#Sidney Crosby Imagines

[flashyfucker]

by the water, euphoria | sidney crosby ✷

PART TWO / MY MASTERLIST summary: your first summer spent at your family’s beach house after dropping out of college. your older sister is married to a hockey player, and you’re about to share a bedroom wall with his team’s captain for a few weeks. sidney crosby x fem reader. word count: around 5.6k. warnings: smut......kinda. uhhh oral fixation to the max. dom sid but also dumb sid. age gap (reader is about 21ish i think but it’s never really stated). alcohol, cigarettes. she’s a lil angsty too, we love her for it.

It felt like people were leaving as fast as they were arriving. Half a hockey team and their partners, kids, and dogs, a friend of yours from highschool and some friends of theirs from college, and, like rocks amongst the coming-and-going waves, there was you, and your big sister, and her superstar husband, and his superstar team captain, Sid.

The beach house had always been this way, home to many a wayward summer fling, fast friends made in childhood because her house has a pool, mom, can we stay over? and the old-timers, those you grew up beside in Pittsburgh, who knew you inside and out.

It didn’t feel quite as sweet anymore. Those fast friends and old-timers, all a little too busy now. A glass of wine and a meal and they’d head home, and left there, you’d be. It felt like your childhood was falling through your fingers, and you just couldn’t move fast enough to catch it.

Your parents had only stuck around for a few days. “You girls, promise us you’ll have fun,” They’d said, the bright, young part of their retirement meaning the beach house was just a stepping stone, a place to park their RV for a night or two.

“Who the hell is going to grill the fish? What even is the point of fishing at all, if dad won’t be here to grill the fish?” You’d asked, flabbergasted when they’d first announced their premature departure over dinner.

The table laughed, and your sister’s husband assured, “Don’t worry, kid. Sid’s pretty good with the grill.”

You sunk back in your chair, a childish pout threatening to weigh on your bottom lip at what felt like the hundredth hit of bad news you’d heard since your arrival at the house. Obviously you didn’t really care about the grill. However, everyone had kept mentioning Sidney, and his name coming up once again piqued your interest, if only enough to prevent your frustrated tears from falling.

“Oh! What time is his flight getting in? We might catch him before we leave, d’you think?” Your mother exclaimed, smile gleaming at the thought, full cheeks glowing red from the crisp white in her glass. Your father listened intently enough to the response— your mom’s attention span failing her when she reminded you to sit up straight, darling, you’re slumping again.

You topped up your glass, matching your mom, adjusting the little linen skirt you wore while you stood. Part of you was thankful: while they were busy discussing Sidney Crosby or their son-in-law’s team dynamics and what that meant for the upcoming season, they weren’t discussing your recent departure from college to do, what was it again?— you’d hold your breath every time you would explain the whole freelance photography thing to your family of academics, because, frankly, you didn’t quite know how to make it work, just that it was going to, because it had to.

Saying goodbye to your parents the next morning was only made easier by helping Sidney unload his luggage from the rental car. With the carry bag containing a few of his golf clubs slung heavy on your shoulder, you kissed your parents cheeks and wished them safe travels.

Your sister and her husband still sending off your parents, you showed Sid inside. Asking how his flight was and commenting on the weather came easily to you, after years of listening to your parents do it, yet your words rolled over Sid, who was undoubtedly tired (The flight wasn’t long, he’d explained, but it’s never fun, is it?).

When the tour found you both at the bottom of the stairs, Sidney asked, “Where do I sleep?” and, when your response tumbled from your mouth almost without your permission, you could’ve paid someone to euthanise you on the spot.

“Next to me.”

You were quick to backtrack, cheeks and ears growing hot.

“Like, the room. The room next to mine, Uh, just through there. I mean—  you can take the guest room upstairs if you’d like, but it shares a wall with, uh, I think they’ll be... kinda loud, maybe, so...”

Your heartbeat quickens at how much Sid seemed to be enjoying watching you flail. Crooked smile lighting his face, with a hand sinking into his pocket, he threw you a life ring.

“You’re alright, kid. I think I get it.”

He didn’t move towards his room, though, subverting your expectations. Your throat grew dry with the weight of his gaze on you, face still impossibly warm. He looked good, with stubble coming in thick, the collar of his shirt stretched out, letting you see a glimmer of thin, gold chain at the nape of his neck. Somehow he’d come into his own since you’d first met him just a few years prior, the man ageing like wine.

“Are you sure? I could keep talking,” You tried to jest, thankful when a second life ring yanked you from the intensity of the moment: your brother-in-law clapped Sid on the shoulder, asking how he’d been, and you took the chance to slip outside to help your sister mix drinks on the patio.

“Are you good?” She snickered in the most obnoxious older sister fashion, watching you clip your hair back, pulling it off your clammy skin as you exhaled heavily. She was somehow aware of whatever was happening in your own head a lightyear before you’d be allowed to find out.

You obviously weren’t totally naïve to the effect Sid had on you.

You’d only met him a handful of times, the first being during your sister’s wedding weekend, he a groomsman and you the maid of honour. Neither of you were fully comfortable standing before everyone you knew in that light, but both loved the bride and groom (and the prospect of an open bar) enough to deal with it.

You were barely nineteen, your gap year right about to end and your stomach turning at the thought of leaving Pittsburgh for somewhere out west. Still, you smiled in the photos and dutifully told your friends and relatives about the major you’d chosen, and Sidney asked questions whenever it was just the two of you at the head table, and he’d listened earnestly while you fumbled through your answers. When your nerves became evident through your lack of knowledge, Sid smiled and said you’ll figure it out, kid.

You’ll figure it out.

His words were simple, which, you thought, was why they stuck. And you did figure it out, after you let things blow up and barely dodged ruining your own reputation with the whole college-dropout thing.

You could only pray Sidney had taken down too many celebratory fireball shots on the wedding night to remember the conversations he’d held with the bride’s baby sister. You really didn’t want to have to explain yourself, now, to someone you still harboured a schoolgirl-status crush on.

“I’m peachy,” You assured, reaching for a lime and a paring knife. “’M at your service, Barmaid.”

You salted the rims of a few glasses before your sister demanded you make yourself scarce (You’re getting in the way, she said, remember what happened last time you tried to shake the cocktails?). You feigned forgetfulness at this, eager to help with the cocktails then, because you’d be useless when it came time to cook dinner later.

“I couldn’t get the strawberry daiquiri out of my hair for days, Y/N.” The men had slunk through the french doors soon enough to hear the end of the story.

“Maybe you shouldn’t have let an 18 year old in on cocktail night,” You rolled your eyes, turning up the drama for your own entertainment as you moved to walk inside, “I’ve grown up, I’ve learned. I’m a better person now,”

Zipping down the hall to your bedroom, you dug through one of your duffle bags for the novel you were halfway through and a swimsuit small enough to dodge the tan lines the last few hours of the day’s sunlight could threaten you with, and god knows you didn’t spare a single thought for anyone who would see you in that swimsuit.

When you step back outside, nudging the lurid rim of your sunglasses up your nose a little, the three people you’d left on the patio were bickering over how best to prepare the lobsters your father had left for dinner.

You watched as Sid was first to notice your return, his knee bouncing under the table. Offering him a small smile, you set your book down to pick up one of the highly ambitious cooking magazines they were carding through in search of a recipe.

“If we don’t get to see Sid’s apparent pretty good grill skills, I’m getting uber eats.” You cut in with a sigh after a pathetic flick through the pages, finally reaching over the table to steal a sip of your sister’s cocktail. “This is good, can I have it?”

Your sister didn’t dignify you with a response, or even a roll of her eyes, rather she turned to Sid to ensure he was up to cook.

“Can I taste?” You asked Sid when you rounded the table to move towards the pool, and he narrowly avoided sputtering on the sour, red liquid of his drink at the question, his mind thoroughly in the gutter, hating the things you, or, moreover, that bathing suit, were doing to him.

“M’hm. Yep.” He nodded after missing a few beats, handing you the tall glass. The man leant back in his chair, and pulling your eyes away from the way his thighs stretched was a feat.

You sipped quickly before setting it back on the coaster before him, a little put down by how he seemed to avoid your gaze completely when you thanked him.

“She does this, Sid. Next time she asks to taste your drink, set boundaries. She’s like a child, or a small dog. Gotta train her.” Your cheeks flushed a little at your sister’s dig, knowing she was out to make you sweat a little in front of the cool, older guy, like this was high school. You turn away, hoping nobody caught the ruddiness of your cheeks at her comment.

“If I drowned right now, I fear you would not save me.” You call back to your sister, stepping into the chill, blue pool water.

“Glad you know how to swim, then.” She bit, earning light chuckles from the men.

Rib-deep in the water, you tipped your head back to wet your hair before moving to the side of the pool, turning your attention to your novel, and spent that afternoon trying, really, really trying, to keep your eyes off of Sidney.

Sidney didn’t get to sleep for more than two hours on his second night at the house, before you were knocking at the front door, rousing nobody in the house but him.

For a moment, longer than he’d like to admit, he considered letting you stay out there, after you’d left your phone behind and dipped out quickly, barely describing where you were going, and foregoing any indication of when you’d be home. Your sister had spent a chunk of time worrying about you before she resigned with a bottle of moscato, sighing “If she dies, she dies.” and the men had laughed, but Sid knew she was concerned. He was, a little, too.

But, now wide awake in the stupidly comfortable guest bed, it became clear to Sid that your knocking on the door wasn’t going to let up anytime soon, and the happy couple upstairs couldn’t hear it at all.

Petty as he could be, he wasn’t about to sacrifice his own sleep to punish you. He pulled himself up, yanked a shirt over his head, and headed to open the front door for you.

“Hey, thanks, Sid.” You grinned easily, like it wasn’t 1am and you hadn’t just been drinking on the beach, catching up with all the neighbourhood girls and their college boys, the few who still came home for summer.

Sid barely grunted, running a hand over his face before sticking out an arm for you to grasp, waiting for you to reciprocate before he took you by the forearm to help you through the door.

“I’m a grown-ass adult, Sid—” He cut you off when you stopped to hiccup.

“This isn’t fuckin’ actin’ like it.”

Head hung and cheeks burning at his comment, you watched as Sid found your hand and placed it on his shoulder so you wouldn’t stumble while you stepped out of your tennis shoes. It took all you had not to squeeze that one spot, looking up at him while he, down at you, only the warm hallway light filtering through the foyer to let you see one another. Your thumb toyed at the ring of his shirt’s neck, baby blue fabric stretched taut over his tight body. Your palm bridged the crest of his trapezius, and temptation had your head spinning.

“If you track dirt through this house your sister will kill you. That’s if she doesn’t kill you, first, for worrying her like that.”

You didn’t respond. There were a lot of things you didn’t do, that you really wanted to, when Sid wrapped one of his warm arms around your midsection and made sure you walked a straight line down the long hallway to your bedroom. You didn’t cling to him, didn’t even let yourself glance at those goddamn grey sweatpants. Didn’t let your hand upon his shoulder fall to his back, to his hip, you didn’t.

And you definitely didn’t think about the pressure mounting between your thighs.

“Would you be into me, do you think?” You did ask, voice small.

Sidney, reaching for your door handle with his free arm, stopped at your question. Both his arms fell, like the muscles had simply opted out of function for a moment, and you stood there, so fucking close to him, and he stayed.

Would you fuck me. That’s what you wanted to ask. Take me for a night and don’t ask a single question about school or my friends or think about my sister when you say my name. Or, you wanted to ask, could you love me—  could you think about all of that and, still, take me anyway.

No liquid courage was enough to have you ask either of those things, though. So you settled for something smaller, more open-ended. Sid’s jaw fell initially, and you watched every muscle contraction, by the light spilling from his bedroom, as his expression hardened once more.

“Go to bed, Y/N.”

“Mr. Media-trained, I asked you a question!” You were playful, brushing your hair from your face, naively hopeful that you could shift the energy. Regardless of your attempts, his tone was steely.

“Yeah and I’m not answering it. Go to bed.”

Sidney could’ve sworn he felt his heart break when you stammered out an apology.

You clearly were a little out of it, and earlier in the day his teammate had murmured something about Y/N’s “uncharacteristic affection” for him while they had fishing lines in the bay, and with that little revelation, his heart skipped a beat and his throat felt tight, eyes flitting towards where you were lain out on the sand at the time, tiny white bikini top undone in the back.

Still, you were his best friend’s wife’s younger sister, so kind of his best friend’s younger sister, and some a decade his junior, and the reasons he couldn’t let his thoughts go there mounted quickly, but still, there you were. Cheeks pink, slack-jawed and glossy-lipped, and saying sorry simply for asking a curious question.

“Go to bed.” His voice broke to a whisper through it, and he didn’t say anything more before turning for his bedroom, crawling back under the sheets, his place still warm.

Sid’s brain was fucking melting.

You woke before 9am the following morning, found a text on your phone matching a handwritten note on the kitchen island— “Spending the day with some of the cousins, we should be back for dinner. feel free to take the paddle boards out, it’s gonna be a beautiful day x”

Something about the note wrung at your chest, not quite a betrayal or anything, but you wished they’d waited up for you. You supposed you mightn’t have deserved the courtesy after the little disappearing act you’d pulled the night before, but, still, it hurt a little.

Leaving the note at rest, you walked outside, bowl of granola in one hand with a cigarette lit between two fingers on the other. A little sun streamed in through the skylight under the patio, warmth rippling over one of your arms, gleaming off the spoon.

You tried not to think about what you’d asked Sid the night before, nor how you’d only had two beers and a shot down on the beach, which was not nearly enough liquor to excuse the question you’d asked him in the hallway. Really, you barely knew the guy. It was a moment of self-indulgence, and it was unfair of you to put him in that situation. Now, you could only hope he’d tagged along with your sister and his teammate, and you could lick your wounds, home alone, in peace.

