law enforcement is full of shallow idiots.”

Stiles pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. “Here we go again.”

“I’m just saying that you’d expect FBI employees of all people to look beyond appearances.”

“They do,” Stiles told him, “for cases. Not for random distant coworkers they don’t give a shit about.”

“Cases, hm? You’re saying they separate their work from personal life?”

“Uh, yeah? Who the hell is gonna analyze the shit out of every person they see in passing?”

“I do,” said Derek, “or else I wouldn’t be alive.”

Stiles grimaced. “Yeah, but that’s you. Your life sucks.”

“And you, because the entire reason everyone thinks you’re a dirty cop and I’m your handler leads back to you not separating your work and personal life.”

“No, I separate them.”

Derek raised an eyebrow.

“I just don’t have much of a personal one,” said Stiles, and Derek let out a rare chuckle. “Who knew that trying to catch「Hunter」would fuck my life up so bad?”

“I’m hurt.”

Stiles rolled his eyes again, a regular occurrence around Derek. “I didn’t say I regretted it.” He let out a huff. “It’s been interesting, to say the least, learning about the supernatural.”

“Just that?” asked Derek with a knowing smirk and bedroom eyes.

Stiles swallowed. “What else is there that’s so interesting?”

“Hm—” Derek’s phone vibrated in his suit jacket pocket and he picked up the call for five seconds, then hung up. “Family calls,” he told Stiles. “I have to punish someone.”

“You mean kill someone?” muttered Stiles.

“Now, now, that’s not much of a punishment, is it? More importantly”—Derek leaned in closer, placing a leather-gloved hand on Stiles’ thigh—“your heat’s coming up soon, isn’t it?” he murmured. “How about we take the edge off tonight, my place?”

Stiles’ breaths stuttered, but he managed to glance cooly at Derek. “My first time to a mafia boss’s place,” he murmured back. “How exciting.”

“It’s quite boring, really.” Derek squeezed his thigh then stood up with his untouched food and cup of coffee. “Call me if you find anything new about 「Sentiero」.”

And with that, he strode off, walking like he owned the place as he usually did, and Stiles sighed watching the gazes inevitably drawn towards Derek’s exit.

Appearances really could be deceiving.

Continue on AO3!

[carpehistoryandthepens]

Legacy (what is a legacy?) Part 2

part one

It’s planting seeds in a garden you never get to see I wrote some notes at the beginning of a song someone will sing for me

Hamilton, the world was wide enough. LMM.

Summary: Mike is 13. Born May 2009. Sid didn’t know he had a son. All Mike had was hope and a prayer for his and his half-sister’s safety.

(Sid is a dad of a teen he didn’t know about AU) Sidgeno.

Warnings: (for the total story) post-child abuse (all off-screen but it affects things and is spoken about often), learning how to parent, panic attacks, anxiety, based on last season, OCs?, realization about sexuality. Post breakups. Desperate lack of in-depth research for CPS in both PA/CA, melodrama?, kidfic, angst, slowburn, playing fast and loose with the law for drama/storytelling purposes.

-

The first of two things Sid learned over the far-too-long summer was that he was getting older. The second, and probably most important, thing was that time was passing far too fucking fast. 

Nate's Cup Party had taught him both lessons. It had taken him more than two days to recover from Nate's damn Cup Party, which was, in Sid's opinion, at least a day too long. To be fair to himself, he didn't drink like that anymore, and he felt it for days. If Sid ever won the cup again, he would need the whole damn summer to recover from the Cup Parties. Nevertheless, Sid looked forward to it. 

(Geno laughed endlessly when Sid grumbled about the recovery time over one of their regular summer chats. Of course, Geno could laugh. He had been the talk of the locker room when he had chosen to stop drinking in the season nearly ten years ago. And he loved to chirp to the team when he could in revenge. 

Tanger could out-drink them all and would do so without a blink of an eye and had kindly chosen not to lord that over the team's head unless it was amusing.)

The Cup Party had all of Nate's friends, draft class, and other guys who were damn near ten years or younger than Sid. He had been surrounded by people who told him they looked up to him. They were the reason Sid had drunk that much. 

Most of his Cole Harbor friends were relieved that Sid had chosen to come out with them. Sid would have been offended about it; he wasn't that petty or competitive not to go to Nate's Cup Party. Except he knew they didn't think that (...mostly….) and were more concerned about his 'broken heart' from the last season. 

He and Kathy had broken up during the last season. She stayed until just after his five-hundredth goal - and Jesus, that made him feel old - but they knew they had been on the rocks for ages before then. They were ready for the change, but neither made it for so long; Sid was honestly surprised when they ended it. 

But with Kathy gone for a while now and their relationship clearly not recovering in the summer like half of Sid's friends and family expected, it was good to let go and just have fun without worrying about anything. So, his friends piled on the alcohol, and Sid let them. 

He did have to try hard to be the drunkest person at Nate's party. He made the top five. Definitely, Nate just missed when he was at his most drunk. Sid wasn't dancing on tables, but damn, he was definitely drunken dancing at that party. Thankfully Nate's cup party was a closed party. 

Sid sighed as he got to the rink. Driving in Pittsburgh traffic before the season started made him reflect on things more than he wanted to. He pulled his small gear bag out of his car – most of his equipment was already in the capable hands of the equipment staff - and waved at the security guard by the back entrance of the Cranberry practice rink that most players entered. 

Sid greeted more people as he walked from the back entrance to the locker room. Tanger called out a greeting to him from where he was warming up on a stationary bike. Sid nodded back; they would talk more on the ice or afterward. 

Tanger was one of the only people who didn't believe that Sid and Kathy would get back together during the summer. The others were Geno and Taylor. Everyone else was positive they would get back together, even his close friends from home. Even Nate. 

And well, despite the fact he and Kathy still had many of the same ideas and goals in a relationship, such as wanting children but wanting to wait or how much they worked as a couple, they both knew they were growing unhappy, and it was getting worse every year.

They looked at each other over dinner weeks after his five-hundredth goal game. Sid had looked up and seen his worry and resignation reflected in her eyes, and, long story short, they broke up.  

They both wanted to be friends but knew they needed a lot of time to get to that point. They had spoken a few weeks ago. Kathy had found a boyfriend, and she was serious about him. She was happy.

And Sid?  

Sid was truthfully so happy for her. But it killed him a little on the inside. While he didn't miss her in a way, he would think he wanted her back, but Sid wanted what Kathy could bring him, and that was a family. But wanting a family wasn't good enough to justify a relationship that wasn't making either of them happy. Thankfully Kathy seemed to understand and feel the same way. 

When they spoke last, she had said something along those lines. Again, Sid felt called out and seen all at once.  

Now that he was back in Pittsburgh, he saw families with children around him. The delivery of the season tickets was complicated because Sid got families for both visits.

Tanger liked to tease him that he would steal a baby or a toddler if his baby's hunger got any worse, but Sid also watched the teens. When parents interacted with their older children, he wished he could too. He wanted the experience of raising children - including teens, pre-teens, and young children, and seeing the adults they would grow into.

Every other time he had felt this way before, both he and Kathy reminded each other why they chose to wait. 

Sid didn't want to be an absent father, and Kathy hadn't wanted to be a functionally single mother. He wanted to be there for his children's lives. Sid didn't want to lose all the firsts and the important events in his kids' lives. A life with hockey was not a life he would be able to do and stay in his kids' lives. 

He might want to be a dad so desperately, but he wanted to be there for their lives, not just be a voice on the phone. He saw how hard it was for Geno, Tanger, and the other guys. While most players didn't choose to wait as he did, they understood what was being given up. 

Sid just chose the opposite of most. He sighed as he finished getting to his gear, quickly grabbed two sticks to tape, and headed out to the rink. He was dwelling, and he hated to start a season like that. 

But the problem was that there were kids and families everywhere he went, and honestly, Sid was already looking forward to closed practices. Of course, it didn't help him that every practice since camp opened was crowded with families.

This practice was on a school day officially, and Sid had hoped that he would see fewer families in the stands, but as with every practice since training camp opened, it was well attended. So Sid did his best to shove his want and longing back where it always was and shifted his attention to practice. 

Sid stepped onto the ice and looked around, noting who was on the ice and who wasn't from his group. Raks and Guentzy skated over and did a few warm-up laps together. While Rakell's presence in his group had been a light surprise, Sully warned Geno and Sid that lines were being shifted around. 

Geno's group had skated earlier in the day. He said he would wait until Sid was done with his ice time, and they would have lunch at his house before Nikita came home.

Sid couldn't wait. He always loved talking with Geno. Especially after nearly losing him this summer. As he passed behind one of the goals set up in front of the stands, a boy caught his eye. 

The kid was dark-haired, exhausted looking with bags under his eyes, and there was a little girl about three sleeping on a large, overstuffed rolling hockey bag with an oversized jacket draped over her like a blanket. The boy had one hand on her head, gently petting her hair, and his eyes were focused on the ice. 

Sid tore his eyes away from the pair. He didn't see a responsible adult for them, so he could only assume the teen was on one of the U16 teams that played out of the rink. He had other things to worry about, like his practice. 

So Sid continued to shove his wants and longing down. Some day. Not now. Hockey now  Nothing has changed. 

He ignored how much the kid looked like his parents' photo of him and Taylor at one of his games when he was 14. All hockey concentration, family protectiveness, and that same determination set to his mouth and eyes. 

Sid threw himself into getting ready for practice, learning about his new guys on the team, and catching up with the older guys. He talks to Geno about Nikita and his new school, Tanger about Alex and how they spent the summer training, Racks about his new baby, Tags about his impending son (any day now and his wife was so ready), and any of the fathers on the team. 

Sid did his best to ignore the pain and how much the kid looked like a picture Sid had of himself with Taylor.

[pangolinheart]

FFXIVWrite 2023 DAY 16 - JERK (MAKE-UP)

Z'rhiki brings a friend with her to the Forgotten Knight to meet Sid and Rielle. She never brings a friend.

(I'm so sorry, G'raha! Unfortunately, Rhiki isn't even a little sorry..... I wasn't intending to write any more SidWoL for this challenge but this one just seemed too apt. I didn't have time to come up with a better scene, so I wrote one that I'd had in my head as something stupid and funny for a while. Even if Sid and Rhiki were an "official" ship I don't think this would be a canon interaction, I just found it amusing. It's not my best work for this challenge, but it's passable. They can't all be winners.)

Rating: Teen Genre: Fluff, humor Characters: Sidurgu Orl, Rielle du Caulignont, G'raha Tia, Z'rhiki Irhi (Warrior of Light) Relationships: Sidurgu Orl/Warrior of Light Word Count: 2,108 Content Warnings: None

“Rhiki!” Rielle waved to the Warrior of Light from their usual table. Rhiki waved back as she descended the stairs, followed by….

Who was that? Sidurgu wondered. Perhaps he was another patron who had entered at the same… No, he definitely seemed to be following her. That was strange.

“Hey Rielle!” Rhiki returned the greeting as she approached the table, her mysterious guest a few steps behind her. Another miqo’te, not much taller than her, with vivid red hair and fur. He shifted uncomfortably, clearly waiting for introductions to be made.

“Oh… is this your friend?” Rielle asked. Her tone was polite, but her eyes betrayed the same confusion he felt.

Rhiki never brought anyone with her to see them. Ever.

“Something like that.” Rhiki’s face wore a characteristic grin, but it looked incredibly forced. “Oh, uhhh, I suppose I should introduce you! Sid, Rielle, this is G’raha Tia. He’s the newest Scion of the Seventh Dawn. G’raha Tia, these are my friends: Sidurgu and Rielle.”

Fortunately, Rielle had more tact than he did. Instead of demanding to know what in the seven hells this was supposed to be, she merely nodded courteously to Rhiki’s guest and said, “Hello G’raha Tia. It’s nice to meet you.”

“Oh, the pleasure is all mine!” The man’s ears perked up. “Please, you may call me G’raha, or even Raha. You are Z’rhiki’s friends, so I see no reason for us to stand on formality!”