You wouldn’t be so lucky.

Sid came outside not ten minutes after you, scruffing a towel over his hair, wet from the shower, and you could’ve screamed when he bid you good morning, kid, like nothing in the world had changed.

You didn’t even like cigarettes, but this one, rolling between your knuckles, gave your line of sight an anchor, so you didn’t look totally stupid while vehemently avoiding looking at Sidney.

If he’d have asked, you would’ve told him you didn’t smoke, really, you promise. Told him the ridiculous truth: you’d found the pack your dad left in the little office off the hallway a few summers ago, before his heart doctor made him quit. Like a little kid, you’d lit it on the stove and taken it outside where you took one drag and coughed the smoke back up, your body rejecting it, it along with the idea that maybe, after this summer, things would be different. You’d stand taller, and you’d know, all of a sudden, exactly how to be a grown-up, to be considered in the same circle as your own family.

But he didn’t ask.

“I don’t mind,” He said after you’d already squashed the cigarette, burnt almost to your fingers, against the limestone pavement, marring it black in a messy circle. He didn’t ask a damn thing, but part of you really wanted him to, so you could explain yourself, about the cigarette and about last night, and he wouldn’t think any less of you for any of it. Maybe that made you childish, you thought. The desperation you had to explain yourself, even to a person who, you thought, couldn’t have cared less.

A cool breeze stole the final wisps of smoke away and, in doing so, it took also the heat from your face and chest.

“Are you okay?” Sid spoke softly. He always did, but this time, eyes set straight ahead on the rippling pool, one of it’s corners sparkling in the morning sun, he meant to.

You wanted to actually scream now, because why would he ask you that?

“Yeah. Just try’na eat my granola.” You gave him a wry smile.

Sidney didn’t respond, and your spoon remained firmly stationed on the table, shiny and untouched.

The moment weighed heavy between the two of you. A tiny bird chased bugs at the edge of the pool, and it was the most interesting thing either of you had ever seen, at that point. The avoidance was wearing thin, though.

“I feel like I’m watching a lot of endings, and I don’t know what beginnings could possibly follow them,”

He looked at you, then, waiting for you to continue, and he didn’t need to prompt you to finish with words, for you could feel it. His arms crossed over one another and leant on the table, his upper body leaning forward, too, willing your continuation. Your whole body buzzed with it.

“I left college this year. Which I don’t regret, but I’m trying to be a grown-up, you know. I have a job and I pay my own rent, all of that. And then, like this morning, the family are doing things without me, and I feel like a little kid again, except I look around and nobody else is a kid anymore, just me, and I’m trying to control everything, and everything keeps slipping.”

“The playground’s empty.” Sid chuckled, a little bit bittersweet, and you knew he had some semblance of understanding, despite how stupid you’d felt when you finished rambling. He continued, “You get used to it. Eventually your hometown friends will start having kids, and you’ll go on vacations alone.”

“Or with your teammate and his wife.”

He laughed at that, if not because it was funny, then because it was sad.

You finally picked up your spoon, and Sid asked about your job, and there was no judgement behind his line of questioning, no waiting to compare it to what you could’ve done had you remained in college, because frankly, he didn’t even remember what you’d been studying. Too many fireball shots, you’d resigned, but really, he didn’t remember much of that conversation because it was so clear how little you’d cared about it at the time.

He smiled when you showed him some of your work, because it was good, but more because you were proud of it, and there came from him no undercutting sighs of “if that’s what makes you happy,” because it was what made you happy, and it was just that simple for him.

"I’m thinking of heading down to the beach. You wanna come with?” You asked when your bowl was empty, you bending down to pick up the discarded cigarette, lest your sister find it and actually wring your neck.

“No, no, you go. We’ve got a long day on the driving range planned tomorrow, I’ll take it easy today. I might go put a line in and see if I can catch us dinner.” He explained easily, thinking out loud with a hand scratching at the nape of his neck.

“Okay. Good luck.” You left him with a small smile and gaze thoroughly subverted from the flex of his bicep before you dipped back indoors, undoubtedly a little disappointed he wouldn’t be joining you.

“Trust you to be inside watching an old game on the prettiest day all summer.”

You, having entered through the back door silently, made your presence known as you entered the living room. You held a half-peeled clementine in one hand while you pushed your sunglasses up onto your head with the other, beach towel slung over one shoulder. “D'you catch us dinner?”

Sid drew his eyes from the television, brows raised, like he wanted you to repeat what you’d asked— first time he’d heard it, too invested in the play occurring onscreen, but, frankly, if he’d heard it a second time while looking at you, there was every chance it wouldn’t have sunk in, then, either.    

The way you looked, he felt like a fucking pervert just being in the same room as you, thinking like this. The daintiest gold chains around your neck, skin glowing, just a little sun kissed. And that bikini.

That stupid fucking bikini. Soft white fabric held together by mere strings. Setting your clementine and sunglasses on the coffee table, you knelt at the opposite end of the big, grey couch, and you had no clue, he thought, what that bikini had been doing to him since he got here.

“Fish weren’t biting. How was the water?” Sid asked, fist squeezing around the cold, wet glass of his beer bottle, training his eyes on the muted TV and nothing but.

“Warm. It was nice. I’ll have to take you down to my favourite spot sometime. It’s between these rocky outcrops away from the rest of the beach, so the waves are really gentle.”

He liked hearing you talk like that, with conviction, like you were confident in whatever it was you had to say, and he was lucky enough to have heard that tone from you a little more today.

Swivelling your hips a little to watch the game, you asked a few questions, ones with answers that felt like common sense to Sid, but, he realised, mustn’t be to someone without his years of experience on the ice.

He smiled when you commented on the game, excited to see how you were so excited to learn, and he’d answer you, speaking with his hands, leant forward on his elbows, propped against his knees, thick thighs flexing, dark gaze flitting between you and the screen.

You probably only took in about a third of the information he spat. How could you pay any more attention when he was sat there, just looking like that? The way the slightest movements in his wrists would be felt in the obscenely on-show muscles of his shoulders, where the white tee he wore fit just a little too tight, it could’ve sent you spiralling, had you let it.

And you kinda wanted to let it.

“Can you do me a favour, Sidney?” You asked at the very end of the second period, butterflies beating up a storm in your belly with a surge of courage given to you by watching the man smile like that, so effortless in explaining the way his game worked.

“Anything.” He’d responded without a second thought, foregoing asking what it was you needed, lest that end the two of you up in more trouble than he was sure you were already in, what with the things he was guilty of thinking about you.

Pulling the claw clip from your hair, you let your tresses fan over your shoulders, two tiny braids falling at either side of your face frame, and Sid’s breath was bated, watching you move towards him carefully, your eyes bright. You were awaiting protest, so thankful when it never came.

It started so slowly. Your head in his lap, neck bent back the tiniest amount over the crest of his strong thigh. His big hand was soft at your chin, thumb at rest just by your lower lip.

“I just need something, Sid.” You didn’t even fully know what you were asking for. He didn’t, either, but your soft sigh when his thumb dipped through your lips gave him some idea.

You tried bringing one of your hands up to feel him, even just a grip on his forearm would’ve been enough, but Sid chuckled lightly, crooning, “hands to yourself.” and you did as you were told, one arm locked at your side with the other lain across your own torso, your fingers gripping at your warm skin arbitrarily.

With the pad of his thumb rolling soft circles on the tip of your tongue, Sid allowed himself, for the first time since he’d arrived, to take you in wholly. Your eyes hooded and glassy, pupils dilated, your warm skin shining a little. Your swimsuit was still damp from the ocean, strings tied in bows, taut against your skin, goose bumps arising the longer his gaze lay on you. You pressed the softest open-mouth kiss to the side of his thumb, digit still teasing, lashes fluttering, and he sighed.

“You’re hungry, huh?”

It would’ve been so easy. So fucking easy for him. Slip one finger under the soft, stretchy fabric over your breast, push it to the side and this would go further than either of you had bargained for.

“M’hm.”

He didn’t, though. He wouldn’t. This was just… a moment. You needed this, needed someone else to sit in the driver’s seat for a second. He convinced himself he could be anyone, in that moment. You just needed someone.

And he pushed away the thought that maybe that fact fucking hurt him, because regardless, you needed this. And he needed to be there for you.

Pushing against your lower teeth with his thumb to cleave your jaw open further, he hollowed his cheeks and let his own saliva fall into your mouth, warmth running over your tongue, and your eyes rolled back a little before they fell shut, and you swallowed him down, taste of fresh lime from the neck of the beer he’d been nursing, now light on your tongue.

“Thank you.” You breathed, and Sid could’ve lost it on the spot.

When he moved his thumb from where it was playing in your mouth and replaced it with his index and middle finger, you choked back a moan.

“You can take it. I want to hear you.”

He pretended not to notice the way your legs fell open at that, one knee propped against the back of the couch, the other calf hanging off the side altogether. The tiny linen skirt you wore to feign modesty around the house was bunched all the way up over your hips, now. He couldn’t let himself look at those high-cut, baby blue bikini bottoms, not the way they left nothing to the imagination at the best of times, let alone when you were like this, your pelvis already grinding so filthily against nothing. None of those thoughts could be part of this, whatever this was.

“Pretty baby.” He murmured, and you hummed appreciatively, eyes falling shut while his thumb rubbed softly at your jaw, two fingers moving heavy on your tongue, open-mouthed. Your head tipped back to allow him in further, and your cheeks hollowed around him as you suckled, tears welling up with every tiny gag.

“Breathe, baby. Breathe around my fingers. You got it.” He coached you tenderly through the choking feeling. With his free hand stroking through the hair at the crown of your head, you sighed softly, burgeoning smile blooming through the openness of your mouth when he pulled out.

“Think you can take another?” He didn’t know why he asked— maybe it was a surrogate for how badly he wanted his same fingers stretching your cunt, or how desperately he wished it were his cock you were suckling so lovingly down your throat. Maybe he was just a little fucked up for getting off on this, seeing how far he could push and still have you take, take, take.

“Mm, really wanna try.” You nodded, excited to take just about anything he’d be willing to give you.

He felt bad for how hard he was in his swim trunks, just centimetres from your soft cheek, a crystalline tear sitting atop the skin there. You needed this.

Three fingertips caressed the tip of your soft, pliant tongue, and before they’d really passed your teeth by much, you gagged, proper tears spilling with the heave of your body. You didn’t need to say anything at all for Sid to remove the third finger but press the first two deeper, your cheeks hollowing while your tongue swirled and your hips bucked, entire body growing warmer, little more than a thrumming nerve.

“Maybe we try a third another time,” He assured, and again, your jaw fell slack with the bloom of a grin at the mere prospect of there being another time.

Sid’s hand, wet with your own saliva, wiped at the tears on your cheeks gently, moving you from blissed out to burning hot and acutely aware of the feel of his hands caressing you— that action, somehow even more intimate than him knuckle-deep in your mouth.

“Mm, Sid. Want your cock.” You were breathless and feverish, a hand finally crossing your body to tug at the drawstring on his dark shorts. He swats your hand away, bending down a little to spit in your mouth again, this time slightly faster, a little meaner: testing the waters.

When your little grin only grows, he presses on.

“What do you say?” He asks, strong hand holding your jaw in place to keep the eye contact, keep your jaw locked open.

You swallow, blinking hard.

“Thank you.”

You whimpered quietly when you heard a car pull into the driveway, Sid’s head snapping to the foyer, “What time is it?” He asked, like it mattered, because your siblings were home early regardless, and like that, the reverie was shattered entirely.

His hand withdrew quickly, gave your cheek a hard little tap and reached down to pull your skirt down, protecting your modesty. He helped you sit up, his big hands setting the skin on your bare back alight, your head still a little out of it.

“You’d wanna check you didn’t leave a wet patch on the couch.” Sid was almost grinning when you looked at him, your face blank.

“I’ll kill you. If I did it’d be your fault.” You glared across at him, returning to your post in the corner of the couch, reaching for the beach towel you’d let fall to the floor. You wiped down your face, the rough, salty fabric burning over your swollen lips.

“I’m going to shower.”

Sid smirked at you, reaching for the clementine you’d abandoned on the coffee table. 

“Have fun.”  He stated, your back already to him. You had no time to respond before the front door swung open, and your brother-in-law nearly burst out laughing when he stepped inside first, seeing the TV— game somewhere near the end of the third period. You were halfway down the hall by then, heart racing in your ears.

“Come on, man!” He drawled, throwing his arms out at the sight of an ice rink on the television. “We’re on vacation!”

You heard them, faintly, from your bedroom, as you gathered up some clean clothes: your sister discussing a few potential afternoon plans, suggesting you all hire a few jet-skis or hit the driving range early. You heard it, but you barely processed it, still feeling your pulse throb in your throat, a kind of bliss enveloping you that you’d never quite experienced before.

The last thing you heard before you pulled the bathroom door shut, a comment from Sid that threw you back into a spin—  

“You guys should go. But, I think Y/N said something about showing me this beach spot this afternoon.”

[goldfades]

MORE CONTROVERSIALLY YOUNG GF X SID

ive been having the worst insomnia ever so here's a blurb<3

It started with you staring at the ceiling.

The digital clock on the nightstand glowed red in the dark—2:13 AM. Your body was tired, your mind wasn’t. It wasn’t loud thoughts keeping you up, either. Nothing stressful, nothing particularly nagging. Just one of those nights where sleep felt like an impossible task.

Sidney was next to you, fast asleep, breathing slow and steady, one arm draped lazily across your waist. He was always warm, always solid beside you, a grounding weight even in unconsciousness. You swore he could sleep through anything. Planes, loud hotel hallways, your tossing and turning.

The only thing he ever seemed to wake up for was you.

You sighed softly, shifting under the covers, and just as you expected—he stirred. Not much, just a slight shift in his breathing, the faintest tension in his arm before he relaxed again. His grip around you tightened instinctively.