Z’rhiki..? That was strange, too. No one called her Z’rhiki – at least, not anyone who knew her well. Just like she and Rielle only ever called him “Sid.” He knew that it was her full first name, and that the Z was something of an honorific, but she had dropped it almost immediately upon meeting them. He had never heard anyone else use it, though he supposed he hadn’t met many (or any) of her other friends. Certainly not one of the Scions. 

Out of the corner of his eye he noticed the other man glance up at him, as if to make a more personal introduction, but his eyes were on Rhiki. She noticed his gaze and shrugged awkwardly. “G’raha Tia… heard that I was coming to Ishgard, and wanted to join me, since he’d never been. So, I thought I’d bring him here.” She explained.

“Why?” Sidurgu asked flatly.

“Sid!” Rielle immediately scolded.

He actually did look at G’raha Tia this time, and the miqo’te fidgeted. “No, no. It’s a fair question. I apologize for the intrusion. I have heard and read a great deal about Z’rhiki’s exploits in Ishgard and, as I was not fortunate enough to be present for them, I merely wished to see the city with my own eyes, and to place faces to the names I already know so well.”

Sid glanced back at Rhiki, just in time to catch the roll of her eyes. Though he had no way to know for sure, he highly doubted that theirs were names that had come up in conversation before. As far as he was aware, she had never told any of the Scions about how she had come to walk the path. If the man was on a pilgrimage to the sites of her glorious triumphs in Ishgard, surely it would be better to take him to the Fortemps Manor, or the Steps of Faith, or even the Congregation.

Rielle’s eyes darted between he and Rhiki, but when neither said anything, she took it upon herself to alleviate the discomfort hanging over the table by cautiously asking, “So… how did you and Rhiki meet?”

G’raha Tia perked up again, grateful to be rescued from the settling silence. “Ah, an excellent question! I suppose we first met when Z’rhiki joined an expedition I was a part of to investigate the site of some ancient Allagan ruins. It was quite the adventure, really! Z’rhiki pulled our operation back from the brink of ruin several times. I was very fortunate to have had the chance to work alongside her! Sadly, after that… my duties took me elsewhere, and it wasn’t until recently that we were reunited.”

Sid saw Rhiki roll her eyes again.

“Oh, how interesting,” Rielle replied encouragingly. He couldn’t tell if she was actually interested, or if she was just humoring the man. “I’ve only read about the Allagan Empire in books a few times. And heard Rhiki’s stories about their technology.”

“I’m sure G’raha would love to tell you all about it.” Z’rhiki said, her tone a little too cheerful. “He loves all of that ner-… scholarly stuff.” Sid almost smiled as he heard her catch herself. “Anyways, I don’t know about you guys, but I’m starving! I’m going to go ask Gibrillont what’s on the menu today. I’ll bring you all back whatever sounds good. My treat.”

G’raha glanced around them at the mostly empty tavern. “Do they serve food here?”

“Sort of!” Rielle assured him, before looking after Rhiki. “Oh, Rhiki, wait! I’ll come with you! You’ll need help carrying everything!”

She dismissed herself from the table and hurried towards the bar, leaving Sidurgu alone with G’raha Tia. G’raha watched them go, his ears and tail drooping lower the further away they got. He sighed, “She still seems a bit cross with me, doesn’t she?” He mused. Sid couldn’t tell whether he was talking to himself or not. 

“I’ll say,” He responded regardless, also letting his eyes wander to where Rhiki had struck up a conversation with the grizzled elezen working the counter. “What did you do to her, anyway?”

G’raha wilted further. “It’s… a rather long story.”

“Hmm….” He watched Rhiki and Rielle for a moment longer before shrugging his shoulders. “Well, whatever it was, I’m sure she’ll get over it eventually. You just have to give it time."

That seemed to hearten the shorter man, and he looked up at him with a glimmer of hope in his eyes. “Do you truly think so?”

Sid snorted. “No. "Truthfully, I think you’re buggered. I’ve never seen her act like this around anyone, and I’ve seen her try to kill people.” This “G’raha Tia” was polite enough, and seemed like a decent sort – even if he was probably the type of do-gooder that Sidurgu typically found self-righteous and irritating – but whatever he had done to get under Rhiki’s skin, it must have been bad. She was one of those troublesome people who liked everyone, including those she really shouldn’t. Hells, she liked him, and, as Rielle so often pointed out, he could be a chocobo’s arse. She loved mercy and forgiveness and all of that tripe. But, for some reason, she didn’t like this guy.

So why did she bring him here?

“Oh…” G’raha Tia deflated once again, and Sid took a long sip of his drink. He was thankful that he’d started drinking early today. He was probably going to need it.

Not long after, Rhiki and Rielle returned with four plates of stew. “Stew” was a generous word for what was really a random assortment of whatever ingredients the proprietor could scrounge up, boiled with water and flour, but it was apt enough. As they ate, Rielle would occasionally pose a question about ancient Allag or the Studium in Sharlayan, where it turned out Rhiki’s “friend” had studied, and each time he answered with all of the elation of a drowning man who had been tossed a buoy. Rhiki, for her part, was quiet. Too quiet. Which was unsettling. She was never quiet. Usually, she could fill an entire conversation by herself. She talked constantly, laughed loudly, and gestured wildly with her hands. Now, though, she was strangely subdued, only speaking when asked a direct question and occasionally making noncommittal noises to demonstrate that she was still involved in the conversation. The longer he watched her, the more curious he became.

G’raha Tia was in the middle of a story about… something or other (he hadn’t really been listening) when he nudged her. “Can I talk to you for a minute? Over there?”

She almost looked relieved. “Uhhhh, sure.” Turning briefly to G’raha, who had stopped mid-sentence, and Rielle, who was eyeing Sid suspiciously, she said, “Sid and I will be right back. Feel free to continue without us.”

“Um, alright,” G’raha Tia replied weakly, glancing helplessly back to Rielle, who sighed. But Rhiki had already grabbed his arm and was leading him over to the other end of the room, where fliers for odd jobs and bounties spackled the walls.

When they were safely tucked in the corner, out of earshot, Sid folded his arms. “Alright. What’s going on. Why did you bring him here? You never bring your Scion buddies here.”

“W-well maybe I want to start,” Rhiki retorted, defensively. “You two are my friends! Maybe I want you to meet my other friends.”

Sid frowned at her. “I might believe that. Except you clearly hate him.”

“I don’t hate G’raha Tia-“ he didn’t believe her, and his pointed, unamused expression told her as much. She sighed, her shoulders sagging. “Okay, fine. He keeps tagging along with me! I can’t get rid of him! I just want to discourage him a little! So I brought him here because… I kind of thought you would be mean to him.” She offered him the type of innocent smile that clearly bespoke guilt.

“What?!” Sid hissed, lowering his voice so that he wouldn’t raise it instead. “Why would you think that?”

“Because you’re mean to everyone,” Rhiki pointed out.

He huffed, affronted. He couldn’t believe this. Well… maybe he could, but he didn’t have to like it. “I am not mean to everyone. What about you and Rielle?!”

“You were super mean to me and Rielle when we first met,” she reminded him. “And you still call me ‘annoying’ and ‘a handful’ all the time.”

He wanted to deny that, but couldn’t. “Fine. But that’s just the two of you, and both of you intentionally try to irritate me. That’s hardly everyone.”

“Who else do you know?” Rhiki asked, tilting her head as she looked up at him expectantly.

He… didn’t have an answer for that, so he just grumbled something and looked to the side, carefully studying one of the yellowed job listings.

“That’s what I thought.”

He groaned, covering his face with one hand. “Why do you want me to be mean to him? You’re the one who has a problem with him. Why don’t you just be mean to him.”

She chewed on her lower lip, glancing over her shoulder, back to where Rielle and G’raha were still sitting. “I can’t. I have to work with him. And every time I’m even a little bit passive aggressive the Scions look at me like they’re so disappointed in me. It’s like they think the two of us are supposed to kiss or something at any minute, and I’m going off-script and messing it up.” She sighed. “Plus, I thought it would hurt his feelings less coming from you since, you know, that’s just kind of how you are – no offense. He looks up to me for some stupid reason, and I don’t want to break his heart or anything. I just want him to back off!”

“How am I supposed to not be offended by that?” Sid objected, but ultimately let the matter drop. He could tell this was something that had legitimately been bothering her, and he supposed she’d done enough for him to earn a bit of grace. “What did he do that made you so bloody irritated, anyway.”

“It’s…” She reached up and pinched the bridge of her nose. “It’s complicated. I’ll tell you about it later, I promise."

“You’d better.” He had lowered his hackles a bit. He was still annoyed, but he could let it go. “I don’t know what you want me to say to him, but I suppose it’s not like I was planning on making nice with him anyway.”

She smiled sheepishly up at him. “Thanks. I appreciate the support. And… I’m sorry if I unintentionally implied you were a jerk. I mean, you are, but that’s one of the things I like about you!” She reached up to pat his arm.

It was his turn to roll his eyes. “And you’re a pest,” he retorted.

“Which is one of the things you like about me!”

It only annoyed him more that she was right.

They both turned to look back at the table, where Rielle had managed to re-engage G’raha Tia in small-talk,

“So,” Rhiki said casually, “Do you wanna go have sex in the hallway?”

“Yes.”

[vierandancer]

No matter how far she traveled or how many different kingdoms (or worlds) she found herself staying in, Ishgard would always be her second home. Although she had not had a chance to stay as long or as often as she liked, walking through the Gate of Judgment never failed to remind her of everything that had transpired.

She would be sure to pay a visit to the Fortemps Manor and try to drag Ser Aymeric out of his office for a break, but she had one very important stop to make first.

She was amused to find Sidurgu in the Forgotten Knight, but not quite surprised. He was very much a creature of habit. She was surprised, however, to find him there alone.

"I hope you're not still rentin' a room here when you've a perfectly good apartment a very generous someone gave you th'key to," she teased as she approached.

Sidurgu, who had seen her walk in the door, set down his glass and shook his head. "Can a man not drink in peace?"

"Never." With a grin, she moved around the table quicker than he could react and gave him a brief hug. He froze up awkwardly, as expected. She released him and stepped back. "M'sorry it's taken me so long t'visit. World's always in need. No whisperin's o'any other blasphemies runnin' about, I hope?"

"None that I've heard. Ishgard's skies only burned for a few days before returning to normal. But it was mad for awhile there. Then again, it was mostly the clergy who were affected, so..." He shrugged, expression blank. "I didn't lose too much sleep over that." His gaze then focused on her, taking in her appearance up and down. She didn't appear to be worse for wear despite her burdens. "Are you well?"

Meiko nodded. "Aye, fully recovered from battlin' a deity o'despair at th'end o'the universe. Able-bodied an' sound o'mind, as far as I know." Her smile softened as she added, "Thank you for askin'. I worried fierce about you an' Rielle when everythin' started to spread towards Eorzea. But I knew neither o'you would succumb to misery; not after all you've been through. An' like you said -- it was mostly holy men turnin'. You an' Rielle don't exactly frequent the cathedral." Sidurgu snorted and took another drink from his mug. Meiko looked around the familiar bar, then asked, "Where's Rielle, then? She take the apartment for herself finally?"

He hesitated. Then he shook his head slowly, averting his gaze.

"No. She... she's been avoiding home for the last few days."

"What?" Meiko's brow furrowed. "Did you two argue?"

"Not exactly." With a sigh, he looked back at her and put his mug down again, hitting the tabletop with a heavy thump. "She's being a brat. Or just a teenager, I don't know. Don't take any of it to heart, all right? She knows you have important responsibilities, she just..."

"She's mad at me?" Meiko felt her heart drop into her stomach.

"She's upset you don't visit as often. When I told her you planned to come by in the next few days, she got upset and said she didn't want to see you." He waved a dismissive hand. "I told her that was stupid because she clearly missed you. She was praying for your safety every day during all of it. But she's -- I don't know."

"Sidurgu."