"You okay?" His voice was rough, sleep-heavy.

You bit your lip, feeling a little guilty. "Mmhmm."

Sid’s face was still buried against the pillow, but he made a quiet, unconvinced noise. Then, without opening his eyes, he tugged you closer. You let him, letting your body curve naturally against his, fitting like two puzzle pieces.

His warmth seeped into your skin.

"You’re awake," you murmured.

He hummed, his lips brushing against your hair. "You’re awake," he corrected.

A soft smile tugged at your lips. You pressed your cheek against his chest, closing your eyes, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breathing.

"Can’t sleep?" he asked, still half-asleep himself.

"Mmm." You inhaled the faint, clean scent of his skin, letting yourself settle. "Just one of those nights."

Sid let out a slow exhale, his hand running absently up and down your back. It was so easy, the way he touched you—not in any deliberate way, not trying to do anything. Just holding you, his palm warm against the curve of your spine, his fingers tracing lazy patterns over your shirt.

For a while, that was enough.

Silence stretched between you, but it wasn’t empty. It was full of quiet things. His fingers against your skin. His breathing, slow and deep. The occasional shift of his legs under the sheets, brushing against yours.

You weren’t sure how long you laid there like that. But eventually, Sid shifted, pressing his lips lightly against your forehead.

"You want me to tell you a story?" he murmured.

You let out a soft, sleepy laugh. "A story?"

"Yeah," he said, voice still hoarse from sleep. "Something boring. Put you to sleep."

You smiled against his chest. "So you admit you’re boring."

Sid’s hand stilled for half a second before pinching your side lightly, making you squeak. "That’s not what I said."

You giggled, shifting closer, tangling your legs with his. "Okay, okay. Tell me a story."

Sid was quiet for a moment, thinking. Then:

"Did I ever tell you about the worst pre-game meal I ever had?"

You snorted. "That’s the bedtime story you’re going with?"

"You said you wanted boring," he reminded you.

You sighed dramatically. "Fine. Continue."

Sid smirked, but you could hear it in his voice more than you could see it in the dark. "Okay. So, this was early in my career. Rookie season. We had a back-to-back, and the second game was in some small-town rink. Not a lot of food options, so the guys and I found this one restaurant that looked halfway decent."

You hummed, eyes slipping closed as he kept talking.

"It was some mom-and-pop Italian place. Looked nice enough. I order a simple plate of pasta—"

"Simple?" you teased, voice muffled against his chest. "You?"

Sid poked your side again. "Do you want to hear the story or not?"

You giggled, nestling closer. "Go on."

"Anyway," he continued, "I take one bite—one bite—and I immediately know something’s off. It’s sweet."

You made a face. "Sweet?"

"Yeah. Like, sugary. Like someone dumped an entire cup of sugar into the marinara sauce. I thought maybe I was imagining it, but then I look around and every guy at the table is making the same face."

You laughed softly. "Did you say something?"

Sid let out a low chuckle. "Nah. We were too polite. Ate the whole thing."

"Ew."

"Yeah."

The silence that followed was heavy with warmth, with the ease of being with someone who just fit into your life.

Sid brushed a hand over your hair. "Feeling sleepy yet?"

You hummed, eyes still closed, fingers toying absently with the fabric of his shirt. "Mmm. Maybe."

Sid made a soft sound of acknowledgment, pressing another absentminded kiss to the top of your head. His arm curled tighter around you, his hand resting at the small of your back.

You exhaled, letting go of whatever it was keeping you awake.

Sidney made everything easier.

The way he just was—warm, steady, solid. The way he didn’t try to fix everything, didn’t ask a million questions, didn’t make a big deal of it. Just held you close and let you exist exactly as you were.

You sighed, tucking yourself further into his chest.

"You’re good at this," you murmured sleepily.

Sid’s voice was soft, full of something you couldn’t quite place. "At what?"

You yawned. "This." You curled your fingers around the fabric of his shirt, as if to emphasize. "Us."

Sid was quiet for a moment. Then, voice barely above a whisper:

"Yeah. I like us."

You barely had the energy to respond, sleep finally pulling you under. But just before you drifted off, you felt Sid press one last kiss to your forehead, his grip tightening ever so slightly.

And just like that, you were asleep.

[myhockeyworld87]

Not So Dangerous Liaison - Sidney Crosby - Part 30

Word Count: 5,665

POV:  Sidney’s

Warngings: Language, Pregnancy, Smut, NSFW

Notes: Ok, it’s been a hot minute since I posted anything. Sorry I’ve been working on a new story. Kind of want to have it all written before I post, but I did get this chapter finished. Last time, these two found out that they weren’t pregnant, but decided that they’re going to try. So let’s see what Sid thinks about the whole things. Would absolutely kill to get more feedback from you guys, other than when is the next chapter. So please send it my way and give me motivation to write the next chapter if you want it. Happy Reading!!

NDSL MASTERLIST

SIDNEY'S POV

Two days you were off the ice, and while normally that would feel like two years, this time it was like two minutes. (Y/N) insisted that she was fine after finding out she wasn't pregnant, but you could tell things were off. The doctor had done a minor procedure on her as well as removed her IUD and told her that she should rest for a day or two, but just like you; she was stubborn and was up and about before she should've been. By Wednesday, you were both in the arena watching the team take on the Capitals for Game 4, only from the owner's suite that Mario insisted you both sit in. While you both agreed to keep what had happened private, you had called Mario to let him know, hoping that (Y/N) would take a few days more to rest. Mario had told her to take as much time as she needed, yet here you both were. Though you had convinced her to sit up in the box, you practically had to tie her down to the chair to keep her from going down with the team. You knew that had your concussion been worse she would've stayed at home with you.

Though you'd only known about the possibility of having a baby for a short time, you felt the loss. Knew that (Y/N) had to be feeling it as well. Having a baby with (Y/N) had been in your mind and heart for quite some time. To have it within your grasp, then snatched away, honestly hurt like hell. The two of you didn't discuss it much, though talks of having a family seemed to be more and more frequent. You could see it all, the two of you out in the yard running around chasing a toddler, or skating around the practice rink doing pass after pass as your child just laughed. It became your new dream. Only something was missing.

Logic would say that it was another cup win or two, but you knew better. While a child was now something you longed for; the dream was a family, and with that meant making (Y/N) your wife. You'd like to say that from the moment you met her, you knew she was the woman you wanted to spend the rest of your life with, but you didn't. That was on you though and not (Y/N). Had you realized earlier that you could have everything you'd ever dreamed of with her; you'd have asked her out the very first time you'd laid eyes on her. It might have taken a bit for you to get there, but now that you were here; you never wanted to let her go.

Now, you were sneaking off after practice to call the jeweler you used in Pittsburgh. It was a small shop, but they'd always done impeccable work and been very discrete about it at the same time. Which is exactly what you needed. You had an idea of what you wanted her ring to look like, but it was kind of hard to communicate that over the phone. Thankfully, the jeweler got the gist of the idea and was going to come up with a few designs to look at.

Four days later, after a tough loss to Washington, you were checking out the designs on the plane. (Y/N) was in the back chatting away with Phil about the boat the two of them had picked out last season, so there was no need to worry about her sneaking up on you to see what you were doing. "You watching film?" Flower asked as he stole a glance at your laptop. Before you had a chance to answer, his eyes got wide as saucers as he looked at the screen. "Is that a…"

"Yes, it is. Can you keep your voice down?"

"Holy shit!" Marc-Andre whispered yelled at you. "Congrats man."

"Thanks. I haven't figured out which one to get yet. They just sent over the designs this morning." You flicked open the five designs the jeweler sent over. All unique and one of a kind, just like the woman it was meant for. "I'm leaning towards one of these." You showed him both the solitaire oval cut stone with the diamond band and the cushion cut, which looked to be surrounded by a layer of lace diamonds. Both were elegant and would look gorgeous on her finger, which made it hard to choose.

"The oval seems to be a pretty popular ring."

"So, you're thinking the same thing I am then." You looked over at Flower and he nodded his head. Immediately you pulled up the picture of the cushion cut. "It's unique, just like (Y/N)."

"Yeah, that one is definitely her," Flower added as you both took one last look at the design. "So, when are you asking her?"

"This summer. I've got it all planned out." You quickly shot off an email to the jeweler giving him the go-ahead on the engagement ring you wanted. "I'm renting the boat that we had our official first date on." Closing the laptop, you continued. "I want fireworks as we pull into a port where all our family and friends will be and then we can all sail around and celebrate."

"And if she says no?" The thought of (Y/N) rejecting you, made bile rise in the back of your throat. You couldn't see your life without her. If she said no, you didn't know what you would do. "Relax, Sid. That woman is crazy about you. I'm sure it'll be yes."

God, you hoped so. "I know it's fast and all. We haven't really even dated a full year yet. But I just can't see my life without her. Ya know?"

"Yeah, I do. It's the same reason I asked Vero." If anyone knew that feeling that you couldn't quite put into words, it was Flower. He and Vero had the kind of love that you and (Y/N) did. "I'm assuming I get to be part of this celebration, even though I won't be part of the team."

"You're one of my best friends. I couldn't have it without you."

"Thanks, man. Now, tell me you aren't doing this on your birthday just because it's your lucky number. V will have my head if I didn't tell you to make it special for (Y/N)."

You frowned, causing Marc-Andre to look at you disapprovingly. Apparently, you were a better actor than people gave you credit for. "No way. Do you think I'm stupid? I know this is about her. Besides, I'm hoping I don't need luck for her to say yes."

"You don't. She'll jump at the chance to marry you." That's what you were hoping for.

As things for your proposal started to take shape, you continued on the team's quest for the cup. The Capitals fought back to push for a game seven. With a bit of luck and two goals from Rusty and Horny, the Pens were able to move on to the next round where you would take on the Senators in the conference finals. It was a tough battle. One that the team didn't really expect until you hit a loss that first game in overtime. The Senators were hungry and wanted the win as much as you did, if not more. When the team beat them in game five, seven to nothing, everyone thought for sure that game six would seal your conference win. However, they battled back to force a game seven as well. Everyone was on edge including (Y/N).

For some reason, she decided to channel all her nervous energy into cleaning the house. While you, on the other hand, stuck to working out. You'd just finished running a few miles on the treadmill, when you headed upstairs for a quick shower, only to find (Y/N) in the master closet, throwing you into a mild panic attack. "Babe! What are you doing?"

"Cleaning. I haven't gone through my stuff since I moved in and there are just way too many clothes in here."

"Yeah, but why are you going through my ties?" The fact you hid her engagement ring in there a little over a week ago, making you sweat more than your run had.

"I wouldn't have to if you would put them away." She held the three that you'd taken to Ottawa in her hand. "Relax Mr. Superstitious, I'm not throwing them out or anything."

Quickly, you grabbed them from her, folding them and laying them back in the drawer before she could. Glancing in the back, you noticed the engagement ring, still tucked neatly in the corner and hidden under the one you never used. "You know I'm not that way about my ties."

"Says the man who wears the same blue suit." She teased, laughing as she came up behind you wrapping her arms around your waist. "It's ok, hun. I find it cute." You shut the drawer a little harder than you should, hoping that she didn't see anything. "Hey, I'm just kidding you. I know we're both on edge." She pressed a kiss to your sweaty back and damn if it didn't send a shiver through your body.

"I know how we can waste some of that nervous energy we both have." You told her turning in her arms. Lips finding hers the moment you were face to face. Kissing (Y/N) would never get old, even if you lived to be a hundred and you couldn't wait to be doing it as her husband.

When she pulled back, she was smiling. "What happened to that old wives' tale about no sex during playoffs because it makes you play better or some such nonsense."

"That came from some single guy. I swear." Your hands roamed up and down her body, squeezing and kneading her flesh in your hands. "I, on the other hand, find it quite…" your lips teased the sensitive spot on her neck, eliciting a needy little moan from her. "Invigorating." Pulling the neckline of her shirt over, her collarbone was your next target.

"You're all sweaty."

"So. We're just going to get a little sweatier."

Her hands were already trailing up the same sweaty t-shirt she seemed turned off by moments ago; at least verbally, for her body was saying something else completely. "True…unless…"

"Unless??"

"Care to join me in the shower?"

(Y/N)'s suggestion was perfect as it would get her out of the closet for the moment. You raised your eyebrows at her, as she peeled the sweat drenched cloth off your body. "I love the way your mind works." Her shirt was next to go, as you walked her back towards the ensuite. By the time you reached the shower, all traces of clothing were gone from both of your bodies. "Fuck," you hissed out as the cold shower water hit your back making you jump, while (Y/N) just laughed. "Oh, you think that's funny, do you?" Hands locking around her waist, you pinned her to your body so that nothing separated the two of you.

"No, Sid…don't," she pleaded as you flipped the water to cold, giving her a taste of what you'd just experienced. She squirmed in your arms. Legs practically wrapping around your body as she tried to escape. "Fuck," she yelled and it was your turn to chuckle, as she pushed you both out of the ice-cold stream. "You're so mean."

It was then that you decided to take pity on her and turn the water back to a temperature that you'd both enjoy. "That's not what you said last night."

"Yeah, well last night, your mouth was…" She didn't finish that sentence, as your fingers stole down to the exact spot your mouth had been last evening.