"I mean, would I like you to visit more too? Of course I would. But I know--"

"Sid," Meiko reached out and touched his forearm, stopping him before he drew the attention of the rest of the bar. This had clearly been bothering him, too. "I'm sorry."

"You don't have to--"

"No, I do," she insisted. "I agreed t'help you raise Rielle. An' even though I've had good reasons for not bein' here, it doesn't change th'fact that you've both suffered for it. You need support an' she needs a guardian that isn't you on occasion. I've not been able t'provide much o'either these past years, an' I can't promise you the same shite won't happen ever again. So...I do have to apologize for that. An' for th'fact that nothin's likely t'change."

He opened his mouth to say something. Then shut it. Conflicted, remained quiet and frustrated, struggling to come up with a response. She would give him time.

"Is Rielle upstairs?"

"...Aye. She rented out our old room."

"All right. We'll talk more again after she's yelled at me." At his nod, Meiko turned and jogged up two flights of stairs to where the private rooms were settled. Navigating down the famiiar narrow corridor, she stopped before the door marked 3 and gave a few sharp knocks.

"Rielle," she called when there was no immediate response. "S'Meiko. Can we have a chat, please?"

"No," came the sharp response. Even when upset, hearing Rielle's voice never failed to warm her heart. She waited. Eventually, there was a shuffling and the door unlocked before opening up just enough to reveal the teenager's torso. "You don't have to keep visiting, Meiko. I know you have more important things to do."

Ouch. Meiko fought the instinct to over her heart with her palm. Those words stung.

"It's not a matter o'importance, Rielle. It's a matter o'safety. Makin' sure there's a tomorrow for the world so you can live in it," she sighed. "But you've a right t'be mad regardless. I've not been 'round when you needed me. It's my failure, but you're the one that pays for it. Sid, too."

It hurt to know that she had let them down. It reminded her just how unreachable she could be. How any relationship outside of the Scions was doomed to follow the same pattern.

"If it's too painful to only see me now and again, then I can stop comin' around. I'll sign the apartment to you an' Sid only an' give my copy o'the keys. And I can stop comin' to the Knight, too. Won't say hello in the street, either, if that's what you want."

She doubted Sidurgu would be happy with that. But she could always meet him outside of Ishgard and keep in touch with letters.

Rielle, however, only seemed to get more upset. Her grip on the door tightened, voice breaking.

"...That's it? You'll just -- you'll just go away, then? Just like that?"

Ah, fuck. She'd said the wrong thing.

"I don't want to, Rielle," she insisted, running a hand down her face and shaking her head. Damn it all, she was getting choked up, too. "M'tryin' to offer -- to offer whatever'll make you happy."

"That won't make me happy! What'll make me happy is you staying with us! You said you wouldn't abandon me, but you weren't even around when the world was ending! You didn't even come back when everything got better!"

"Rielle, I can't just --!" Meiko bit back what would have been a shout. She didn't want to shout at her. There was just so much she wanted to say, and for the briefest of moments, she was standing back in Ultima Thule standing on the walkway paved by the lives of her friends.

An Elezen poked his head out of his room down the corridor, looking perturbed. Meiko gave a wave of apology and sucked in a breath before looking at Rielle.

"Can we go inside, please?"

Rielle nodded numbly and left the doorway, moving inward to sink down onto the untidy bed. Meiko followed, shutting the door behind her. Not wanting to invade the teen's space, she sat down in an uncomfortable armchair across from her instead.

When Rielle didn't speak, Meiko took a shaky breath and started again.

"Rielle. I cannot begin t'describe everythin' I've faced since I left for Gyr Abania. I know we've seen each other here an'then in th'in-between, but... it..." She shuddered, her breath catching. "I... I needed time away, by myself, after the End of Days were stopped. I needed that time to get my head on straight."

She leaned forward, elbows on her knees.

"I can't escape my fate, Rielle. Titles an' glory an' adventure aside, I will never have a normal life. Only brief respites between th'horrors. If I could settle here in Ishgard, make a home for myself with you and Sidurgu, I would. But that isn't possible. I didn't know that when I promised to take care o'you. I know it now. So as much as it would pain me to be out of your life, I understand why you would. That's all I meant. I'm not givin' up on you. I want to visit you whenever I can, an' I promise t'make a better effort to do so. I'll even try t'write you more, even if it's a struggle. An' I will always, always love you, even if it's from the other side o'the world. But...that's all I can offer. I wish I had more."

Rielle didn't say anything. Meiko, too, could only manage to sniffle here and there. The silence felt like it stretched on for an hour, but it didn't. It only lasted a couple of minutes.

"...I don't want you out of my life," Rielle said finally, voice soft. Fragile. "I'm just...I'm mad that you're not here when I wish you were. And -- And I know it's always for a good reason. I just...I just wish the reason was me sometimes, too. I know it's not your fault, but I'm still upset -- it -- it's just so unfair, I can't stand it! Can't you just retire? I thought the Scions of the Seventh Dawn disbanded!"

"We..." Meiko felt so useless. There was nothing she could really say to comfort her. "We have, Rielle, but ... there's still a lot going on. And it goes beyond the Scions' business now. I..." Gods, she didn't have the energy to explain to her how the world came to be and her connection to Azem. She didn't even know if she was permitted to. "I can't retire. Not while I'm still breathin', at least."

She would die on a battlefield. Or in an infirmary succumbing to her injuries. Or in a great big ball of light, a heroic sacrifice... nothing anywhere as peaceful as she would have liked. No seaside cottage listenng to the waves gently lap against the beach, watching the sun rise for the final time. No comfortable bed and nurturing partner.

She would burn out like a falling star. Brilliant and terrifying. And gone in an instant.

Rielle pulled her knees up onto the mattress and hugged her arms around them, still sulking, but at least more miserable than angry at the moment. Meiko guessed this was her cue to join her, and cautiously put an arm around the girl's shoulders.

"M'sorry, Rielle."

Rielle sighed and leaned her head on Meiko's arm.

"I'm sorry, too."

[writingrightendings]

Dr Shashank x Dr Juhi - Sanjivani (Part 1)

Here's my head canon on what actually happens with Dr Shashank's and Dr Juhi's lives in Sanjivani/Sanjeevani.

First, imma gonna totally disregard the Shashank and Sid storyline. If you must - it's a Hindi soap - Shashank had a nice identical twin brother he never spoke of who is Sid's dad. On that note, it's also the twin brother who died, so there, two problematic plot lines out of the way.

Now Dr Juhi and Dr Shashank. Here's the thing, and other bloggers have noted it too, what IS their deal? So he's in love with her. She clearly has a revived crush. She even takes him on a date and says some "humsafar" stuff.... But girl, what humsafar? Like a friend or a husband or what? She still calls him sir for Pete's sake.

Shashank has the patience of a saint. He's not gonna push her to word it out or label. Now how do these two actually reach the place they're meant to?

I think they continue in this no man's land for a bit. But people around them are slowly starting to notice... You know those "rumours" that Rahul mentioned from 10/15 years ago, that's gonna pick up again because of the rhyme they have with each other. Completing each other's thoughts, weaving music together in surgery, spending their free time at the hospital together, having these in jokes and those half glances. C'mon, their juniors - in their own world that they are, granted! - are gonna take notice. "why aren't sir and ma'am together?" someone's gonna whisper.

But when does our head in sand Juhi take notice? Maybe she falls sick, and it's Shashank who's around her, caring for her. Her private doctor. Maybe they have to be apart for a few days for some conference - they usually go together but this time it didn't work out - and she realizes how MUCH she misses him, it actually hurts. He misses her too but isn't surprised by it. Although amused by her numerous calls (and heck, video calls!) to check in.

And what of their sexual tension. It's present. An underlying theme to their interactions. She's probably in her late 30s/early 40s? He's likely early 50s? I assume it's a 10-12 years age difference between them. Not that age matters for chemistry but just pointing out that everything Shashank said about "iss umar mein" as if one leg was stuck in the grave is rubbish. So yeah, there's this underlying tension between them all the freaking time. But he doesn't touch her ever. The gentleman that he is.

Hmm I'm gonna have to think further to figure out where my couple goes... Love you all for creating and holding this space for me.

[blazenka]

Mirroring Identities

Connor Temple believed he was close to returning to his own timeline and home. Instead he finds himself in a world that should not exist while he struggles with non-existent memories. Can he ever remember his identity? Pre/post Alice. Post Primeval S3.

Original source: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/6106179/1/Mirroring-Identities

Chapters: 13

Published: 2010-07-03 - 2010-09-06  

Words: 19945

Rated: Fiction T - Language: English - Genre: Romance/Drama - Characters: Abby M., Hatter - Reviews: 86 - Favs: 13 - Follows: 15

Exported with the assistance of FicHub.net

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

a

b

Chapter 9:

David wandered through the park aimlessly as he tried to clear his head. Out of all the possible outcomes of today's meeting, he disliked his current predicament the most.

However, David had found out he had a life here and he still wanted to run away. He desperately wanted to forget the whole ordeal and go home with Alice. Until he met Alice he always had the instinct to run away from things. 'God, did she change that,' he thought with light amusement as he sat on one of the benches. Now he ran right into danger for her, for anyone that needed it now. Though, he felt like he could use some help right about now.

A rustle of leaves drew David's attentions to behind him. The first thing he saw was a short hair blonde walking cautiously in his direction. As continued to stare at her, she looked up and David recognized her immediately.

"Abby," he gasped in disbelief, "What are you…?" his question faded as he did not know what exactly to ask. Abby coughed and stated warily, "Since the evidence seems to point to you once being Connor I thought I'd tried to talk to you."

"I said clearly I needed to think alone," he stated as he turned away from her. David tried to pull the lapels of his coat closer to himself as the atmosphere reflected his mood again. Abby sat next to him on the bench while she tried to come up with something to say.

"I know but I thought that if you wanted to learn more about Connor, about your past… er, former life. Since it's probably going to rain any moment, would you like to come to me and Connor's flat?" Abby offered.

Yet, when David kept silent she continued, "Its closer from here than the hotel would be. Maybe you might remember something." David's interests peaked at the mention of his memories and he agreed to go with her as he stood.

Abby unlocked the door to the flat and ushered David in and out of the rain. Immediately as David stepped over the door frame three animals, more like creatures attacked him. David was knocked onto his back as two quadrupeds kept nudging him as a winged reptile climbed on his chest. "Bugger! Quit it you… beaver things. Oi! You quit eating me tie!" David exclaimed as he squirmed on the floor while Abby laughed with pure delight.

This type of joy and laughter had been foreign to Abby for a long time. She knew Rex, Sid and Nancy might recognize David as Connor when they entered the flat but she did not expect them to welcome him quite like that. It made her smile and the ache in her chest seemed to wane as she saw them.

When the pets were satisfied with their greeting, they returned to a respectful distance as David plopped onto the couch. David glances at Abby as if to ask what the creatures were doing and Abby quickly explained, "Connor and I lived in this flat for over three years before he went missing. Over that time we've collected pets from other evolutionary timelines. Rex, the winged one, Sid and Nancy, the other two probably remember you as Connor."

David understood as he wiggled his fingers at the strange creatures in fellow greeting. Sid and Nancy barked cheerfully as they rushed to him while sliding on the hard wood floor. "Not the most graceful creatures on earth are they?" he asked as he petted the two. "No, they never were," Abby commented as she sat with him on the couch.

"Does any of this look familiar?" she asked cautiously and David took a good look around. It did look recognizable to him and that troubled him farther as he silently glanced around. The kitchen from what he could see, the living room and even the tanks for various reptiles all looked hauntingly familiar.

He stood from the couch as headed for closed door that looked like it would lead to a bedroom but stopped as recollection set it. He turned to head to a set of stairs and noticed that Abby was following but he ignored that as he continued to climb the stairs.

David reached the top of the stairs to find a bedroom and he was hit with the strange sense of being home. The room looked almost exactly like he had his apartment in New York, especial with the mess. David glanced back to Abby with confusion and she just smiled. "I kept everything the same. I couldn't move anything, even the clothes you left on the floor," she admitted.

All David could do was nod as he went over the objects that covered shelves and dresser. His attention was then drawn to a closet with various hats, vests and scarves. "Connor had a weird sense of fashion, it seems you do too," Abby commented as she noticed the way he admire the clothing.

David reached out to touch the clothing and as his finger hit the fabrics he was hit with a force of nausea. For some reason his head began to ache as if someone had began to knock him about with a bat. Closing his eyes in frustration, David tried to block the overwhelming sense of pain with no success. Abby moved towards him in concern as he hunched over and all David knew at that moment was he needed to get out of that room.

David moved around her and managed down the stairs as his head began to spin. He reached the bottom and stumbled as images began appearing in his mind - images of him, Abby and the whole ARC team. He gasped in pain as he held his head in his hands.

Abby was right behind him calling his name in concern. She reached him to find him on his knees in pain. "David," she whispered as she kneeled beside him and rubbed his temple soothingly. "Its al'ite, David. Just sit down on the couch and I'll…" she stopped as he looked up at her and she recognized a look on his face.

"Abbs," he gasped at realization as he stood up, never letting his eyes leave hers. "Connor?" Abby sounded shaky as she followed him up. She continued to just stare at him wondering if he would respond to his old name. She decided it was best to respond first. Cautiously, she moved her hand to cup his cheek and smiled, "Conn, if you remember anything I…"

Her words died in her mouth as his lips were suddenly over hers. Abby was startled for a moment as she tried to reason with herself what exactly was going on. Then she could have screamed with happiness and joy as she wrapped her hands around his neck while he wrapped his arms around her waist to pull her closer. 'How many times,' she recalled as he titled her head to obtain better access to her mouth, ' have I regretted not being able to do this? Kiss and admit my feelings to Connor?'

David's head… brain… conscious or whatever was so confused at that moment he was running on nothing but pure instinct. He could remember kissing Abby once but it was nothing like this. She seemed to be clinging to him as if afraid to ever let go and he was as desperately holding on to her as he continued to kiss her.

However, David felt most certainly conflicted as he could remember something in the back of his mind yelling at him to stop. Yet, there was a dominant part at the time that did not want him to stop either. As if a part of him had waited a long time for this and it almost felt - it felt as if he had come home.

Abby stared up at him lazily with her beautiful blue eyes… blue eyes similar to a certain brunette girl from New York. David stopped the action with his lips and eased back from her yet when he opened his eyes his heart nearly broke. "Alice," he mumbled with over whelming guilt as he pulled away from her, "How could I ever for a moment forget Alice?" David mumbled conflicted as different feelings overwhelmed him again.

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[fanforthefics]

A Step Too Far

Geno pranks Sid. It...doesn’t go as planned. 

For the @sidgeno-fluff-fest prompt: comfort items. Not quite comfort, but it sort of centers around an item, at least? Comes in at about 8k. 

tw: bullying (sort of, depending on your POV)

Sid’s still talking.

He’s telling the story of some WWII pilot or something—he’s talking too fast for Geno to catch all of it—and he has been for the past ten minutes. It’s gotten bad enough that everyone other than Jake has started glazing over or has escaped to the bar, and Jake’s only still listening because he still has that hero worship thing going on.

Geno wasn’t paying attention that the beginning, to be honest—he was usually pretty good at figuring out when Sid actually cared if he paid attention or when he just wanted someone to nod as he talked at him—but it’s getting ridiculous. Sid is so intense even about this, talking a mile a minute with his whole face lit up even in the dim light of the bar, his fingers running over his chain like he can’t keep still. It’s at least distracting, watching that—Sid’s fingers and the chain, how the gold slips over his blunt, strong fingers.

Geno blinks. Sid’s still talking. He thinks there are submarines involved now? He’s not sure. Sid’s talking and he’s apparently noticed no one but Jake is really paying attention, because he’s reoriented himself from the table at large to mainly Jake.

“Yes, we get,” Geno breaks in, as Sid takes a breath. He’s taking one for the team, he decides, and that’s backed up by the thankful looks Flower and Tanger give him. “You big nerd, nothing new.” Sid’s head jerks to Geno. Geno smiles at him, all teeth. “Let talk about interesting things now.”

Sid grins, and laughs back. He’s always been able to laugh at himself; it’s one of the things Geno finds most endearing about him. Without that, he’s sometimes thought—usually when Sid was at his most stubborn and irritating—he’d be insufferable. With it, well. It made it easy to tease him. “I’m sorry I like to educate myself,” Sid retorts. He rubs the chain between his thumb and forefinger.

“Educate yourself, fine. Educate all of us…Maybe should quit hockey, be teacher?” Sid makes a face. “Then kids have to listen.”

“You’re free to leave,” Sid retorts.

Geno gestures to wear he’s pinned in by Sid on one side and the wall on the other. “Sorry, ass too big. Got me captured.”

“Oh, fuck off,” Sid snaps, but he’s chuckling as he rolls his eyes. “You want out?”

Geno makes an exaggerated frown. “No use. Trapped here forever.”

“Maybe we can use that on the ice,” Tanger inserts. Geno glances across the table to wear Flower and Tanger are sitting, watching Sid with judgmental eyes. And maybe Geno too, but Geno knows them. Neither of them will miss an opportunity to give Sid shit either. “Trap Giroux in a corner with your ass.”

“Giroux? Think too small, Tanger.” Geno eyes Sid, who’s turning a little red but he’s smiling too, taking it in good sport. “Weber at least. Chara, maybe.”

“Sid wishes he could trap Weber with his ass,” Flower throws in, and Sid goes a bit redder. His fingers have slowed on the chain, now; they’re resting close to his chest, where his shirt is gaping open just a little.

“You guys can all fuck off,” Sid tells them. He’s always the least creative with his chirps. Then his lips curl into a smirk. “Anyway, Shea wishes I would trap him with my ass.”

“Ooh!” Tanger cheers, and Flower toasts Sid with his beer. Jake’s just watching them all with wide eyes, because it always takes a while for rookies to understand that Sid’s actually the dorkiest person ever and isn’t whatever hero they’ve been hearing about since they were born.

Sid’s still smirking. Geno wonders—he knows he and Weber are friends, they were roommates at the Olympics, they still hang out whenever they play each other. Sid…

“Is okay,” Geno says, patting Sid on the head in the way he knows Sid hates because it makes him feel short. Sure enough, Sid glares up at him. “Good to have dreams. Even if Weber, dream little small.”

“Oh?” Sid’s still glaring, but he’s got that tilt to his head that says he’s enjoying it too. His hands are on the chain again, idly stroking it. It’s almost a little obscene. “Isn’t Shea bigger than you?”

“No,” Geno mutters. “I’m definitely taller.”

“We can check,” Tanger suggests, going for his phone. That’s really not necessary, Geno thinks; he’s pretty sure he’s taller than Weber. Or maybe Weber just lied more on his stats.

“No, don’t think so.”

“Yeah, let’s,” Flower agrees, because all French Canadians are equal opportunity shit-stirrers. Geno glares, and Flower gives him his most innocent look. “What? I want to know for next year’s fantasy team.”

“You think you pick me, you crazier than I’m think.”

“Hey, did you see the Habs game last night?” Tanger puts in, still looking at his phone. “Looks like Shea did well.”

“Yeah—it was great,” Sid agrees, leaning in like he always does when hockey comes up. It’s like everything in him just gets a little bit more when hockey is mentioned. It’s another one of those things that should be insufferable but isn’t. “Their penalty kill…”

Geno lets Sid start talking again, even if this time it’s on something that they’re all actually interested in. Apparently all the Habs had a good night; Geno is despite himself drawn into the discussion of the Habs’ prospects, because he likes a good hockey talk as much as the next guy on the team, as long as the next guy isn’t Sid.

He goes to take a sip of his drink, and finds to his surprise it’s empty. That won’t do. They don’t even have practice tomorrow; he needs more. “Sid.” He pushes at Sid’s shoulder. “More beer.”

“Get it yourself,” Sid retorts. “No,” he tells Jake, who had been asking about the points overlay. “It’s—”

“Siiid,” Geno interrupts. “Beer.”

Sid turns his whole body to look at Geno, his eyes drawing together a little. Geno stares back. They both know who’s going to win this, because they’ve been doing this since neither of them could technically get each other beers.  

“Fine.” Sid huffs out a breath, but he gets to his feet. He turns to the rest of the table. “Anyone else?”

“So nice of you to ask,” Flower says with a mischievous smile, and Sid rolls his eyes and pretends to listen to whatever ridiculous drink Flower is going to try to make him order.

“You’re all dicks,” Sid announces, and turns to go to the bar. He greets a few of their other teammates on the way, slapping some shoulders and stopping to talk to some others, making his captain rounds. It’s always amazing, Geno thinks, watching him go, that people think he’s a loner; Geno’s never seen anyone who makes friends as thoroughly as Sid, at least on any team he’s ever been on.

He draws his attention back to the table. Tanger’s taken over Sid’s explanation, and apparently for him it requires props, including but not limited to Geno’s empty beer mug, Flower’s hand, and the menu on the table.

It’s amusing to watch and heckle, enough that Geno doesn’t notice that he remains drinkless until it’s over.

Then he does, and he’s not amused. “What take Sid so long?” he asks. Sid’s usually pretty efficient about completing tasks, even if he can be too polite to edge himself up to bars.

Flower looks around, then he laughs. “I think he started to dream bigger,” he chuckles, and waves at a corner of the bar.

Sid’s leaning against the bar, so from the table they can see his face, but he’s not looking at them. He’s looking at the guy next to him at the bar, whose face Geno can’t see but he can see he’s tall and broad and has thick dark hair, and he’s closer to Sid than is normally acceptable. And Geno wouldn’t even need to see that; he can see how Sid’s oriented himself, how he’s looking up at the guy with that look of his that’s half coy and half a challenge and all trademarked Sidney Crosby intensity, how Sid’s playing with his necklace again but this time it’s less like he can’t sit still and more like he wants to draw attention to the chest showing at his collar, to the deftness of his fingers.

“Well damn,” Tanger lets out a low whistle. “Well done, Sid.”

Geno’s beer is sitting next to Sid’s elbow, forgotten. The guy is leaning in, using the inches he has on Sid to loom just enough that Sid’s flushing. Geno knows that lean. This guy’s not that good at it.

Sid’s chain is wrapped around his finger, and then he lets it fall.

“I’m have plan,” he decides, not looking at Sid anymore. “For prank, on Sid.”

“Okay.” Flower perks up.

“No, I don’t—I’m leaving!” Jake shoves back his chair. “Don’t make me part of this.”

Geno considers dragging him into it, because he needs to learn how to do pranks if he’s going to survive in this locker room, but the kid’s clearly a little tipsy and Geno doesn’t really trust him to keep a secret from Sid anyway. “Fine, go,” he allows, waving Jake away. Jake doesn’t wait for Geno to change his mind.

“Anyway,” Geno goes on. “I prank Sid.”

“Okay.” Tanger nods, and gestures for Geno to go on. “Just, don’t fuck with his game.”

“Of course not!” Geno’s not an idiot. “Not anything with routines. I’m think, take necklace.”

Flower’s eyebrows go all the way up, and he glances at Tanger. It’s not the reaction Geno was expecting. He’d thought it was a great idea. Watching Sid run around like a chicken with his head cut off was always funny. Messing with Sid was always funny, because he took it in good sport and recognized that it united the room and raised everyone’s morale when they got one over on the captain.

But, “Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Flower asks slowly.

“Yes! Will be funny.”

“He really likes his necklace,” Tanger points out. Geno’s noticed. Sid looks like he likes his necklace a lot like now, still doing that idle stroking thing as he talks to the guy.

“Yes, is why it is funny,” Geno explains slowly, in case something’s getting lost in translation. “I take, he look everywhere, I give back.”

They exchange that look again. They’re going to start talking in French soon, Geno can tell.