"You mean right there?" She moaned out a yes. The sound went straight to your cock which was already hard. You turned her body then, so she was pressed up against the tile. "Maybe I should put my lips there again, eh?" Her soft groans told you exactly what she wanted, and that's when you sunk down on your knees between her thighs. "Spread your legs, baby." She widened her stance, and you dove right in, gliding your tongue between her folds. Her hands gripped first the air, then the smooth tile wall, only to finally seek purchase on your shoulders. Her moans rippled off the shower walls, spurring you on. You knew her body so well, knew how to drive her completely mad with your mouth and tongue. Which is what you did, taking her to the edge quickly and then pulling back. You heard her groan of frustration, and you nipped her inner thigh with your teeth. There would be a mark there tomorrow, not big, but enough to make her remember tonight as she stood on the runway and watched you play on the ice. Then your mouth was back on her, tongue flicking her clit over and over again. Her hips rocked into your mouth and you knew she was close again. Sliding two fingers into her, they worked in time with your tongue. The combination sent her over the edge. She shattered in your arms, legs going weak, so you held her steady, supporting her as the orgasm rocked through her. She was panting trying to catch her breath as the steam from the water ran over both your bodies.

You kissed your way back up, only to finally land on her mouth where she devoured you. Wrapping her left leg around your hips, you slowly pushed into her, relishing the feel of her tight heat gripping you. It was heaven. Always was, for it felt as though (Y/N) was made for you and you alone. Soon, you told yourself, she would truly be yours. Each day seemed one more day closer to that goal, of making her your wife.

The two of you moved as one. The push and pull of a tale as old as time, helping your bodies seek the release they so craved. Hands roamed everywhere, down her back, cupping her ass, pressing her closer into you as you just couldn't get enough of her. Her nails bit into your flesh of your shoulder blades and hissed out in pleasure, so close to reaching that pinnacle of release. The twitch of her pussy told you she was right there with you, and it spurred you on. Hips rocking into her with just a tad more force. Then she was cresting, spiraling down just as she had moments ago. You followed with a few deep thrusts, groaning out her name as you came deep inside her.

You'd be lying if you said you didn't think about that moment in the shower the following day as you prepped for the game. Her soft scratches on your back were a gentle reminder. They'd become commonplace, for none of the guys harassed you anymore as they first did when you were with (Y/N). Thoughts of last night somehow put you at ease as you went about the day. Maybe it was knowing, that no matter if you won or lost, (Y/N) would be there waiting with open arms for you.

A scoreless first period had everyone anxious. The whole team knew this was a make-or-break moment. You knew things would never be the same after this. It was all but set in stone that Flower would be off to the expansion team in Vegas and this team you had now would never again be the group it was today. As you stepped onto the ice in the second period, you felt the air in the arena all hanging with bated breath, waiting to see who would score that first precious goal. As luck would have it, Kunitz put one in the back of the net almost midway through. But the victory was short-lived as Ottawa answered with one of their own, only seconds later. Going into the third that same level of anxiety coursed through everyone's veins. Shultzy was the one to put you on top this time, but again Ottawa answered pushing the game into overtime.

Everyone thought twenty minutes would be enough time to decide who would take on Nashville in the Finals, but it wasn't. Going into the second overtime period, you could see exhaustion start to set in. Not only on your team but on the Senators as well. Though neither was going down without a fight. Five minutes into the double overtime, you just stepped onto the ice as Schultzy shot the puck in deep. It ricocheted off the boards right onto your stick, where you were able to make a clean pass to Kunitz. His aim was true as the slapshot found its way past Anderson and into the net, the goal horn sounding and setting the place on fire. The roar of the crowd was deafening as everyone now knew you were headed back to the Stanley Cup Finals. The team all piled on Chris. It took a moment before you were able to dislodge yourself from the circle, but once you did your eyes scanned the bench, and there was (Y/N) jumping up and down cheering with everyone. Your heart fluttered, not at the win but at the look of joy on her face. You wanted to see that same look in the next round as well. Knew that you would do everything in your power to make that happen.

Just as you had the year before, you, Chris, and Geno hoisted the Prince of Wales trophy in the air. Call it superstition or whatever you want, but the last time you had done it, you'd ended up walking away a Stanley Cup Champion. It was worth a shot to do it again. Sully gave everyone the night to celebrate, but then it was back to business as normal. There was still work to be done and you all knew it. In just four short days, you would take on the Predators to see who would win the NHL's most coveted prize.

Game one and two the team was on fire, still riding off the high from winning the Eastern Conference. No one was prepared for the Nashville fans though. From the noise of the crowd to throwing catfish on the ice, they seemed to have truly embraced the sport, proving to be a force to be reckoned with. Those two away games ended with the series being tied, as you headed back to home ice. Tension was high going into game five. Words had been exchanged both on and off the ice and it definitely pushed your buttons. When Subban blatantly pushed you into the board then held your stick, you let your emotions get the best of you with a few punches to the head. (Y/N) was definitely not happy with how you handled that. The look on her face as you headed to the locker room before the first intermission told you that you were in for a long lecture, not only from Sully but her as well; even though the Pens had the advantage with a three to nothing lead. Three more goals were added to the Pens tally and the team took game five.

Thankfully, the win had everyone in a good mood including (Y/N), and though she wasn't happy with you fighting, she held her tongue as the team got ready to travel to Nashville. Game six would all come down to goaltending as shots were exchanged on each end. Save after save both Murray and Renne made. In the third period, with the score still at zero, the Pens made a grievous error giving the Predators a two-man advantage. Everyone thought Nashville had the game in the bag then, but Murray and the penalty kill unit held their ground not letting the puck find the back of the net. It seemed as though this game would need at least another twenty minutes of play. With a little over one minute, Horny got the puck after it bounced off the board and was able to sneak it past Renne. The bench erupted with cheers, only to have Nashville challenge the goal for goalie interference. Time seemed to almost standstill as you waited for the referee to make the call. When it came, the team collectively breathed a sigh of relief as he announced it was a good goal. You tried to calm the team down, as you all felt that second Stanley Cup was just within your reach. You just needed to hold them off for a minute more, that was all. You glanced to the end of the bench and there standing with Tanger was (Y/N). Bouncing on the balls of her feet, she was just as nervous as the rest of you. She caught your eye and smiled encouragingly, giving you that little bit of added strength that you needed to get through. As time ticked down, Hagelin put the finishing touches on the game by scoring an empty netter. Sticks and hands flew all around the bench as the team knew they were back-to-back Stanley Cup Champs.

As the buzzer sounded, ending the game, the team stormed to ice and Murray. The feeling was surreal, as you all congratulated each other on accomplishing what everyone thought was impossible. There was hug after hug with each of your teammates, until the time-old tradition of shaking hands took place. It was then that you finally got a chance to look for (Y/N), yet you couldn't seem to find her. As soon as you shook your last hand, you headed for the bench to look for her. "Have you seen (Y/N)?" you asked Jon Taglenetti after hugging the equipment manager.

"She was right here a second ago." He turned to look for her, but neither of you could find her. You were distracted from looking for her by your agent coming up and congratulating you. From there it was more hugs and selfies with the guys until they started the trophy presentation. You were still looking for her when Gary Bettman announced you as the Conn Smythe winner. So much so that you didn't even hear him say your name. It took a couple people telling you, that you'd won before you actually went up to receive the thing.

When you skated back to the bench, you finally saw her. Standing in the back, there she was smiling and chatting with your family. She saw you and her smile grew even wider. You wanted to run back and hug her, lift her off the ground and kiss her senseless, but then you heard Bettman again and it was time to raise the cup. After a few quick pictures, you lifted the Stanley Cup high over your head and gave a loud cheer. It was a once in a lifetime achievement and here you'd done it twice in a row. You passed it off to Ron Hainsey, a guy that had been in the league quite a while and only this season was playing in his first playoff game. The man was giddy, and you couldn't blame him.

It took a bit for you to reach your parents and (Y/N), but when you did your eyes lit up even brighter, for there she was wearing her WAGS jacket with your names splayed across the back. She hung back a bit, letting you hug your mom, then your dad, and then lastly Taylor. Finally, you got to hold her in your arms. Her arms linked around your neck, as yours snaked around her waist. "Congratulations, Sid."

"Congratulations, (Y/N)," you told her in return, then planted your lips on hers. It wasn't enough though. You lifted her hips, so she had no choice but to wrap her legs around you. You'd waited a whole year for this moment, and it was definitely worth the wait. Vaguely, you were aware of the cameras not only snapping pictures but videotaping as well. None of it mattered, for only you and (Y/N) existed at this moment. You deepened the kiss, letting your tongue glide into her mouth and savor every second of being with (Y/N).

(Y/N) was first to pull back from the kiss, yet you didn't release her to the ground. "I think we're creating a scene." She whispered, her forehead resting on yours.

"Good." Let them look you thought, for you wanted the world to know that not only had you just won the Stanley Cup, but you were sharing it with the woman you loved. You chased her lips one last time before Geno clasped you on the back.

"Time for group picture." Only then did you set (Y/N) down, though you still held her hand forcing her into the group shot with the cup. Of course, she let you go, to be in front with all the guys, hanging to the background, yet still in the frame. Things became a bit of a blur after that, there were pictures with the guys. Geno making sure that there was one of the two of you holding your third cup together.

Media pulled you here and there until you were finally able to get a chance and take a few pictures yourself with the cup. Your entire family, including (Y/N) was able to grab some shots with the coveted trophy. It was your mom that insisted you get some with just you and (Y/N). While you'd been able to achieve what was almost impossible and win the Stanley Cup three times, you knew that you might never get this opportunity again, so you took her up on the suggestion.

Before long, everyone was heading back to the locker room to celebrate. Champagne and beer flowed freely both around the room and in the cup. You were drenched in it but didn't care one bit. The party went on for a couple more hours, before things wrapped up and you were able to head back to the hotel. The night seemed perfect, just like you dreamed it would be a year ago. Well, that was entirely right. Something was missing and you had an idea what it was. As you got off the bus, you sought out (Y/N). "Are you coming down to my room?"

"Yeah, as soon as I shower."

"Alright, see you in a bit." A plan already formulating in your head. You carried the cup up to your room, then rummaged through your bag looking for exactly what you needed. It wasn't anywhere near what you and Flower had talked about on the plane, but it somehow just felt right. Calling down to the front desk, you asked if there were any candles that you could have. Maybe it was the fact that you were, who you were, or the fact that you'd just won the Stanley Cup, but they didn't even question the request; running them up to your room in record time. You lit them, then grabbed your phone; sending (Y/N) the same text you'd sent her a year ago. If you have a sec, can you come down here? You wondered if she would remember how you'd sent her that to get her to your room that night. She had come running, hair still wet from just showering. It had taken a bit of coaxing for her to stay with you that night, but she eventually caved. Tonight, you knew you wouldn't have to do that, but you were just as nervous as you waited for her to get there.

A knock at the door told you she was there and you glanced back making sure the cup was behind you before opening the door. "Seriously, babe, the same text. I was heading down here…" Her words died as she finally took in the candlelit room. "What are you…"

You grabbed both of her hands, drawing her further into the room. The door shutting with a loud click behind her. "I didn't plan on doing this tonight, but somehow it feels right." You could see the rapid rise and fall of her chest as she realized what was about to happen. It made you even more nervous about what her answer would be. "My whole life has been totally focused on one thing…hockey. But then you walked in and turned my world upside down." You could still remember that first night you saw her. God, how you'd wanted her, but even then, you knew she wasn't some one-night stand. (Y/N) had always been the woman men brought home to meet their parents and that's what scared the hell out of you. "I was stupid back then. I couldn't see how I could have a relationship with you and still focus on all the goals I wanted to achieve." You laughed then, partly out of nerves, but mostly at your stupidity back then. "I tried to fight it at first. I'm honestly surprised you talked to me after the way I treated you when you started with us." It was (Y/N)'s turn to laugh. You had no doubt, that there were times she wondered the same thing. "But then it was like there was some unseen force just pulling us together. Kinda like magnets, eh? First the elevator, then dinner that night, and so many other little things. Somehow it finally made it through my thick brain, how perfect we actually are for each other. I just needed to get you on board with it. Which was a lot more difficult than I thought it would be, but you finally relented. Almost a year to date, when we won the cup. Now, here we are, a year later and I not only have you, the sweetest, most kind, and loving woman out there, but we won the cup again. We did that together, baby." (Y/N) never considered her contributions made that much of a difference but you and the team knew better. She was just as much a part of this win as everyone else. "And I want to do everything in life with you forever."

You'd been standing there, with the cup at your back holding her hands while you'd poured your heart out. Dropping her right hand, you moved back so she could see the coveted trophy you'd just won. There laying inside was the small velvet box, you'd kept hidden away from her these last few weeks. Many things had gone in there, champagne, beer, pasta, even cereal, but none felt as special as the ring you'd picked out for (Y/N). You fell to one knee, still holding her left hand. "(Y/N), I love you more than anything in this world, including this big silver cup right here. And I don't want to try and win another one of these…or anything for that matter, without you by my side." The corner of your mouth tilted up in that crooked smile that she loved so much. "So, will you make me the happiest man in the world and do me the honor of becoming my wife?" Your hands were shaking as you waited for her answer. Never in your life had you been this nervous; not during the draft or your first NHL game, but now it seemed as though they were out of control as you waited.

It was probably only a few seconds but it felt like an eternity before she smiled through a few tears. "Yes, Sid. Yes, I'll marry you."

She was in your arms the minute the words left her mouth, as you came to your feet and picked her up off of hers. Her lips met yours in a kiss that spoke of all the love you had for each other and all the love you would share until the end of time. Some part of you still couldn't believe that she said yes as you finally set her back down on the floor. (Y/N) was everything you'd dreamed of, only you hadn't realized it until she came into your life and now you were getting to share the rest of yours with her. Reaching into the cup, you picked up the case that held the ring that would grace her hand for all time. She was shaking as you took it out of the container to place on her finger. "Sid, it's too much." She whispered as she finally took in the sight of the diamond.

All you could do was smile at her. "Nothing is too much for you, baby." You slipped it on her ring finger then. "I want the world to know how much I love you."

She kissed you again, something you looked forward to doing for the rest of your lives together. "I love you too." She held her hand out and you both just stood there admiring the ring, for different reasons. To you, it symbolized so much more than being an engaged couple. It was a commitment, not only to (Y/N) but to all the things that would come in the future, and oh how bright that future looked now. "It's beautiful," she breathed out, breaking you out of your musings.