“You could figure out another prank,” Flower suggests. “I’ve got one I’ve been thinking of, with shaving cream—”

“No, my prank good,” Geno decides. The guy’s even closer now. Sid would just have to turn his hand to touch his chest. Geno’s beer is probably getting warm by now. “Is what he deserve, for forget our drinks.”

Tanger says something to Flower in French. Geno knew it.

“I’m get my own drink,” Geno tells them, and slides out of the booth. If Sid forgot about him, he can get it himself.

He’s at the bar when suddenly Sid is at his side, and Geno nearly jumps. He’d been very pointedly not looking at where Sid was flirting.

“Hey!” Sid grins, and he’s clearly amped from his flirting, flushed and enthusiastic with the attention. “What are you doing?”

Geno raises his eyebrows. “Think you forget about us. Need beer somehow.” Tall guy is still standing where Sid left them, and he’s very obviously watching Sid. Now that Geno can see his face, Geno can admit that he is hot. It’s not like he expected anything else. Sid occasionally does have taste in men, even if not in footwear.

“I was going to come back,” Sid tells him, but then he’s sliding the beer into Geno’s hand, and Flower’s drink at him on the bar. “Here, see?”

“Take you long enough,” Geno mutters, but he glances over Sid’s shoulder at the guy, not trying to be subtle. Sid grins, almost a smirk.

“Yeah, well. Got distracted.”

“Choose boy over teammates?” Geno tsks. “Bros before hos, Sidney. Know that.”

Sid chokes at that. Geno’s always been thankful for Talbo for making sure he learned the right English first. “That’s why I was coming back,” he repeats, and shoves at Geno’s shoulder. He means it, Geno can see. He’s going to come back with Geno, because Sid takes team bonding seriously. Maybe he doesn’t deserve Geno pranking him. It’s not like Geno hasn’t ditched teammates to flirt a little.

“Anyway,” Sid goes on, and he’s smirking again. “I got his number, so.”

No, Sid definitely deserves it. “Of course you get,” Geno tells Sid. “Now come, have to beat Horny in pool.”

“Geno!” Sid complains, but he lets Geno drag him away from the bar. “You know I suck at pool.”

“No, know you aren’t best at pool,” Geno corrects. “Not same thing.”

“Isn’t it?” Sid asks, grinning and Geno grins back. No one’s ever understood him quite like Sid.

///

In the end, it’s not a hard prank to pull off. Sid takes the chain off to shower, so Geno takes a quick shower after practice, gets back to the locker room well before Sidney, and swipes it from his stall. It’s still warm, as Geno puts it carefully in his stall, so he can keep an eye on it while he gets dressed.

Sidney comes in from the showers a few minutes later. Geno’s gotten his pants on, but he’s delaying finishing by chatting with Horny. Horny doesn’t know what’s happening, but he’s on a run about his daughter so Geno can zone out a little, watch over his shoulder as Sid comes in from the shower. He’s laughing with Tanger, his chest flushed from the shower and his smile on from a good practice to lead into the game tomorrow. Tanger says something, then whips a towel at him; Sid snorts and bats the towel away before he goes to his stall.

Geno puts his hand in his pocket, where the necklace is coiled. It feels smooth and warm against his fingers—maybe like it feels for Sid; lighter than his own but still solid.

Sid reaches, like he always does, for the chain—then stops. His eyes narrow. The smile drops from his face, as he looks around the rest of the stall. It makes a little noise; Tanger and Flower look at him, then at Geno with matched skeptical expressions. Geno keeps his face innocent.

“Okay,” Sid suddenly says, loud enough that it cuts through the chatter of the locker room. He’s turned from his stall, and is giving the room his most intimidating captain look. “Does anyone know where my necklace is?”

It gets a number of confused looks. Connor actually looks at his hands, like it might have materialized there.

“Maybe you lose?” Geno suggests, still innocent. Sid’s glare turns to him, but then it skates back to his stall.

“No, I put it right here, like I always do.” Sid gestures at his stall, a choppier movement than he usually uses. “I didn’t lose it.”

“You double check?” Geno suggests.

“Yes, of course I did.” Sid turns back to the stall to triple check, the tension tight in his base shoulders and back. “It’s not there!”

“Sure?” Geno asks again. He’s trying to sound helpful, but he’s much better at bullshitting in Russian.

“I’m—” Sid pauses, then turns to look at Geno. All his muscles are still taut, and his eyes are narrowed into his faceoff stare. “Geno.”

“What?” Geno asks, his most innocent face on. Everyone else seems to be catching on; there are some low murmurs and a few giggles.

“Geno,” Sid repeats evenly. “Give me my necklace.”

“I’m not have!” Geno insists.

Sid’s chest expands with a breath. “Geno,” Sid says one more time, flat. He’s focused everything on Geno; staring at him like the rest of the locker room has dropped away.

Geno lets himself smirk, and he draws his hand out of his pocket, the chain dangling from his fingers as he raises it to chest height. “Oh, you mean this necklace?”

There are a few more snorts, more giggles. Geno waits. This is where Sid rolls his eyes and calls him a fucker and punches him and threatens to get him back, where Sid laughs at how worked up he’d gotten about it, where he makes some joke thanking Geno for keeping it warm for Sid. Where maybe Sid grabs the nearest object to throw at him, and Geno will throw it back and laugh and maybe buy Sid a beer to make up for it so Sid’ll have to spend the next time they’re out at their table, playing with his chain as he rambles on to Geno.

Geno waits, the necklace hanging in front of him. Except—Sid’s staring at the chain, and he’s not smiling, not laughing.

His gaze darts to the side, then to Geno, then back to the chain, and then his chin goes up and he’s got his media face on, his Sidney-Crosby-after-a-bad-game ™ face on. “Thanks,” he says, short and humorless, snatches the necklace from Geno, and turns on his heel to stalk back to his stall.

The room’s silent. The low murmur of amusement is gone, and instead everyone’s either looking or very obviously not looking at Geno, at Sid’s set back as he gets quickly, efficiently changed, packs up his bag, and leaves. Tanger gives Geno a glare to echo Sid’s, then hurries after him.

Geno stares after Sid. Apparently Sid wasn’t in the right mood. Maybe he’ll need to buy him two beers.

He rubs his fingers together, remembering the feel of Sid’s chain between them.

///

Geno doesn’t hear from Sid the rest of the day. That’s not unusual—sometimes they text, sure, but they both do other things too. Geno thinks, vaguely, of texting first—just something so Sid knows that Geno didn’t mean anything by it—but Sid’s never needed that before. He knows that Geno only teases Sid so much because—well, he just always does. Because he likes Sid’s smile when he does, and his goofy laugh. Because Sid has a tendency to take himself too seriously if no one stops him. Because it’s what Geno does. So he doesn’t text first.

The next morning, he gets to morning skate on time for him, which is five minutes late for everyone else. He’s got it down to a science at this point, just how early he needs to get to practice to get on the ice on time. It’s not his fault that he can do it in less time than everyone else.

Everyone’s already there when he gets in, so the locker room is full of the normal bitching about mornings and good-natured challenges. Sid’s already there too, halfway to changed and pulling on his under armor shirt as he chats with Kuni.

Geno drops his bag loudly in his stall, and waits for the shit to start. Sid almost always likes to give him shit about getting in late, because he thinks that just because he drives like a grandpa everyone else does. Geno’s turning to him, ready with his normal retorts on his tongue—but Sid hasn’t looked at him. Sid’s still talking to Kuni, and Tanger’s joined them.

It’s not in itself odd. Sid doesn’t always give him shit for it. But Geno knows Sid too, and he knows the set of his shoulders and the tilt of his head, and he’s not just talking to someone else, he’s not looking at Geno.  

“Sid!” Geno says, loud enough that there’s no way he can pretend he didn’t hear. “Make me get up early, not bring coffee?”

Sid straightens, turns. His media face is back on, a smile like he gives to reporters, and nothing like the squinty eyed smile he gives to friends—to Geno. The chain hangs around his neck, barely visible under his shirt. “I couldn’t carry it for everyone, sorry,” he says coolly, and then turns back. Flower says something in French; Tanger laughs and Sid rolls his eyes and giggles like he usually does when anyone teases him.

Okay, so Sid’s mad. Geno’s not an idiot, he can tell that. Sid just needs to work it out. They always come together on the ice, and it’ll be fine.

Except it’s not. Sid spends all practice being perfectly himself with everyone else, chirping everyone and talking too much and being the good captain, and with Geno’s he’s—well, he’s treating Geno like anyone else. He tells Geno when he did well and when he thinks he can improve, he slaps Geno on the shoulder after a particularly nice shot on Flower, their passes connect like they always do.

But he doesn’t smile at Geno like normal, like Geno’s hockey is the best thing he’s ever seen. He doesn’t laugh or joke with Geno at all. He just—plays hockey with him. He’s never just played hockey with Geno, not even when they were kids and Geno didn’t speak any English.

Back in the locker room, Geno thinks about going over—about saying something. Apologizing, maybe? He’s still not sure what he did wrong, why Sid’s doing this. Sid doesn’t even get mad, not really. He gets hockey mad, sure, but unless you’re a Flyer, it doesn’t go more than a few hours off the ice—and he even got over that with Giroux. They’re friends now, Geno knows. Sometimes they text. Geno’s teased him about that too, about how Sidney has some sort of magic Canadian pheromone that makes all hockey players like him if he spends some time in a room with them.

But other than that, off the ice—Sid’s an even-tempered guy. He gets pissed like anyone else, and sometimes it’s easy to set him off if you mess with his routines, but Geno hasn’t, and anyway, this isn’t Sid’s pissy lectures that last for ten minutes then end. This is something else, something colder and harsher.

Geno gets out of his pads, and makes a move to go over to Sid. To do something, so Sid will stop just talking to everyone else and will start talking to him again. But then Sid turns to survey the room, and his eyes slow as they get to Geno—and then keep going, without even a smile.

Geno makes a face, and turns to Horny to start talking about their line. He doesn’t need Sid either. Horny doesn’t even call him on it, just lets him talk about plays until they’re interrupted by Sid, who’s leaving and does his usual captain not-quite-a-speech telling everyone to rest up and eat a good dinner.

“Like spaghetti?” Geno calls, partly before he can stop himself but also because Sid has to look at him then. And he does, his eyes settling on Geno, and Geno smirks back. Maybe—Sid will laugh and say at least he can cook spaghetti, which is a lie because Geno actually can cook but he likes pretending he can’t so Sid will come cook for him, and they both know it.

Except Sid just nods. “Whatever you want,” he says with a shrug. “See you all.”

He leaves. Geno takes a deep breath, and Horny lets out a low whistle. “Someone’s sleeping on the couch tonight,” he observes.

“I sleep in bed, not know what you’re talk about,” Geno retorts, because pretending he doesn’t get an idiom is always a good way to handle a situation where he doesn’t have a response.

///

He goes home, takes his nap, and gets into his game mode. That’s the same no matter what, and the routine is a comfort. Sid might be mad at him, but Geno still sleeps and eats and gets in his car, and the locker room doesn’t feel any different when he gets there from how it normally does. Sid’s set and as intent as he usually is, the beating center of the team as he moves around the room, talking to the guys who like to talk.

Geno usually doesn’t like to talk—he needs to get into the right headspace, and that means not shooting the shit with everyone else. So he’s not surprised when Sid doesn’t say anything to him, just passes him by. It still feels icier.

Sully comes in to say his piece, then they line up. Geno waits, and then it’s just him and Sid, and Sid looks up and their eyes meet for what feels like the first time in twenty-four hours.

For a second, a horrible, interminable second, Geno thinks Sid’s not going to do it. That Sid’s going to leave him hanging like this. That they’ve broken, utterly and completely.

But it’s Sid, and of course he’s not going to do anything to break his routine. Sid reaches out, and Geno’s hand pressed against his chest, then their heads knock together. It’s only for an instant, probably even less time than usual, but it’s contact. It’s still theirs.

And then Sid’s down the tunnel, and Geno after him, and Geno tries to stop thinking about what Sid’s shoulders are telling him. They’ve got a game to play.

///

They win in OT, on Geno’s goal, and Geno’s hit by four other bodies after it goes in. He doesn’t need to look to know who is who; he knows the one at his side is Sid, hugging him hard in celebration. It’s the icing on a game-winner cake, and Geno goes into the locker room smiling.

He comes out—not frowning, but dimmed. Sid hadn’t thawed. Whatever moment there was on the ice—Sid’s grin and the way he’d looked at Geno like he was the best thing there was—was apparently a one time thing, because when he’d tried to tease Sid about the scuffle he got into in the second, Sid had just brushed it away. It’s getting to the point where other guys on the team are starting to look uncomfortable.

They all end up going out, because they won at home and the rookies are into the idea. Geno gets there late, so people are already settled—the young guys are dancing, and so are some of the older ones but most of them are at a table, arguing loudly in different sets because hockey players are incapable of being quiet in groups.

Sid’s at the table, laughing loudly at something Dales had said. His face is scrunched up into his real smile, and he’s wearing one of his black shirts that always manage to look too small around the shoulders, and his hand’s twisted in his necklace again.

Geno orders two beers, and goes over to the table.

Sid’s not quite in the center, so despite the odd looks it’s easy enough to bully his way into the seat next to Sid, ignoring the wary looks assorted French Canadians are giving him. “Here,” he says, shoving the beer at Sid. “For you.”

Sid looks at it, then at Geno. The edges of his laugh are still in his eyes. “Thank you,” he says automatically. Then, less Canadian-polite reflexes, “I already have a drink, though.”

“I know. Get you another one.” Does Sid not understand peace offerings? When Sid still hesitates, Geno glares. “Sid, take.”

Sid’s eyes dart from Geno around the table, at the people watching them, and then he smiles, that perfect too bright media smile. “Okay, thanks.” He slides it towards himself, and takes another drink of what he already has.

Geno sighs, and starts up a conversation with Kuni across the table from him, because it’s better than thinking about how Sid’s inched his chair over so he’s farther from Geno.

He actually gets pretty wrapped up in that conversation, so he doesn’t really notice when things shift on the other side of the table, until he needs Sid to tell Kuni, Flower, and Tanger that he’s right and he turns to him—but he’s not there. Two empty glasses are, including the one Geno got him, which is something at least, but Sid’s not. Sid, Geno sees quickly, is across the bar, playing pool with Schultzy.

The last time they’d gone out, Geno and Sid had played pool together, and they’d lost but Geno had spent the whole time chirping everyone else as Sid leaned against him and tucked his giggles into Geno’s shoulder, and they’d done a parody of a celly when Geno had gotten a particularly good shot, and Geno was sure Sid hadn’t thought about the guy at the bar’s number at all because they’d been having fun.

Now, Sid is leaning over, that terrifyingly intense look on his face he gets when he’s going to win or god help the world, and Geno’s all the way over here.

He turns away from Sid, only to be met with three looks of varying forms of patience and amusement. He debates bullshitting, but these are actually the guys he probably needs to talk to. “Why Sid so mad at me?”

Tanger snorts. “Because you were a dick?”

“I’m always dick,” Geno points out, which gets a snort from Flower and a nod from Kuni. “Usually, Sid like. Think is funny.”

“He didn’t this time,” Flower informs him. Geno rolls his eyes.

“Yes, I’m notice. Why?”

“You should be asking him that,” Kuni puts in. He always makes what he’s suggesting sound so reasonable, Geno actually considers it for a moment before waving it away.

“Would have to get him to talk, first.” Across the bar, Sid’s shoving at Hags, his face set in that expression where he lost and he’s trying to go against all of his nature and be a good sport about it.  “Why won’t he talk to me?”

“You were mean,” Flower says, condescendingly patient in that way Geno hates. “He’s allowed to be hurt.”

“I’m not mean!”

“Seems like it.”

“I’m just tease! Is what we do!”

“Does he know that?” Kuni puts in, and Geno glares, outraged.

“Of course!” Of course Sid knows it’s just teasing. Of course Sid knows that Geno would do anything for him. Sometimes it feels like half the words out of Geno’s mouth are talking about how amazing Sid is, and he stands by every one of them. Geno would move mountains for Sid. Geno would—he would do a lot of stupid things for Sid. Even more than the rest of the team would, he thinks, and that’s a lot. None of Geno’s teasing counteracts that. “Of course,” Geno repeats, less sure. Sid has to know.

Tanger says something to Flower in French, and Flower replies in the same language. Geno glares. He knows that move. He’s done that move. That means they’re talking about him. “What?”

Another quick French exchange, then Flower smiles, all teeth. “Just saying, your pigtail pulling was a lot cuter when you were twenty.”

Geno decides not to humor that with a response. He just shoves away from the table. He needs another drink. He needs not to think about Sid and the wall that’s come down and stupid meddling Quebecois.

Across the room, Sid’s leaning over the pool table again. At this angle, his chain’s fallen out of his shirt, and Geno can see the 87, the glitter of the gold like a magnet drawing Geno’s eyes to the strong lines of his neck.

Geno definitely needs more beer. If he doesn’t, he’s going to go over to the pool table and do something stupid like yell, so. More beer.

///

Geno goes home disappointingly sober, though probably that’s good given they have another early practice then a game the next day, and then a roadie. But in that moment, it’s disappointing, because it means Geno can’t stop thinking. Sid has to know. Sid usually likes Geno’s teasing, and how he pushes Sid around a little bit and doesn’t let him get away with anything. It’s been a basic part of their friendship for almost ten years. Taking his necklace wasn’t anything different.

Except Sid had spent the whole evening away from Geno, circling between groups of teammates in a way that wasn’t abnormal except for how whatever group he was with was never the one Geno was with. Usually at bars, Sid’s the base that Geno always comes back to, going out to dance or flirt or drink and then coming back to try to coax Sid into one of those activities or just to talk with Sid, because that was always the best part of any night out—Sid with his cheeks a little flushed with alcohol and laughter giggling at something Geno had said.

Geno had missed that. And if Sid somehow fooled himself into not realizing Geno thought that, he’ll have to convince him of it again.

The next morning, he gets up inhumanly early so he can go half the city out of his way before practice. He actually gets to practice early, which earns him plenty of mock-gasps and a mimed heart attack, but he flips them all off and carefully sets down his acquisition in Sid’s stall, where he’ll find it first thing.

When he satisfies himself with the arrangement, half the locker room is gaping at him. He glares, his best Russian bear impression, and most of them stop.

Flower’s waiting near his stall, and he’s got his shit-talking smile on.

“Don’t start,” Geno warns, and Flower smirks and holds up his hands like he was never going to say anything at all.

Sid comes in a few minutes later. Geno watches him out of the corner of his eye, and he’s definitely not the only one, because no one’s tried to get Sid’s attention yet like they often do.

Sid sets down his back, straightens—and pauses, as he sees the box from his favorite bakery sitting on the shelf. “What?” he asks, leaning forward so he can open it. His eyes go big, then he twists to look at the locker room. The expression on his face is wavering between happiness and wariness. “My birthday’s not til August, guys.”

“Maybe you have a secret admirer!” Connor suggests, his face very carefully innocent. Geno shoots him a look that he hopes communicates just how much he’s going to fine him next time he has half an excuse.

“Maybe someone’s trying to fatten you up,” Tanger adds, pinching at Sid’s side. Sid bats him away.

“Maybe we stop asking about Sid’s present, and go play hockey?” Geno says, louder than he means to. Sid’s gaze flicks to him, holds. Geno wants to squirm. Wants to memorize how it feels, because Sid hasn’t looked at him in what feels like years.

“Oh,” Sid says, his fingers tangling in his chain and his teeth digging into his lower lip. He’s not smiling, but he doesn’t look upset, either. Confused, if anything.

Geno decides to count it as a win, and goes to play some hockey.

///

They lose that night, which is a shitty way to go into a roadie and just compounds the fact that Geno’s offering didn’t immediately clear everything up and Sid didn’t immediately start treating him normally again.

Fine then. Sid’s not a subtle guy; Geno can be more direct, even if it hurts. It’ll be worth it, if Sid’ll smile at him again, and not spend all his time holed up with Flower and Tanger speaking in French so Geno couldn’t understand it even if he wanted to. Sid doesn’t even like French. Tanger and Flower always spend most of their time teasing him about how bad his French is. They’re apparently allowed to do that.

They’re in New York the next day, and the team apparently took the loss yesterday as a fire under them, because they’re playing like a team possessed, Sid most of all. He’s on the sort of tear he gets when someone threw him a challenge, and Geno loves when Sid’s like this, when Sid’s pushing them all forward, pushing Geno to match him, be better. It feels like magic when they’re on the ice together, like it has since they were twenty, and when Sid breaks the tie in the last thirty seconds of regulation off of Geno’s assist with one of those insane shots that make Sid who he is, Geno’s the first one who hits him, grabbing him and spinning him around with his momentum.

“Sid!” he yells, and Sid’s alight with victory and he’s grinning at Geno like nothing else could ever matter.

Then the rest of the guys on the ice are hitting them, and Sid’s accepting the pats from them and Geno lets them in.

He catches Jen’s eye, as they file down the tunnel. She gives him the special exasperated look she saves just for him, but she hangs back to talk. “What?” she asks, sounding harried. “We made a deal, you do—”

“I talk to media today,” he announces, cutting her off. He almost wishes he had a camera to catch her expression.

“Seriously?” then she shakes her head. “Never mind, not looking a gift horse, etc. Okay, you’re on.” She pauses, then raises her eyebrows. “Are you going to do something I should know about?”

Geno thinks about it, but he’s not going to do anything unusual. That’s the whole point. “No,” he tells her. Then, because it was an odd question—he and Jen trust each other generally, and he knows that she never puts his slips down to anything other than language—“Why?”

Her lips press together. “Well, if you were going to make a grand gesture, I’d want to be prepared.”

“Grand gesture?”

She pats his arm, all perfectly poised condescension. “Try flowers,” she suggests. “That’s what my husband does, when he messes up.”

“I’m not—” There were so many things wrong with that sentence, not least of which that Jen knew that something had happened. He hated all his gossipy teammates.

“Okay.” She clearly didn’t mean it, but she let him off the hook. “Be ready for questions.”

“I’m always ready!” he retorts, and she laughs and lets him go.

He gets a lot of confusion when he settles in to let the reporters talk without complaining, both from the team and from the reporters themselves, who basically all know him by now. He catches Sid giving him a sidelong look, that same wary confusion, though, so his plan is working.

He answers all the bullshit questions, the shit they always ask like he’ll say something different, waiting. They always ask him the question when Sid’s had a hot night, he knows it’ll come.

Finally, “So that last goal of Crosby’s was pretty impressive—how do you think it compares to McDavid’s gamewinner that everyone was talking about last week?”

Geno sits up straighter, and glances over to where Sid’s answering questions. They seem to be dying down; he raises his voice as he answers, so hopefully Sid’ll hear him. “I think—Sid best.” Geno shrugs. The reporters are crowding in, because Geno is giving them some great quotes, but it means he can’t see Sid, if Sid heard. “I’m say for years, is still true. New guys, they good, but is no one like Sid. On ice, off ice. Best captain. Best guy. Best player. After me,” he adds, to get the laughs. “But is no comparing. Not to me.”

“Geno—” the reporters start, but they’ve shifted and Geno can see Sid. Can see Sid watching him, his eyes big, before he blinks and goes back to his own media.

Geno gets done first, so he heads to the showers before Jen yells at him for something. Before Sid gets done, maybe, and asks him about it. Before it might not have been enough.

“So,” Tanger says, because he must have been waiting to ambush Geno when he was naked and at his most vulnerable. “That was quite a speech.”

“Not a speech.”

Tanger waves his hand, dismissive. “A gesture, then.” He’s smiling, but his gaze is sharp. “They’re going to get a lot of mileage out of that.”