"Just like the woman wearing it."

"I'm not so sure about that, considering I ran down here after that text. My hair is still a mess."

Kissing her again, you pulled her close. "You'll always be gorgeous to me, even when we're old and gray."

"Well, if you keep scaring me like that. I'll be gray before you know it."

"Alright, I promise, no more texts like that. As long as I have you by my side, that's all I need."

(Y/N) looked down at the ring on her finger again. "Looks like you're stuck with me forever."

Her eyes shifted back to yours before you breathed out. "Forever, won't be long enough."

.

[a-g-u-s-t-d1432]

My lovely men look so sharp

They all look so handsome 🤍

[jackhues]

one last one

❄️ firmly holding their hand in public with sidney

because as reserved as he would totally be about pda, you bet your ass he never lets go of your hand

oh definitely! hope you like this!!

you laughed at sidney's tie, stepping forward to fix it.

"you've been doing this for eighteen years," you laughed. "how the hell are you still so bad?"

sidney grinned, "maybe i pretended to do it badly so you'd fix it for me."

you rolled your eyes, "i can believe that."

sidney laughed at your reaction, reaching out to take your hand. your slipped your fingers into his, allowing him to lead you out of the hotel.

it was the day before the winter classic, and the teams were allowing a family skate. media was going to present like always, but there were no interviews or anyone besides family allowed on the ice.

you followed him down to the stadium, which thankfully wasn't far. it'd snowed a little before, which was the ideal weather for any outdoor skating.

sidney picked up both of your skates, tying his own and then yours.

you could tie them yourself, but you let him do it. it was one thing he enjoyed doing.

you noticed some of the media clicking pictures of you and sidney. it was rare that the two of you made such public appearances like this one, so the media liked to take advantage of it.

"it's you and me," sidney brought your attention back to him as he helped you to your feet. "ignore them. it's just us."

he gripped your hand firmly, leading you to the rink.

it was just the two of you.

---

send a ❄️, player + prompt (CLOSED NOW)

[sc0tters]

It’s Time | Sidney Crosby

summary: Sidney is sent to Canada as he tries to get you back and the long awaited arrival of peanut finally happens.

request: yes/no

warnings: swearing, legal age gap (reader is 23!)

word count: 3.17k

authors note: peanut is now in our lives and we get the chance to see the semi happy ending for this weird couple! For those of you who aren’t ready to see this story end I’ve made it into a series that you can find under the ‘Crosby x Bedard sister!’ tag, so of course if you want to see some things for that then head to my asks and let your dreams go wild! For those of you who have made it this far in this series, I love you.

part one | previous part

It was like there was a silent competition between you two to see who missed the other more.

34 weeks

What Sidney didn’t think was that when he woke up he’d wake up to a phone call from you. It had been weeks since you last spoke and after trying to desperately call you each day Sidney was beginning to lose faith.

He had been in the gym when your contact info lit up his phone ��fuck Bedard, I’ve missed you so freaking-” his words were quickly cut off ”y/n isn’t here you dickhead.” Connor grumbled slamming his bedroom door shut as he had to hide your phone from you.

If you had told Connor that he’d be on the phone to one of his idols growing up like this he would have sworn that you were lying “she refuses to admit that she misses you and as much as she doesn’t need you your kid does.” There was no secret that you were good on your own, it’s the reason why you were single throughout your time working with the Penguins.

Sidney rubbed his face as he listened to what your brother had to say “it’s all good her missing me but she doesn’t want to talk to me.” Sidney pointed out as you hadn’t even opened the text messages that he had sent you.

Connor let out a scoff “she’s stubborn and it’s like worse now that she’s pregnant.” He muttered to himself as he rolled his eyes “point is can you come see her and apologise or not?” He added hearing your voice come from the end of the hallway.

The older boy had to say that he appreciated the way your brother was protective over you “I can be there next week.” Sidney hated that he had training camps the entire week that he couldn’t say no to.

“Con you seen my phone anywhere?”

Your voice rang through the line as you stuck your head into your brothers room.

The younger Canadian player panicked as he hid your phone behind his back “nothing,” Sidney knew he should have listened for longer but truthfully he couldn’t, instead he pulled open his laptop looking to see which flights he could get to come see you.

He was getting his girl, one and for all.

35 weeks

Lounging in the pool of your parents lake house was your personal favourite activity to do especially now that you were heavily pregnant. Laying down on the little pool floatie as you and peanut got the chance to soak up some much needed vitamin D was like your little sanctuary that everyone knew not to bother “y/n someone is here for you!” Connor called out walking back into the house making his way to the porch “tell them I’m busy,” you groaned not wanting any company.

But of course the company had to follow Connor into the house “can we talk Bedard?” Sidney asked clutching to the blanket that you had bought peanut and forgot in Pittsburgh during your effort to leave quickly.

Being full of surprise your body shot up as you looked at him with wide eyes causing you to almost fall off of the float all together “boat,” was all you could get out as you had the keys on the table sat under one of Sidney’s shirts.

There was a collection of those in your closet and it was now all you were living in “hurt her and I’ll hurt you,” Connors warning to Sidney made you laugh as you got out of the water “let’s go before this one gets aggressive.” You teased your brother as you ruffled your fingers through his hair causing him to groan.

The Penguins player felt his heart burst watching the interaction between you and your brother. You seemed at peace with the younger Bedard until you turned to face your coworker “shall we go?” You asked spinning the keys on your finger.

Sidney furrowed his eyebrows as he followed you to the dock “are you sure you should be driving?” His voice was soft when he locked eyes with Betty your boat.

You scoffed looking back at him with a glare “I’m driving a boat, not a fucking mechanical bull.” You grumbled placing your hands on your hips as you continued to walk.

He chewed at his cheek as he realised he had fucked up “look I’m sorry,” Sidney mumbled as he watched you hop onto the boat.

It was a place you had told him so much about during your late nights staying up talking “just get on so we can talk.” You matched his quiet tone as you sighed.

That twenty minute ride to your favourite part of the lake was the longest ride of your life done in total silence “surprised to see you here.” You broke the silence getting up to sit closer to him.

Sidney was surprised when you let your knee hit his “couldn’t sleep knowing you were weren’t happy with me.” He confessed ignoring the way his body felt on fire as your fingers danced over his.

Something that you continued to hate about yourself was the way you were always scared of confrontation “look Sid you can fuck whoever you want really.” You shrugged readjusting the cap on your head “just because I’m having your baby doesn’t mean you owe me anything.” Sure you were hurt admitting that but you managed through most of that pregnancy without him.

He frowned hearing you say that “you’re the girl I want to sleep with,” his words made you laugh “you already did that.” You pointed out pointed to your belly.

The hockey player let a smile form on his face “not like that,” he sighed hooking his hand under your knee as he pulled you closer to him.

You mumbled something under your breath as you placed your hand on his chest “I want you for Monday coffees everyday, I want peanut to grow up in one house and one house only.” It felt like a punch in the gut that he was making this about the baby.

Thankfully nobody else was around as you partially wanted to cry “look if you want me for peanut then I’m happy to simply be friends.” You weren’t happy about that, of course you weren’t but with Sidney making you feel like it was what he wanted you had to accept it.

Sidney wanted you to shut up and listen as he tried to tell you how he felt “I want to do this with you and only you.” His announcement made you smile as your cheeks turned pink.

Part of you couldn’t stand how Sidney made you feel all mushy inside and you fully blamed peanut for this “really?” You giggled as he used his strength to pull you onto his lap.

He laughed as he grabbed your hat and threw it somewhere on the boat “deadly,” the hockey player let his fingers trace along your jaw.

His fingers moved to tuck your hair behind your face “you are really pretty you know that?” Sidney’s voice was deep as you felt his thighs tense beneath you.

In that moment you fully throughly about letting him fuck you senseless -another feeling you were going to blame on peanut- “Sid don’t fuck this up,” you warned letting your nose bump his as you stared at his lips.

You were close to letting out a whimper “promise you I won’t Bedard.” Sidney mumbled moving his fingers to the back of your head as he finally kissed you.

It was slow as he savoured every moment of that kiss like it was going to be the last kiss that he was ever going to get from you.

But of course the universe wasn’t going to let you enjoy the soft feeling of his lips “feel this!” You gasped pulling away to quickly grab his had that you placed on your belly as you pushed your shirt up.

It seemed that peanut wanted to say hello “you feeling neglected now?” Sidney laughed as he looked down to your stomach.

37 weeks

Sidney had been a nervous wreck for the last two weeks “good morning,” you smiled as you walked down stairs giving his lips a peck.

Since that moment in the boat you guys had been in this weird flirting stage where you two happily kissed whenever you were alone “hey Bedard,” he wrapped his hands around your waist as he took in what you were wearing.

You were in this blue bikini that made your boobs look fabulous as they were bigger than ever. It wasn’t helped by the problem where you had your shorts on that couldn’t even be zipper up your belly was that big “peanut behaving?” Sidney asked letting his hands slide down to your belly placing a kiss on it too.

Every morning that’s what Sidney did, a kiss for you and a kiss for her “thinking of going for a ride today,” you announced as you loved driving Sidney’s boat.

It should have made you laugh how Sidney drove the car and you drove the boat (even though he was perfectly capable of driving it, he let you have this one) “I wanted to ask you something first,” Sidney mumbled letting his lips hover over your lips.

You raised your eyebrows waiting for him to reveal what he wanted to say “don’t hold out on me now cap.” You felt your stomach rumble as you hadn’t eaten anything “let’s start with breakfast.” Sidney laughed letting you go as you had your usual thing of berries for breakfast.

A scoff left your lips “you can’t not tell me what you wanted to!” You complained as your lips turned into a pout.

Sidney smiled as his hand cupped the back of your neck pulling you closer to him as he got up “what are you going to do if I don’t?” The hockey player asked licking his lips as he smirked.

Part of you wanted to roll your eyes for playing his game “I wont kiss you anymore,” you announced clicking your tongue as you giggled.

He shook his head “know you like the feeling of my lips way too much.” Sidney swore he was a deadman walking when he saw you push onto your tippy toes to move your lips closer to his.

You frowned when he moved his lips further away from yours “don’t fuck with me when I’m this pregnant with your child Crosby.” You warned deciding that he couldn’t say no if you pulled the I’m carrying your child card.

It warmed the captains heart to be reminded of how you were pregnant with his kid but there was still one thing missing “I wanna date you Bedard.” Sidney confessed causing a grin to break out on your face.

Whilst you wanted to feel silly feeling your heart melt instead you giggled “you getting all soft on me Sid?” You teased seeing his cheeks turn a deep shade of red.

The hockey player let out a playful scoff “you tell anyone you get to see this side of me and I’ll deny it.” He warned bringing his lips down to yours “you think I want to date you?” You asked repeatedly blinking at him.

Safe to say Sidney was lost for words as he didn’t know what to do watching you stand there straight lipped “I’m just fucking with you.” You laughed shaking your head as you pushed yourself onto your tippy toes placing your hand on the back of his neck as you grazed his lips “you’re now my girlfriend, I’m getting more than just that peck.” The hockey player grunted giving your waist a squeeze.

All was going well for you until being pregnant decided to come back and bite you in the ass “wait,” you groaned placing your hand on his chest as you pushed him away from you.

Sidney looked at you with wide eyes “what?” He asked growing concerned “I gotta pee,” you announced drawing a laugh from his lips.

“Who would have thought that my daughter would be my cock block?”

You heard the statement causing you to let out a gasp “you better not be talking badly about my baby Sid,” you warned raising your finger at him letting your hand sit on under your belly.

He leaned against the wall seeing you break out into another giggle “what happened to needing to go to the bathroom?” Sidney asked licking his lips as your face turned into a scowl “forgot about that,” you groaned now heading to the bathroom.

“I got a good one,”

39 weeks

Being with Sidney as his girlfriend it felt like pure pleasure. You guys truthfully used this time to finish up the prep for peanuts arrival “you ready to go?” Sidney asked watching you walk down the stairs as you laughed seeing that the boy had made you one of his signature smoothies, fulled with all of the weird fruits that were apparently good for the baby.

You nodded as you smiled “excited to see your parents,” you mumbled wrapping your hand around the cup as you kissed his lips.

Sidney tried to give you the quietest two weeks leading up to peanuts arrival as he wanted you to have as much relaxation time as you could possibly get. But his mother was one person he couldn’t say no to (you were the other) and now that meant you two were going for breakfast with them “we’re already late,” the hockey player complained looking down at his watch.

It made you roll your eyes “if there is one time that they can be okay with me being late is when I’m this pregnant with their grandchild.” You pointed out sipping at the smoothie as you tucked your hair behind your ear letting the boy take note of how you were in his shirt as well as a pair of his basketball shorts.

He laughed taking the bag from your hand “let’s just make sure that we aren’t any later than we need to be.” Sidney explained walking to the door as you were hot on his tail.

Or at least that was until you felt a sharp pain in your stomach, it was different to the ones that you had been feeling throughout the morning. Of course you refused to tell Sidney because the last thing you needed was him worrying about you as he tried to wrap you in bubble wrap. You knew he didn’t do it intentionally but you had grown tired of watching him stop you from living life, yes you were still mad that he took the keys to the boat away from you.

The sound of the smoothie bottle hitting the floor made Sidney’s blood run cold “you okay Bedard?” He furrowed his eyebrows placing your bag on the ground as you went to help you.

You let out a groan as you clutched your stomach “we’re gonna have to cancel on your parents Sid,” you announced with wide eyes as you shook your head “she’s coming,” you added feeling the cold sensation of water trickling down your thighs as you lifted up the shirt your were wearing to see that there was now a wet patch that soaked your shorts.

Up until he saw the look of panick on your own face Sidney wanted to just about die at the thought of peanut arriving early, sure he was excited to see her. But the idea of actually being a dad to someone was now feeling all too real “let’s go have a baby?” His voice shook as he tried to act like he was ready to do this.

It wasn’t like he had already packed the hospital bags two weeks ago and they had been living in his car, not to mention that he already had the car seat installed too. So when you nodded and squeezed Sidney’s hand trying to avoid the pain that the oncoming contraction was sending you it made him realise that you two were bound to make it through any challenges that peanut sent your way.

39 weeks

Your body was tired as you tried to take a nap. Your mom had warned you about the toll that birthing a child has on someone but you really didn’t think that it was going to be this bad “I know your momma is sleeping right now but when she wakes up I promise that you’re going to love her.” Sidney spoke away to his daughter happily as she cooed at whatever he said to her.

Sidney smiled as he looked up to see you looking at him “hey momma,” the new nickname had you feeling like you were all fuzzy inside.

The hockey player made his way over to you “how you feeling?” He asked placing a kiss on your forehead as he sat next to you.

Nurses had been in and out of your room gushing about how cute the new family was “like I just had a baby,” you mumbled drawing a laugh from Sidney’s lips.

You couldn’t help it when your eyes were drawn to your daughter as she stared at her father “we did good,” you added realising why every parent always said that their babies were adorable because you swore that peanut was the cutest baby you had ever seen.

Sidney looked at you as he smiled “that’s all you baby,” he muttered using his other hand to hook his fingers under your jaw as he pulled you into a kiss.

It was soft letting you shut your eyes melting into it as you forgot that your daughter was in his arms “love you,”you swore his words were sent to the baby so you kept quiet “I see I how it is,” Sidney clicked his tongue causing you to look up at him “talking to me?” You asked looking back up at him.

He threw his head back when he let out a laugh “yeah!” The hockey player exclaimed causing your eyes to light up “I love you too then.” The part of you that wondered if he was saying this because you were now the mother to his child, didn’t care because you were simply so tired.

The hockey player let his fingers dance on your jaw “you know how to make a man feel good,” he mumbled making you laugh “shut up and kiss me.” Peanut watched her parents with big eyes as she smiled like she knew it was the first time that they had said I love you.

Of course that moment was never bound to last when the door bursted open “are you going to let me meet my niece or what?” Connor asked barging into the room causing you to jump away from the older boy.

A grin formed on Sidney’s face watching his family and yours follow in shortly after “wash your hands and then you can meet peanut.” The hockey player announced looking at you for confirmation that you agreed.

“come meet our baby.”

[ilyasorokinn]

i just saw your last call post, so not sure if this is late or not- which it’s totally fine if it is!

but if it’s not, can i please request, from the touching prompt list, 3+15 with sidney crosby?

Y/N Y/L/N'S HOCKEY BOYFRIEND

after this blurb, only two more to go for my tumblr-versary! also, i have no idea where this idea came from. i'm just thinking about ross macdonald a lot (24/7), so introducing famous singer!reader x sidney crosby lol

3. "hiding face in neck" 15. "hugging each other" (from this prompt list)

your eyes danced around the crowd of people as you strummed your guitar before closing your eyes with a smile and singing the rest of the song. you could feel the electricity in the atmosphere, even with your eyes closed.

when you strummed the final note, it felt like the floor was vibrating with all the screaming and cheering from the crowd. you didn't think the smile on your face could get any bigger.

"thank you, pittsburgh." you spoke into the microphone, "you've been amazing. you always are." you took a breath, "now, pittsburgh will always be a special place for me. it's where i moved into my first big girl apartment, where i got my first dog. where i met sid." you smiled, "it's home."

"sid is here tonight." you added and had to stop talking due to the amount of yelling and cheering, "i don't know where he is, he didn't tell me. so, if you see him, turn on your flashlight or something. "you joked, covering your eyes to block out the big spotlight in favor of looking into the crowd.

you scanned the pit, but you knew he probably wouldn't be there, so you moved up higher towards the seats until you finally spotted him, "there he is." you pointed, waving to him, "he didn't tell me where he was sitting, but he did request a song tonight. he requested 'eyes like yours'." you, once again, had to pause before speaking because the crowd was screaming so loud.

"i know there's a lot of speculation on this song and who it's about. well, i'm here to set the record straight." you beamed, "this song is about sid and i wrote it in 20 minutes after i got home from our first date. so, would it be okay if i performed it for you?" the crowd screamed in response, "all right." you looked back to your band and gave them a nod.

you performed the song, looking over in the direction where sidney was standing, a smile on your face the entire time. you strummed the last note, and you felt the walls shake. the crowd screamed even louder, their attention on something on the other side of the stage.

you looked over and saw sidney walking on stage with a bouquet of flowers. you smiled, taking off your guitar and setting it down, making your way over to him and hugging him, shoving your face into his neck. you had seen him a few hours ago, but he had apparently forgotten to mention his surprise appearance on stage.

"sidney crosby, you never fail to surprise me," you laughed, kissing his cheek and taking the bouquet he was holding out for you. you pulled away and made your way back over to the microphone.

"pittsburgh, i love you forever and always." you blew a kiss to the crowd and waved, "thank you, good night." you turned back to sidney, who was smiling.

he held his hand out for you, and you grabbed it. he waved to the crowd as you made your way off the stage. your band said their goodbyes, tossing picks and guitar sticks to the crowd, before following you off.

"i love you, you crazy man." you smiled as you looked up at sidney.

"i love you right back, crazy lady." he kissed your head, pulling away with the biggest smile on his face you'd ever seen.

taylor's tumblr-versary!

[angelsuecult]

the captain | s. crosby

warnings: sexual content, strong language, MDNI, 18+, NSFW, minors please do no interact, smut.

summary: Sid is given a hard time by his gf about his very stoic interactions with the media. he's not going to let you off so easy.

request: Younger reader and Sidney are already dating, but she can’t help but roll her eyes at his impeccable media training and family friendly personality in the media he does for the league, so she makes fun of him and takes a strong interest in pushing his limits 👀 (aka ends in smut)

word count: 6.3k

a/n: sorry for the extended hiatus guys! i should be back to regular uploads at this point in time and i am currently working through the request list! more to come to keep your eyes peeled guys! thank you for your patience with me! angelsuecult returns!! also to the original requester please don't hesitate to reach out if i completely missed the mark on this and you want me to retry! and requests are still open and update so dont forget to check that out!

--

You’re pretty sure Valentine’s Day games are a scam. Some cruel cosmic joke designed to make girlfriends sit through 60 minutes of freezing cold air and overpriced concessions just to watch their man play his heart out in a sport that could, at any moment, take all his teeth and potentially a limb.  

Not that you minded. Much.  

Sidney had played his ass off tonight—like he had something to prove. Not that he ever really didn’t, because the man didn’t know how to do anything half-assed. Especially not when it came to hockey. Or you, for that matter.  

But of course, it just had to be Valentine’s Day.

You stood now in the tunnel by the player’s exit, phone in hand, watching as Penguins fans in Crosby jerseys flooded toward the concourse, buzzing about the win. Your fingers flew over your screen.  

You: You know I was going to blow you when you got home, but I’m reconsidering because you just had to make it about you tonight.

Three dots appeared almost immediately. Then vanished. Then nothing.  

You rolled your eyes and snorted. “Coward.”  

The man had just been named first fucking star of the game. Of course he had. Two goals, one assist, and a faceoff win percentage so sexy it made you squirm a little. You knew his media obligations were kicking off soon—he was probably just peeling his sweaty gear off now, miserable about the idea of answering questions about “how it felt” and “what went right tonight.”  

Sid: Can’t believe you’re texting me shit like that while I have to sit half dressed with 5 cameras pointed at me.

You bit your lip and grinned.  

You: I can. 

You: You looked good tonight. Real good. Like I’d let you put it in my ass kind of good.  

You: Kidding. Kind of.  

Another pause. He was slow replying, which you’d expected, and it only made you smirk more knowing he was probably trying not to react in front of his teammates or, worse, the media guys. You could practically see his jaw tightening as he tried to suppress a smile, annoyed but secretly delighted.  

You could picture him already—still in his gear, slumped at his stall with his towel around his neck and that half-annoyed, half-resigned expression on his face. Someone probably tossed a mic in his face already. He was probably giving them that polite nod, the “Sure, go ahead” look, all while internally screaming. Sidney, Sidney, Sidney. Too private for his own good.

Sid: Go to my place. I’ll be done soon.

Sid: Stop texting me this shit.

You laughed out loud, drawing a glance from a nearby couple as you stepped out into the cold Pittsburgh night.

You: Oh baby, I haven’t even started.  

You: Maybe I’ll be in your bed.  

You: Maybe I’ll be in your shower.  

You: Maybe I’ll be in that stupid jersey you “don’t like me wearing because you take it seriously.”  

You could practically hear him groaning through the screen.

Sid: You’re an asshole.

Sid: Say the same shit every time anyway.

Sid: “Good team effort, got the bounces, lucky to come out on top.”

Sid: Happy now?

You: You forgot “credit to the guys” and “just trying to play the right way”

You: Gotta hit all the NHL buzzword bingo squares.

You: And don’t forget to smile like a humble Canadian virgin!

No reply. You let that one simmer. He was either suffering or plotting. Maybe both. Probably both.

You pulled your coat tighter around you, breath fogging in front of your face as you made your way to your car. The wind cut through your jeans, but your smile stayed in place. There was something so satisfying about teasing him after a big win—especially when he hated the attention but couldn’t stop being the best guy on the ice. You just couldn’t help yourself.

You got in the car and cranked the heat while pulling up the radio broadcast. They were still recapping the game, gushing over Sid like he wasn’t just a man who’d once tripped over his own shoe in the hallway.

“…and of course, Crosby with a textbook finish. You can see why he’s still one of the most consistent players in the league…”

You rolled your eyes, mimicking the voice in the car. “Oh yes, Sidney. So clean. So polished. Such a gentleman. Definitely didn’t say he was going to fuck me through the headboard if he scored tonight.”

Traffic cleared slowly as you went to his place, a familiar route etched into your brain. His street was quiet when you pulled in—classic Sid, all understated wealth and privacy. It took you forty five minutes to get from the arena to his house, another five to park and kick off your shoes inside the door.  It smelled like him—like clean laundry, cedarwood, and that subtle vanilla scent of his shampoo you’d teased him for using but secretly loved.

You wandered through his halls, turning on a few lights, getting cozy. It always felt familiar here, even though it was very clearly his space—clean, functional. Like a guy who didn’t like clutter but had more money than he knew what to do with.

You padded into the kitchen and pulled open the fridge. Full of ingredients. Not a single thing you could just grab and go.

“Romantic,” you muttered under your breath, pulling out a container of strawberries instead and wandering toward the couch.

The rest of the house was dark except for the hallway light, left on for you, and your socked feet were silent on the hardwood as you climbed the stairs to his bedroom. The hallway was chilly as you padded toward the bedroom in your socks, carrying the half-eaten strawberries and your phone tucked beneath your arm. Sid’s place had that always-too-clean look to it. Like he tried to live in it, but barely spent enough time home for it to actually look lived in. You made a note to mess it up later. Nothing too dramatic—just a sweatshirt on the floor, maybe a bra hanging off the couch cushion, leave a cup on the counter. Domestic terrorism.

You tossed your phone on the nightstand and peeled off your jacket, fingers brushing over the remote on the dresser.  

TV on.  

Pants off.  

You were in his bed now, wearing his shirt—an old Penguins one that smelled like his laundry detergent and game day nerves—and absolutely nothing underneath.  

Just as God intended.  

The analysts were falling over themselves about his performance.

“…you know what you’re getting with Sid. Every single night. Discipline. Poise. He’s just got it.” You snorted.

“Yeah, discipline until he’s got me pinned under him telling me I’m not going anywhere until I apologize for teasing him about his ‘media voice.’”

Another buzz from your phone.  

Sid: About to start media. They’re dragging it out tonight.  

Sid: You’re lucky I like you.  

Sid: And that I want to fuck you stupid.  

You choked on your laugh, clutching your phone tighter as you wiped strawberry juice from your fingers onto his shirt. You stretched dramatically across the bed and typed.  

You: Wow. Romantic.  

You: Just like I dreamed when I was 10.  

You: “One day I’ll date a hockey player who talks to me like a caveman on Valentine’s Day.”

Sid: Don’t act like you don’t like it. You’re already naked, aren’t you?

You: You’re not even here yet and you already think you know everything.  

Sid: I do know everything. And I know you’re wearing my shirt. And that’s it.  

Sid: Because you’re predictable. And a little slutty.

You covered your face with one hand and laughed out loud into the empty room. Your heart fluttered like a fucking schoolgirl even as you cursed him out in your mind.  

There was something wildly unfair about the duality of Sidney Crosby. The version the world knew—stoic, polite, humble to the point of parody. And then the real version. The one who texted you filthy things from the dressing room and called you a brat with that low rasp in his voice that promised you wouldn’t be walking straight the next day.

He was such a damn con artist.

You: You’re the one who’s gonna cry when I leave you with blue balls tonight.  

You: “Sorry Sid, I got tired waiting for you.”  

You: “Sorry Sid, I used all my energy climbing your stairs.”  

You: “Sorry Sid, I found your toothbrush and that did it for me.”

Sid: You’re such an asshole.

Sid: You’re lucky I’ve been horny for you since warmups. 

Sid: You knew what you were doing, sitting that close.

You had known.  

You always knew.  

And he always played better when he knew you were there watching.  

You yawned, stretched your legs beneath his sheets, and flopped dramatically on the bed, taking up all the space just to be a brat. You could already hear it: his sigh of fake annoyance when he got home, the shake of his head, the way he’d peel your shirt up with one hand and drag your body down with the other.  