Geno shrugs again. “Is—if Sid…is worth it.” It’s not like he was lying. Not like it’s anything he hasn’t said before. Everyone knows his position on this.

Tanger’s smile softens, and he claps Geno on the shoulder. “Bon chance, mon ami.”

Geno doesn’t think he needs luck, but he’s not going to say no to it, either, especially not from someone who might be able to push Sid one way or the other.

“Spasibo,” he mutters, and dunks his head under the spray so Tanger can’t talk to him anymore.

///

There’s noise about finding a bar in New York after, but Geno’s tired and he doesn’t feel like getting teased about his sound bite for the whole night, so he begs off. He can’t tell what Sid’s going to do—he’s talking with Flower up by the front of the bus, and Geno’s too far back to figure out what he said. If even after that speech, Sid’s still going to go out—maybe find a guy, in this city where he’s mostly anonymous; maybe even just stand at the bar and flirt with someone, his eyes dark and his fingers teasing at his necklace like a taunt of what else they could do—Geno can’t see it.

He gets back to his room and strips out of his suit, pulls on sweats instead and his laptop, so he can maybe fine something to watch. He’s debating how much distraction he needs when there’s a knock on the door—one of the kids, hoping he’ll go out with them, he bets, and so he’s already saying, “I’m say, I not go—” when he opens the door.

Then he stops. “Hey,” says Sid. He’s changed too, into one of his five million sweats and Pens t-shirt combination, and he’s still a little mussed from the shower, and he’s fiddling nervously with his chain and Geno’s heart thumps painfully. “Can I come in?”

Geno steps back to let him in. Sid pushes past him, getting to the center of the room then turning in a circle, like he’s realizing there’s nowhere really to sit other than the bed. They’ve sat on each other’s beds in hundreds of hotel rooms, but something in Geno’s stomach twists at the thought of Sid on his bed, here and now.

Instead, Sid leans against the desk, half-perching, and crosses his arms over his chest. Geno doesn’t want to sit on the bed, then, and the desk chair is too close to Sid, so he just sort of hoves in the center of the room. What does he usually do with his hands when he talks to Sid? He’s somehow forgotten.

“Um. So…” Sid starts, and it’s so Sid that Geno starts to laugh.

“Sid,” he chuckles, and Sid’s grin flashes, quick and sweet.

“Sorry, this is weird!” he protests. “We’ve never had to do this before.”

He’s not wrong. It’s still so very Sid, and Sid had smiled at him, and it drags something out of Geno that he doesn’t do often. “I’m sorry,” he says. Sid’s eyes immediately go wide, and his eyebrows go up. “For—still not sure why what I did was worse than usual, but am sorry it made you mad.”

“Yeah.” Sid uncrosses his arms so he can run a hand through his hair. “It really—I mean, it was mainly me, and you couldn’t no, so maybe I overreacted, sorry.”

Geno rolls his eyes. His ridiculous Canadian captain. “Can’t apologize for what I’m apologize for, Sid.”

“Apparently I can,” Sid retorts, and Geno relaxes even more. “But, like. I know. I heard you, today. And with the cake. And—it really was—like, it probably wasn’t any worse than the shit we usually give each other.”

Geno sort of wants to drag in Flower and Tanger to make them hear that, so they know he was right. But also, “And?” he prompts. “You take worse, so—why?”

Sid bites at his lip again. “It’s, well. You know how it was for me, when I was a kid? With, well. The locker rooms weren’t always friendly.”

“I know.” Geno has heard the stories. Geno has wanted to go hunt down every kid who ever hurt Sid or made him afraid or said anything cruel and punch them, then shove their face into Sid’s trophy cabinet.

“Yeah, well. Sometimes, they would take shit from my stall—like, normally just little stuff, but it was sometimes my clothes—and they thought it was funny when I freaked out, so.” Sid shrugs, matter of fact. “It just, you doing that…It made me think of you like them.” Sid lifts his head, and his eyes are very very serious, and still just a little hurt. “I know you aren’t, but it still was—that you’d do something like them.”

Geno is going to kill all of those kids, and then he’s going to get someone to punch him in the face.

“Sid, I’m not—I’m not mean—”

“I know.” Sid gives him a weak smile. “I do, and I heard you today, but…”

“I’m not mean,” Geno repeats, because Sid needs to understand this. He crosses the room, so he can grab Sid’s shoulders, make sure he stays here. “Not—not want to laugh at you, or be mean.”

Sid’s gaze is even, but his brow furrows. “Then—what’s the point of the prank?”

“Because—” and here’s the thing Geno’s never really said, never admitted to anyone, even himself, but Sid needs to know he wasn’t like those kids, because he doesn’t want Sid to cut him off again. “Because, I want you to look at me.”

Sid’s eyebrows go up. “G, I look at you all the time.”

Geno shakes his head. He knows he’s going red. “Not like—you at bar, using chain to flirt, and you—want you to look at me always,” he mutters, and lets go of Sid so he can duck his face. He can’t say this and look at Sid. “Not flirt with other guys. Just with me.”

“Oh.” Geno refuses to look at Sid, but he can hear the wonder. “Oh. Geno…”

“Is fine if—I stop, I know, I can be dick about it, and is not—”

“G,” Sid says, and then his hand’s on Geno’s chin, tilting it up so he has to look at Sid. Sid’s smiling—grinning, really, and he’s looking at Geno like the world could fall apart around them and he wouldn’t notice, like all of Sidney Crosby’s famous intensity is focused right on him. “I’m always paying attention to you.” He licks his lips, and Geno can’t help looking, and when he manages to stop Sid’s smirking. “You didn’t have to spend eight years pulling my pigtails—”

“You and Flower, so obsess with pigtails,” Geno retorts, but he’s smiling too, because he knows the look Sid is giving him, and he’d never really thought, but he doesn’t want to be anywhere but here. “You not have enough hair to pull anymore.”

“That’s not really true,” Sid replies, his face even other then his dancing eyes, and Geno chokes. “I mean, unless you don’t think you can—”

“Think you need to shut up,” Geno tells him, and Sid’s laughing even as Geno gets a hand in Sid’s chain to yank him in to kiss him.

///

After, they’re lying on the bed, Geno still has his pants on, but he’s shirtless and Sid’s propped up on one elbow, idly tracing lines on his chest. Sid is naked, though, so Geno thinks he’s getting the better part of this deal, because he can lie back and watch Sid, with his messy hair and swollen lips and the mark on his chest that is definitely going to turn into a bruise, and bask.

Sid drags his finger over Geno’s pec, towards where his own cross is lying against his chest, when he pauses.

“Wait, did you apologize?”

Geno narrows his eyes. “You make me!”

“No, Geno apologized! I’m telling everyone. This is a first.” Sid goes for his phone, and Geno lunges, gets his arms around Sid’s waist to pull him back. It also gets Sid squirming against him, laughing as he stretches. “Come on, I’ve never heard of you actually apologizing before!”

“I say never happened,” Geno warns. “You big liar, everyone knows. Maybe not hear right.”

“Nope.”

Geno tugs, and turns, so Sid’s underneath him, grinning up at him as Geno hovers over him. He’s laughing and his eyes are glinting with it as he looks up at Geno, naked but for the chain on his chest and one sock. “I’m say you apologize first,” Geno decides, and silences Sid’s giggles with a kiss.

[sinslasherfics]

Slashers with a sibling!reader trying to sneak out (part 1 of 2)

fell in love dearly w this request... had fun writing it 😆 it’s a little different from my other works but i love it nonetheless! hope you all enjoy it as much i do! i’ll be doing more slashers in part 2!

requested by @marceline1212​

-

MICHAEL MYERS

i have a feeling Michael would most definitely be overprotective of a younger sibling. rz mikey, at least. it could get overwhelming. which is why here you were, trying to sneak past his vigilance to meet up with a few friends. sure, you could’ve asked him, but it would have been a flat out no anyway.

maybe...wait until he’s asleep? he’s a pretty heavy sleeper... you thought to yourself, chewing on your bottom lip as you attempted to form a flawless plan. hope of sneaking past him as he slept was thrown out the window when you peeked your head out from your room to hear him shuffling around downstairs. you groaned, realizing you had to find some other way to get out. you had promised to meet your friends at a certain time and Michael would not be asleep by then. sighing you turned to your window.

ah ha! the window! you grinned to yourself, feeling early success run through your body. picking up a few essentials, you opened the window as quietly as you could, wincing as the cool air of the night rushed in with a quite noisy whoosh. you could only pray Michael hadn’t heard it. you threw your legs out of the window, looking down to see just how far up to were, eyes widening at just how far the ground was from your feet. “oh, whatever.” you hissed out, and pushed yourself out of the window with a grunt.

it proved to be a huge struggle, though, as you tried your hardest not to fall. you wouldn’t be too injured if you did but it would alert your older brother which was the last thing you desired. you stepped carefully, palms sweating to your disadvantage. you could have yelled in victory once you were about a foot from the ground, but settled on cheering in your mind instead. you threw yourself down with a soft thud, not loud enough for Michael to hear. or, so you thought.

for as you stood, brushing yourself off, you took a glance at the window you had landed nearby to find your brother staring at you through it, unimpressed. ‘get back inside. now.’ his eyes spoke for themselves, and with a whine, you stomped towards the front door; Michael following to open it for you.

SINCLAIR BROTHERS (VINCENT SINCLAIR, BO SINCLAIR, LESTER SINCLAIR)

sneaking out? with three way overprotective brothers constantly watching over you? near damn impossible. there was no way in hell they’d let you, but it’s worth a shot is it not? it was getting dark out, night settling over the small town of ambrose. your friends were going to hang out at a diner nearby, and you were so sure that your brothers would have approved.

unfortunately, you only got the okay from Lester. It was 2 against 1, so going by the majority, it was a no. “what, do ya think your grown? hell no.” you rolled your eyes at Bo, huffing “Yes, I do think I’m grown. I should be allowed to get of this town, Lester does it all the damn time!” Bo’s eyes narrowed at you. “Watch your tone with me.” It was evident that Bo could not and would not be swayed, so you put on your best puppy dog eyes as you turned to Vincent.

“Please, Vince! I’ll get back on time, honest. and you know I don’t go around looking for trouble, it’s just a quick little hangout!” your brother silently shook his head, much to your dismay. That was the last conversation you’d had with your brothers today before you stormed to your room, making sure to slam the door shut. now, here you were, plotting the perfect sneak out plan. you knew all of your brothers’ current whereabouts. Vincent was likely working on something per usual, Bo was probably at the shed getting stuff done, and you’d heard that Lester hit the road once more. 

you grinned to yourself, confident with your plan and sure things would run smoothly. throwing a pair of shoes on, you hastily opened up your bedroom window, jumping down to the ground as you weren’t too high up. got past vincent, now to sneak past Bo.you thought to yourself, biting on your lower lip. sure enough, he was in the shed where you’d expected him to be. from the looks of it, he was too caught up in trying to get some old thing to work. 

“fate seems to be on my side.” you hummed lowly to yourself before your eyebrows furrowed. “in fact, fate’s being a little too nice to me.” your next steps were cautious, tip toeing as if the ground beneath you would shatter if you walked too noisily. you were right, however, of fate being too nice, for as you placed your foot down it made a rather loud noise and alerted Jonesy. you silently cursed to yourself as she growled, moving towards her to shush her. “hey! Jonesy girl, it’s just me, just y/n! listen, i need ya to hush can you do that for me?” she stared at you for a second, allowing you to pet her face. that was before she let out a loud bark, alerting bo as he quickly dropped whatever he was doing to check what had disturbed the sleeping dog. you weren’t quick enough to get away, as you found yourself standing like a deer in headlights as bo shined his flashlight on you. “now what the hell are ya doin’ out here?” he was clearly pissed, his jaw clenched and his grip on the flashlight tightening. well, plan A failed. what was plan B again? ah right. book it.

you broke into a sprint, running past both jonesy and bo. Both were in hot pursuit of you, jonesy thinking it was a fun game and Bo cursing under his breath at you. so close, so close to freedom! you thought to yourself, relief flooding through you. A hand reaching out to grip the back of your shirt stopped you, and you could have sucker punched the person in the face. so close...so...close. you were sure bo was way behind you. glancing up to your captor, you met Lester’s gaze; one of his brows raised in amusement. when the hell did he get back? you didn’t focus on that too long, though, because all you were worried about right now was Bo stalking up to you menacingly, Vincent right behind him.