You rolled to your stomach, phone buzzing again beside you.  

Sid: I’ll be home soon. You better be exactly where I think you are.

Sid: And if you’re not, you’re done. Actually done. I’ll find a Valentine who respects me.

You: You?  

You: Wanting respect?  

You: I’m sorry. I thought this was Sidney “I’ll fuck you on the bench if no one’s around” Crosby.

No reply. Which told you all you needed to know.  

He was already doing media.  

Probably giving his same bland ass answers.  

Probably planning what he was going to do the second he walked through that door.  

You looked around, debated getting up to light a candle or make the bed look a little less like a war zone. Then shrugged.  

Let him deal with the chaos he caused.  

You flipped onto your back and sighed happily, smirking at the ceiling.  

The remote was still in your hand when the screen switched from the postgame panel to the locker room feed. You didn’t even bother turning up the volume—didn’t need to. You could already hear it in your head.  

Sidney Crosby, media-trained robot, coming to life in hi-def.

You sighed and settled deeper into his bed, still cocooned in his shirt, bare legs tangled in his sheets. The duvet smelled like him. So did the pillow you were shamelessly half-lying on, half-straddling. Your phone sat close, a loaded weapon in the war of flirtation, but for now, you watched.  

There he was, perched in his stall, sweat-slick hair hidden under a black team hat, compression long sleeve clinging to his chest and arms like it was painted on. No jersey. No pads. Just muscle, all angles and sharp focus, like the game hadn’t even left his bloodstream yet. Cue Captain Canada.

The reporter asked about the team’s energy tonight, and you muttered out loud to no one, “We played a full sixty, stuck to our game, did the little things right—blah, blah, blah.”  

And then, right on cue:  

“Yeah, I thought we played a full sixty tonight… stuck to our game, did the little things right…”  

You cackled.

“Fucking called it.”  

He looked half dead behind the eyes, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, nodding as another reporter threw a question at him. You didn't even bother listening this time. You just watched his face. That twitch of his mouth when he was trying not to say what he really wanted to say. That calm, serious voice he used like a shield. That stupid, safe, polished version of himself that made you want to throw something at the screen.  

Because you knew the real Sid.  

The one who talked absolute filth into your ear with that same mouth.  

The one who made fun of his teammates the second the cameras were off.  

The one who said “fuck” more than he said “I.”  

And then—then—it happened.  

The reporter asked:  

“It’s Valentine’s Day, Sid. You played a great game. Got any plans tonight?”  

You sat up a little. That one actually surprised you. When did the reporters get so bold?

He gave them that laugh—that stupid, breathy chuckle he only used when he didn’t want to give too much away. Then he smiled, eyes low, lips pressed together like he was fighting off the real answer.  

“No,” he said. “Just recover. Get ready for the next one.”  

That was it. That was all.  

You stared at the TV, jaw slightly open.  

“Recover?” you muttered. “That’s your answer? No wink? No cute little nod? Not even a fucking smirk? You lying sack of shit, Sidney Patrick.”  You looked absolutely nuts talking to yourself.

You picked up your phone and unleashed.  

You: “Just recover,” he says.  

You: Wow. My pussy just dried up.  

You: Say hello to celibacy apparently.  

Still no reply. You fired off another.  

You: You are such a fucking fraud.  

You: There is literally a naked woman in your bed. Right now. At your house.  

You: On Valentine’s Day.  

You: But nooo, he’s gonna “recover.”  

You: Go ahead, Sid. Recover. I’ll just be here. Thinking about life. My choices. The fact I could’ve fucked a dentist. Or literally anyone else but hey.

You bit your lip to hide a smile, watching him wrap the interview up, nodding politely, face locked in full Captain Mode. You could practically feel the tension buzzing under his skin. The itch to get the hell out of there and back to you.  

One more for good measure:  

You: When they say “Crosby keeps his private life quiet,”  

You: They don’t know it’s because he talks so much shit in bed the FCC would fine him.

That did it.

Your phone lit up almost the second he stood from his stall.  

Sid: You need to be stopped.

Sid: You need help.

Sid: I’m not even out of the building yet and I’m hard.

You flopped backward against his pillows, laughing like a lunatic.  

You: I’m sorry did you forget you have a girlfriend? Did your nut brain erase me from memory just because you got first star??

You: Not even a cute little “gonna go home to the girl who’s been letting me rearrange her insides all season”???

You: Also don’t think I didn’t notice your compression shirt. You know exactly what you’re doing you manipulative little slut.

Sid: Jesus Christ

Sid: You knew what you signed up for.

You: I signed up for the hot hockey sex. The rest was a scam.

You: Don’t worry, I’ll be asleep by the time you get home.  

You: No recovering necessary. You’re off the hook.

Sid: You’re not gonna be able to walk tomorrow if you keep this up.  

Sid: You want recovery? I’ll give you something to recover from.

You swallowed.  

Slowly.  

Okay.  

So maybe you did like poking the bear.  

And maybe the bear knew exactly how to fuck you into next week.  

You tucked your phone under your pillow and let out a slow breath, heart thudding, a little thrill sparking low in your belly.  

Valentine’s Day.  

Just another game on the calendar.  

Until Sid got home.

And the worst part was, you didn’t even realize you’d fallen asleep. One second you were tucked under his sheets, limbs comfortably sprawled, phone still clutched in one hand and TV murmuring softly in the background… and the next, you were blinking against the warm glow of the bedside lamp and squinting up at a very large, very amused, very smug silhouette looming over you.

“Unbelievable,” Sidney muttered, shaking his head as he stood beside the bed. His coat was halfway off, his cheeks still pink from the cold outside, a duffel bag slung over his shoulder, and that fucking backwards hat still on his head. “All that mouth, and look at you now. Out cold.”

You groaned before you could speak, voice thick with sleep and low like you’d swallowed a blanket. “'M not.”

“You literally just snored,” he said, dropping his bag to the floor with a thud and crouching beside the bed. “Like a full-on little cartoon snore. Tiny inhale, wheeze on the exhale. Real cute.”

“I did not snore,” you mumbled into the pillow. But your voice was gravelly, throat dry, and goddammit—your limbs were heavy with sleep, and he smelled so good, and everything was so warm.

“Look at you,” he murmured, brushing a few strands of hair off your cheek. “Talked all that shit and knocked yourself out.”  

You shifted slightly, nose scrunching, a quiet little groan escaping your throat.

“Mmph.”  

He grinned. Leaned in close to your ear.  

“Babe.”  

Nothing.  

“Babe.” He kissed your cheek. “Hey. Hey. Wake up.”  

You grunted, rolling slightly. “M’tired…”  

You rubbed at your eyes with the back of your hand, barely lifting your head from the pillow.

“…What time is it?”

“Late. Or early. Depends who you ask.” He pressed a kiss to your hair. “You passed out. Didn’t even make it to Valentine’s Day sex.”

You groaned again, voice muffled. “I didn’t mean to. Your bed is criminally warm. I got cozy. My body betrayed me.”

“You talked a lot of shit.”

“Yeah well, I thought you were gonna be faster.”

He laughed low in his chest, slipping his hand beneath the covers to grab your hip and give it a squeeze. He climbed onto the bed with all the smug grace of a man who had absolutely earned this moment of superiority. He leaned down, one knee pressing into the bed right between your legs, and shoved at the covers just enough to catch a glimpse of your legs tangled beneath his sheets.

“You look real cozy for someone who was talking an awful lot of shit about how boring I am,” he said, tone low and teasing.

You squinted at him, your voice a gravelly whisper.

“You are boring. You literally said, ‘recover.’ Who says that on Valentine’s Day? Recover from what, Sidney? Being 37?”

He let out a sharp laugh and pushed your hair back from your face, warm fingers brushing your cheek.

“You’re a little shit,” he murmured.

“And you’re a liar.” You poked a finger into his chest. “You lied to the media. There was an actual naked girl waiting for you in your bed and you gave them the ‘I’m gonna rest up’ speech like a fucking priest.”

Sid rolled his eyes.

“You know I can’t give them anything,” he said. “They’ve been trained like bloodhounds. If I so much as hint at having plans, I’ll have a fucking headline on every sports page tomorrow.”

“God forbid people find out you’re not a virgin,” you deadpanned.

“Watch it,” he warned playfully. “I am a role model.”

You burst out laughing, head tipping back into the pillow.

“Oh my god, you are so full of shit. You talk like you’re running for office, but then you come home and say things like, ‘c’mere, baby, I’ve been thinking about fucking you against the kitchen counter since warmups.’”

He grinned. “Still true, by the way.”

You hummed and looped your arms around his neck lazily.

“You missed your shot then, Captain Celibate. Shouldn’t have let me fall asleep.”

Sid smirked and kissed the corner of your mouth.

“Didn’t realize the threat of dick was the only thing keeping you awake.”

“You should’ve. It’s your strongest feature.”

He laughed again, breath warm against your cheek, before ducking his head to kiss you properly—slow and deep and good, like he had all the time in the world. You melted into it, arms tightening around his neck, legs shifting beneath the covers until you hooked one behind his bent knee, dragging him closer.

Then he nuzzled into your neck again and added, low and dirty:  

“You wanna go back to sleep, or you want me to give you something real to recover from?”  

You groaned dramatically. “You are such a whore, oh my god.”  

“And yet, here you are. In my bed. Wearing my shirt. Wet for me in your sleep, probably.”  

“Shut up—”  

“You were,” he said smugly, dragging his hand up your thigh. “I checked. You twitched.”  

You covered your face with both hands. “You’re disgusting.”  

“You’re worse,” he said, kissing down your throat. “And when you wake up tomorrow sore as hell, I want you to remember who was ready when the moment came, and who—” he nipped your collarbone— “took a nap.”  

“Sidney.”  

“Y/n.”  

You sighed, dropped your hands, and stared up at him.  

“You gonna fuck me or give another locker room interview?”  

He grinned. And with that, he kissed you again, deep and slow and fucking smug. You could feel the smile on his mouth, even as he pressed you back into the mattress like you were the only thing worth coming home to.  

"Holy shit," you said, breathless as he tugged your shirt up over your hips, revealing those barely there red panties you wore when you knew he’d be seeing them. Lacy. Dark. A tiny bow on the waistband.

Sid looked smug. “I’m so obsessed with you, it’s disgusting.”

“You're disgusting,” you corrected, but you were already arching up, letting him pull the shirt over your head. 

He laughed low, all pleased with himself. "You love it."

His hand slipped a little higher, fingertips grazing the side of your hip where your underwear were just barely clinging to your curves.

You sucked in a breath you tried to pretend was casual. "Sid," you warned.

"What?" he drawled, blinking down at you like he hadn’t just started setting your entire nervous system on fucking fire. You lifted your head, giving him a look. "You’re fucking pushing it."

Sid grinned, so goddamn starved it made your toes curl. "You need me to spell it out, Y/N Y/LN?" he teased, voice dropping into that dangerous gravel. "Need me to tell you how bad I wanna fuck you?"

You groaned, covering your face with both hands like that could somehow save you. "Jesus Christ, Sidney."

He pulled your hands away, kissing your knuckles like a fucking gentleman, even while his other hand kept creeping higher up your thigh.

"Could just be gentle," he murmured, kissing the inside of your wrist now, right over your pulse. "Real slow, babe. Let you sit on my cock nice and easy. You barely gotta do anything. I'll do all the fuckin' work."

You whimpered, and he fucking heard it.

He grinned harder, absolutely predatory now, shifting to hover over you more fully, careful not to press too much weight onto you.

"Bet you miss it," he murmured against your ear, lips brushing your skin. You literally had sex in his bed this morning but you hated that he was right, you did miss it.

"Sid," you gasped, arching your back automatically, and fuck, he hadn't even touched you properly yet.

He chuckled low and mean, dragging his mouth along your throat, nipping lightly. "Tell me, baby," he rasped. "Tell me how bad you want it."

You shoved at his chest weakly, more for show than anything else. "I hate you," you breathed. "I fucking hate you."

"Yeah, yeah," he mumbled, grinning into your hair. "You love this dick though."

You burst out laughing, half-horrified and half-scorched alive. "You are so fucking nasty," you managed between giggles, pinching his arm lightly.

He caught your hand easily, pressing it down above your head, pinning you with almost no effort. "And you're so fuckin' wet for me right now, I can feel it through your goddamn panties," he grunted, pressing his hips into yours just enough to make you feel the thick, heavy line of him behind his dress pants.

You whimpered again, biting your lip. "Sid," you whispered desperately.

He kissed the corner of your mouth. "Say it," he ordered softly. "Say you want me."

You squeezed your eyes shut, breathing hard.

It was so unfair, how good he was at this. How easily he turned you into this trembling, needy thing even when you thought you had the upper hand for most of the day

But he looked at you like you were the best part of his night. Like he couldn’t wait to ruin you in the best goddamn way.

You cracked your eyes open, meeting his gaze. "I want you," you whispered. "You asshole."

Sid’s grin turned downright feral.

"Yeah?" he rasped, nuzzling into your jaw, his hand finally — finally — sliding under your panties, the rough pads of his fingers skimming where you were already slick and throbbing for him. "Good," he murmured. "‘Cause you're not gettin' away from me, princess. Not tonight."

You gasped as his fingers slipped deeper, teasing, and you clawed at his shoulders, your nails digging into the solid muscle there.

"Sid," you panted. "Bed’s gonna break if you fuck me the way you're lookin' at me right now."

He laughed low, dirty, and thrilled. "Then we'll buy a new one," he said, voice rough as he sank two fingers into you slowly and deep. "Hell, babe, we'll break every goddamn bed from here to fuckin' Canada if it means I get to feel you come around me again."

You moaned helplessly, arching into him.

And when he bent down, kissed you— really kissed you, slow and filthy and possessive — it felt like a promise burned into your skin.