BILLY LOOMIS

you were kinda hoping you could sneak right past him, since he was preoccupied making plans with his girlfriend, sidney. you’d almost gotten away with it, managing to make it from your room to the front door, when Billy stepped out from his own room raising an eyebrow at you. “where are you going?” he questioned, eyes narrowing at you. “out with friends. we’re just gonna hang out at a nearby diner.” you responded, smiling nervously. “with permission from who?”

your eyes rolled at his question. “didn’t think I needed permission when you go just about anywhere at anytime without any.” he only gave you a smirk. “well, that’s because i’m way older than you.” “a year older.” you deadpanned, nonetheless walking away from the front door to plop down onto the living room couch. you watched as he walked past you, making his way to his room. “and I heard you making plans with sid. how is it fair at all that you get to go out and i don’t? it’s not even that late out.” a sigh escaped him, one heard from where you sat at.

“it’s 10 pm. and didn’t i tell you why already?” you glared in his direction. “that’s not a valid reason!” your words came out hissed, evoking a laugh from billy before you heard his bedroom door shut close. ‘fine then. i’ll just find another way out.’ and that’s how you found yourself staring out of your 2-story bedroom window, contemplating what you were about to do.

“if billy can climb in and out of windows so can i!” you encouraged yourself, stepping out of the window and onto the roof tiles, carefully moving along as to not fall. every step you took, however, was way too noisy and you were sure Billy would hear it if you kept going. With a huff, you lowered yourself as far down onto the ground as you could before letting go off the roof and landing softly on the floor. your arms shot up in victory as you stood, having a mini celebration in your yard with a grin on your face. 

the sound of the front door knob being twisted caused your heart to fall, and you barely had any time to hide before billy emerged from the house; dressed up to go to sidney’s house you assumed. his eyes widened in shock when they landed on you. “how the hell did you get out here?” his gaze went from you to the window you left open in your room. “seriously?” he laughed at the pout on your face and the obvious struggle you went through. “get back inside, y/n”

[malk1ns]

december thirty-one: "you invited me over for new years eve and i assumed it would be just us but there's a huge party at your house and i've been looking for you for the last twenty minutes"

Geno’s long driveway is completely full when Sidney pulls up, cars spilling out to line the street in from the gate. He manages to squeeze into a spot, then trudges through the slush up to Geno’s front door.

He wonders if maybe he should have brought more than one bottle of wine as he pushes the door open, but by the half-full glasses abandoned on every available surface and the distant sounds of loud Russian, he figures they’re doing just fine without more contribution from him.

Sidney’s toeing off his shoes and wondering how on earth he’s going to track Geno down when he hears a voice behind him.

“Sidney, I’m not know you’re coming!”

It’s Anna. Sidney cringes a little before turning around to smile at her.

Truth be told, Anna scares him, more than a little bit. She’s shockingly gorgeous, smarter than most people Sidney spends his time with, and is utterly unimpressed with athletes or the rigors of a hockey lifestyle. Geno’d had an on-and-off mostly-sex arrangement with her starting right before Sochi and ending shortly after their third Cup win; he’d come in to practice with an impossibly smug expression and scratches down his back that he was more than happy to be teased about, and the next week he’d be despondent because they’d had yet another fight and she’d gone back to Miami.

They ended things a few years ago, and Anna’s married now; Geno’s her son’s godfather, and they spend a ton of time together in Miami and Moscow when they’re both in town at the same time. It’s totally platonic, and Geno adores having a little kid in his life to spoil; Sidney has no reason to be jealous.

He still is, though. Anna had gotten a side of Geno that Sidney never got to see, one he was desperate to know even if he hadn’t been ready to admit it to himself, and he’s always suspected that she knew; something about how she looked at him, as if he was the most obvious thing in the world and she found his pining amusing.

She has that same look now, giving his outfit a once-over as one side of her mouth ticks up. Sidney resists the urge to smooth down his shirt.

“Geno invited me last night,” he says, holding out the wine for lack of anything else to do with his hands. “I brought…Do you know where he is?”

Anna reaches forward, but instead of taking the bottle, she wraps her fingers around Sidney’s wrist. “Sid,” she says seriously, looking up at him with narrowed eyes. “Zhenya, he’s like my best friend. He’s favorite uncle for my boy, part of my family. And I’m know how it’s like for him, be on team with you for so long. It’s maybe not thing I need to know, but I’m ask anyway—you’re serious for him?”

“Oh,” Sidney says, surprised. “I mean, yeah, of course. I’m in love with him. I’ve never been more serious.”

Anna studies him for a minute, then nods and steps back. “Good you’re realize,” she says. “It’s a lot of years he’s sad for you, I’m see it for so long.”

Sidney hadn’t realized that either of them had been quite so obvious. Then again, Anna’s always been observant—she hadn’t talked a lot, especially when her conversational English hadn’t been as good as it is now, but she clearly hadn’t missed much. “I think we both had to realize a few things first,” he says carefully, glancing up at Geno’s ridiculous hall clock. He’d already been running late, even for one of Geno’s all-night ragers; he’d gotten stuck on a call with his mom, who he’s never felt comfortable hanging up on and who seems to think he’s in some sort of solitary crisis after his breakup.

Anna catches what he’s looking at and smirks at him. “I think he’s take break, out back by stairs,” she offers. “Thank you for wine, it’s look expensive.” She neatly plucks the bottle from his hands and disappears, leaving Sidney to look after her in bemusement before getting his shoes back on.

He’s waylaid by a few of Geno’s friends that he’s met here and there, all of them drunk and cheery and more than happy to clap him on the back and babble at him. Sidney nods and smiles and slowly winds his way through to Geno’s backdoor, grabbing a stray bottle of champagne and slipping out the back door.

Geno’s backyard is sparkling with the lights he and Sidney had put up the other day. With the snow on the ground and flakes gently falling from the sky, it looks magical, a scene from a fairy tale. Sidney stops and takes in a deep breath before heading to the sweeping white staircase on the other side of Geno’s shooting pad, where Geno’s sitting and looking up at the sky.

“Hey,” Sidney says, settling next to Geno after brushing some snow off. “What are you doing out here?”

Geno shrugs and leans into him. “It’s loud, hot. I’m need break. What you’re bring?”

Sidney holds up the bottle. “I dunno, it was on a table, I grabbed it on my way out here. You want some?”

“Yes, sure,” Geno says, watching as Sidney works the cork free and carefully pops it, then grabbing it to drink the little that frothed over before handing it back to Sidney.

“It’s almost midnight,” Sidney says after a while, glancing down at his watch. “Like, just a few more minutes.”

“Yes,” Geno says, leaning back and propping his elbows on the step behind him. “I’m think maybe you’re not come after all.”

Sidney winces. “I know I’m late, I’m sorry. My mom called, and…”

Geno laughs. “Can’t hang up on mama, I’m know this. It’s okay, just glad you’re come.”

“I wouldn’t miss it.” Sidney looks at his watch again as the noise from inside the house swells. “Hey, there’s only a minute left. Do you want to go back in and count down with everyone?”

Geno sits up straight and twists so he’s looking at Sidney. “No,” he says, looking down at his own wristwatch. “It’s thirty seconds.”

“I could count down,” Sidney offers, smiling up at Geno and setting the half-empty bottle to the side.

Geno shakes his head, and Sidney opens his mouth to ask what’s up, but before he can say anything, Geno cups his jaw in one enormous hand, leans down, and kisses him.

Sidney makes a breathy half-laugh half-sigh into Geno’s mouth, parting his lips and kissing back with all the affection he can manage.

There’s yelling from inside the house; it must be midnight. Sidney’s happy to stay outside, though, starting his year the way he intends to continue it.

Geno’s hand is cold. So is the stone step they’re sitting on. Sidney can’t feel anything but warmth.

a series of ficlets based on the prompts in this post—with a few added and modified to suit my purposes :)

december one: A lends mittens to B even though they are way too big but B is blissfully happy and doesn’t plan on giving them back

Sid’s insistence on being the most Canadian Canadian to ever live is gonna kill him one day, Zhenya thinks, watching idly from the bus as Sid subtly flexes his bare fingers after pocketing his sharpie, shifting back and forth on his feet and gamely making conversation with the fans who’d found where their bus was parked at the arena and asked for autographs.

They’d hit the jackpot—everyone was in a good mood after the win, so Jason had the group of three stand near the bus door, and as the team filed in they all paused to sign something, endure a little small talk, and maybe take a picture or two. Even Zhenya had ducked down and done his best to smile naturally for a selfie, trying not to grimace even though his knee was aching at having to crouch so low to get in the frame.

Sid, though. Sid had been last in line as always, darting outside with his curls still wet against his jacket collar, and of course he’d been stuck with the brunt of the fan adoration—and he didn’t have on gloves.

Finally, Sully leans out of the bus door with a smile Zhenya knows is as fake as Sid’s jawline, saying something Zhenya can’t quite make out; whatever it is, the fans disperse, and Sid finally gets on the bus, scowling at the sarcastic round of applause Zhenya leads.

“Fuck you all, sorry for being nice,” he snaps, which is weak even for Sid.

He makes his way unsteadily down the bus aisle, holding onto the seat backs as the bus rumbles into motion; a particularly strong jolt as they go over a speed bump almost sends him toppling into Zhenya’s lap.

Zhenya steadies him, but instead of leveraging him back into the aisle, tugs him down further, scooting over to the window and pushing Sid down into the aisle seat.

“Hey,” Sid protests, but it’s perfunctory, and as soon as Zhenya pulls his hands back Sid relaxes into the seat, curling up a little into himself.

Zhenya opens his mouth, a chirp about how Sid being too bottom-heavy to be so clumsy at the tip of his tongue, but he stops, eyeing Sid’s trembling hands with disapproval.

“Sid,” he scolds, hooking his foot around the strap of his bag and tugging it out from under the seat in front of him, “where gloves? Hair all wet, no hat, no gloves—you gonna freeze. Not smart.” He bends down, splaying his knees out and knocking into Sid’s, pawing through his bag until he finds his own gloves. “Here, put. Stupid, Sid.” He shakes the gloves in front of Sid’s face.

Sid wrinkles his nose and snatches them away from Zhenya, dropping one in his lap and examining the other. “I was fine, G, stop fussing, you’re turning into your mom. It’s warm in here anyway.”

“Put,” Zhenya insists, staring down his nose at Sid until Sid slips the glove on with an aggrieved sigh, tugging it as far down his wrist as he can.

He wiggles his fingers at Zhenya, then jabs his hand into the seat back in front of him. The material collapses until his fingertips hit the seat. “Jesus, your hands are big,” Sid observes.

Zhenya’s glad the bus is warm and he’s still got his coat on—an easy way to explain the sudden rush of heat to his face. Because that’s—Sid doesn’t mean it that way, Zhenya knows that, but when he says it like that, with his voice all low and raspy from yelling during the game, looking at Zhenya from the corner of his eyes, it sounds like a come-on. Zhenya’s heard less blatant lines in the gay bars he sneaks away to sometimes.

Sid’s still looking at him. His cheeks are still pink and chapped from the chill outside, and his hair is curling as it dries. Zhenya swallows, forces himself to poke his tongue through his teeth. “No, is normal, you’re just smallest,” he says, jostling Sid with a sharp elbow.

Sid rocks away, then back into Zhenya’s side. “You can think that,” he says casually, working his bare hand into the other glove. “Thanks, G. I’ll give them back to you later.”

“Okay,” Zhenya says, looking out the window and trying to ignore Sid’s thigh pressed along his like a brand. Sid isn’t cold at all.