Sid could’ve fucked you stupid in under thirty seconds if he wanted. The way you were already whimpering under him, writhing in his hands, he knew it wouldn’t take much.

But tonight — tonight he wanted to be slow. He wanted to wreck you proper. Melt every bone in your goddamn body.

He slipped his fingers out of you with a slow, slick sound that made you whimper again. He fucking loved that sound. Loved everything about you like this — messy and needy and all his.

"You gotta relax, baby," Sid murmured, dropping kisses along the flushed line of your throat, working his way lower. "Can't be tense on me. Gotta stay nice and easy for me."

Sid pulled back from your body just enough to catch you breathless— just enough to see you, all flushed and desperate, lips swollen, hair a wild halo against the pillows. His heart punched hard against his ribs.

"Fuckin' hell, Y/N," he muttered, staring at you like he couldn’t decide whether to devour you whole or build a shrine at your feet. "Look at you."

You whimpered and tangled your fingers into his hair, tugging gently, begging him wordlessly to keep going.

Sid huffed a soft, broken laugh, dragging your panties slowly — so slowly — down your thighs, baring you completely to him. He didn’t just toss them. No. He pocketed them. Smirked while he was doing it. Like the absolute sex demon he was.

And he was hard. So hard it was actually starting to hurt. He was damn near grinding in his pants for some kind of friction.

He pressed a kiss right between your breasts, trailing down your belly. You shivered so hard it made the mattress creak.

Sid grinned against your skin. "You already taste so fuckin' sweet," he muttered, nosing at your core, not even touching you properly yet, just letting the heat of his breath drive you crazy. "Bet you could get me drunk off your pussy right now, baby. All thick and fuckin' sweet just for me."

"Oh my god, Sidney," You gasped, tossing your head back. "You're fucking filthy."

"Yeah, well," he said, voice low and smug. "You like it, baby. You like havin' me mouth off about how sweet your pussy is when you’re desperate."

You made a sound somewhere between a moan and a sob, and Sid finally gave you what you needed — flattening his tongue and dragging it up through your folds, slow and deep.

Your entire body jerked.

"Jesus fuck, Sid," you gasped, arching off the bed, thighs trembling.

He groaned into you, his hands sliding under your ass to tilt you up even closer to his mouth. "You’re fuckin’ drippin', babe," he muttered, voice vibrating against your soaked skin. "Beggin' for it. Haven’t even touched my cock yet and you’re already so fuckin' close, huh?"

"Fuck you," you moaned, trying to close your thighs around his head — he loved when you did that, so desperate you wanted to trap him there.

Sid laughed low, all smug satisfaction, and stiffened his tongue to shove into your leaky entrance, bobbing in and out like he was starving. Every little whimper, every twitch of your hips, just made him harder, his cock aching in his dress pants.

He shifted one hand, dragging two fingers back inside you, pumping slow, gentle strokes in and out while he circled your clit with his tongue, slow and deliberate. His fingers moved slow between your legs, curling deep, working that perfect rhythm only he knew. Your thighs quivered, trying to clamp shut, but he squared his shoulder and pushed them open lazily. "None a' that," he said, smirking. "You’re taking it, baby. Not hidin’ from me now. Not after all that shit you talked on my phone."

You clawed at the dress shirt he was still wearing, trying to yank him back up. "You’re such a fucking dick," you gasped. "Coulda just got me some flowers and left me the fuck alone—"

Sid grinned, slow and greedy, dragging the how tongue down your slick folds, circling your clit just hard enough to make your hips jerk. "And miss this?" he murmured. "Babe, you’re better than Christmas. Better than a fuckin’ playoff win."

He pushed your shirt up higher until your breasts were exposed, beautiful and tender. He palmed one carefully, thumb brushing across your hardening nipple, and you gasped, your legs falling further open for him.

"Sensitive, huh, baby?" he whispered, watching you squirm. "Bet you could come just from my mouth on you right now, no hands, nothing."

"You’re fucking killing me," you moaned, lifting your hips helplessly, trying to get more friction.

He laughed again — slow, dangerous — and dipped his head to take your clit back into his mouth, sucking softly, then harder, pulling a desperate, broken sound from your throat.

You fisted his hair, hips rocking mindlessly against his face, your whole body tightening.

"Sid, fuck," you gasped, "I can't—I'm gonna—"

He lifted his head, grinning at your flushed, wrecked face. "You gonna come for me already, baby? Just from my fuckin' fingers?" he teased, pumping them harder now, twisting his wrist so his palm rubbed against your clit perfectly. "Fuck, that's hot. Goddamn, you're perfect. So fuckin' good for me,Y/N."

"Jesus–Fuck–Sidney." you cried out, arching hard off the bed as you came, gripping his wrist as if to tell him not to stop, body shuddering, your pussy clenched down so hard around his fingers it almost hurt, soaking his hand and mouth with a gush that made Sid groan into you.

He kept working you through it, slow and patient, until you were trembling, whimpering, utterly wrecked.

He kissed you again, deep and slow, until you went boneless against the sheets, gasping for air.

He pulled his fingers out finally, dragging them slow between your thighs, teasing your slit just to hear you whimper again. Then he sucked his fingers into his mouth, groaning low like you were the best fucking thing he'd ever tasted.

You slapped his chest weakly. "You're disgusting," you muttered, still breathless, half-dazed.

Sid grinned and grabbed your hand, pressing it to the bulge straining against the front of his now wrinkled pants. "Yeah? Feel how bad you got me, baby?" he rasped. "’M about two seconds away from blowin' my load like a fuckin' teenager over here."

You laughed, exhausted and glowing and a little feral around the edges. "Good," you whispered, hooking your legs around his waist. "Now fucking do something about it, Crosby."

He stripped his shirt off one-handed, tossing it somewhere behind him, before finally, finally undoing his jeans.

His cock sprang free, hard and leaking, and you made a broken, desperate sound that made Sid’s heart squeeze. Your mouth actually watered.

“Baby… fuck,” he muttered, his voice low and rough as he guided your hands above your head, he tapped his tip against your slick folds, nudging your clit teasing the both of you, you instinctively moved forward, preparing for more stimulation, “You ready for me, huh?”

You nodded, your breath catching in your throat as you felt the warmth of the head pressing against your entrance, so close yet so far. You could barely form words, the need building inside you too overwhelming, and all you could do was let out a shaky breath, your hips shifting slightly against him. “Mhmmm,” you murmured, your voice trembling with anticipation. “need you.”

With a groan, Sidney shifted above you, his hands holding your hips as he slowly pushed his length into you, slowly, inch by inch. The sensation was overwhelming—your heat, your tightness, the way you stretched around him as he filled you. He couldn’t hold back the curse that slipped from his lips as he bottomed out inside you, his breath ragged as he held you close.

"Fuck, baby," he groaned into your neck, "tightest fuckin' thing, swear to god...made for me."

Sid stayed still for a moment, just breathing, letting you adjust, feeling your soft, fluttering muscles pulsing around him.

You let out a soft moan, your head falling back further into the pillow as you adjusted to the feeling of him inside you. The stretch was delicious, filling you completely, and the slow, steady throb of him buried deep inside made your pulse race. You could feel every inch of him, the way he fit perfectly against that gummy spot inside you, and it made you dizzy with need.

It took every ounce of control he had not to just start pounding into you like a goddamn animal.

Instead, he pulled out slow, almost all the way, and slid back in with one long, careful thrust that made you whimper and dig your heels into the mattress.

"That’s it," he murmured against your temple. "Just like that, princess. Let me take care of you."

He fucked you slowly—long, hard, deep strokes,  savoring every twitch and gasp and curse. You arched under him, hips pushing up, body moving with his like you’d been built just for this.

The sound of his hips hitting the back of your thighs filled the room. He kept a first grip on your hips as he continued a consistent pace. At some point your brain just melted. Your eyes could no longer focus on him above you and your mouth hung open, moans no longer falling from your lips. The only thing you could do was tighten around him.

Sid could feel you getting close. He dropped down, his chest pressing right up to yours stopping his thrusts. But in your cockdrunk you started to grind upwards when Sidney wouldn’t move. Caught between needing the break but also wanting him to continue.He wanted this to last though. 

And just like that, he was sitting back, pulling you up with him. Chest to chest, you were now on top. His lips catching yours in something deeper now—hotter, messier. You gasped as he lifted you slightly, maneuvering with muscle memory and intention, letting you sink down completely onto his cock.

“I got you,” he murmured, one hand on the small of your back, the other moving down to stroke your thigh. “Just move how you want. I’ll follow your lead.”

You couldn’t answer — too full, too overwhelmed, too in love — so you just sat on your knees and began rocking your hips in desperation. He knew you were getting impatient. It was in the way your hips started moving impatiently against his aching cock. He knew you needed to come and that you were close. It was in the way you took everything he gave you, every rough upward thrust, every whispered praise.

You leaned forward, one hand braced on his broad shoulder, the other tangled in his hair as you rode him slowly — hips rolling in little waves, the angle hitting all the right places, making your whole body quake.

“‘M close Sid,” you whispered, gasping when his thumb found your swollen clit again.

“Good,” he said hoarsely, “You need it. Look at you. All needy and swollen. You’re the hottest thing I’ve ever seen. You know that?”

“Don’t stop ohmygodohgodfuck-” you whined, burying your face in his neck.

Sidney couldn’t stop even if he tried to. You’re too damn addicting.

He starts to thrust upward, matching the pace in which you're riding him. He desperate to watch you fall apart on top of him. He pushes two fingers into your mouth, you instinctively start sucking on them as if they’re his cock.

“There she is,” he whispers, rough and low.

You clamp down around his cock, coming hard and fast. It rolled through you in heavy, pulsing waves–warm and all consuming–pulling a wrecked cry from your lips.

“Fucking–Jesus–I’m–Goddammit Sid–”

Sidney came with a deep, desperate groan, burning his face in your neck as his cock twitched inside of your pussy. He emptied himself inside, thrusting up lazily a few times, fucking his come deep inside of you, even as you writhe above him in overstimulation. He watches as his cock drags in and out of you, a circle of your cream circling the base as his come leaks down his length and down to his balls. 

Sid pressed you back onto the mattress, unintentionally thrusting his softened cock into you. You whine softly, already spent and tired and ready for bed. He presses gentle kisses to the side of your face.

“You okay?”

“Mm.” You mumble softly, already drifting off.

You had all the time in the world now. Sid had made damn sure of that.

--

[mrsonmyr]

let me for once

summary: y/n pays for dinner. inspired by the trend of girls paying for their stubborn boyfriends

pairing: sidney crosby x female reader

authors note: a late night blurb but I am taking Sidney requests <3

Early on in your relationship you insisted on paying for dinner and drinks. With your manicured hand reaching into your purse, you fished out your wallet, only to look up and find Sidney staring at you, utterly dumbfounded.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“Paying,” you said, cheeks warming. “You’ve taken me out so many times—I want to take you out.”

Sidney’s lips curled into an amused smile as he shook his head. “You don’t need to do that. I’m taking you out, I’m paying. I always pay.”

“I know you always pay, and I appreciate it. That’s why I wanted to for once.”

His cheeks started to turn pink. “Babe, really. Put your card away.” He reached into his back pocket for his wallet.

“Sidney, I’m serious.” You slid your credit card across the table next to the check.

Without missing a beat, he slid it right back to you, tucking his own card inside instead. “Here,” he said, pushing the checkbook toward you. “Use this to pay.”

You stared at him. “Sidney, I’m not paying with your card. I work, I have money, and I want to treat my boyfriend.”

“But you’re my girlfriend. You shouldn’t be paying for my dinner.” His tone was firm yet affectionate. “I appreciate the offer, but I’m taking you out. I’m paying.”

“So, if I make a reservation somewhere and take you out, then I can pay?”

“No,” he said easily. “I’d still pay.”

You folded your arms, leaning back in your chair with a sigh. “I won’t forget this, Crosby.”

With a smirk, he handed the waiter his card as they came to collect the check, leaving you shaking your head—because, of course, he wasn’t going to budge.

Years later, and it’s still the same—he never lets you pay. Gas, nails, groceries, dinner—nothing. He won’t allow it.

Tonight is no different. It’s a cozy Friday night in, and takeout is the plan.

“Do you want pizza? Wings? We could do Thai—we haven’t had that in a while,” you suggest, scrolling through your phone from your spot on the couch.

“Whatever you want, babe. I’ll eat anything,” Sid calls from the other room. And you know that to be true.

You settle on pizza from your favorite spot, confirm the order with Sid, and a few minutes later, he walks over—wallet in hand.

“It should be here in 45 minutes,” you say, locking your phone and sinking back into the cushions. You ignore the sight of your large boyfriend standing in front of you, waving his wallet like a flag.

“Are they gonna take cash at the door?” he asks, frowning slightly.

“Nope, they’ll just drop it off,” you reply, feigning innocence.

“But… how do we pay?”

“Oh, it’s all good. Don’t worry about it.” You keep your eyes on the screen. “Sit, sit. I’ll start the movie from the beginning.”

Sidney hesitates before sinking onto the couch, placing his wallet on the coffee table. “Did you pay?”

“Yeah, I did.”

Sidney groaned and threw his head back against the couch dramatically. “Why would you do that?”

You shrugged, trying to keep your expression neutral, but the small smirk threatening to form gave you away. “Because I can.”

“No, you can’t,” he shot back immediately, sitting up and turning toward you. “That’s illegal.”

You laughed, leaning into his side. “It’s not illegal, Sid.”

He huffed, crossing his arms like a stubborn kid. “In this house, it is.”

You rolled your eyes playfully. “It’s just pizza.”

“It’s not just pizza. It’s the principle.”

You knew this game all too well. He always insisted on paying, no matter what. But after years of him covering everything, you’d decided to sneak one in when you could.

“I think the principle is that I should be able to buy dinner for my own boyfriend every once in a while,” you countered, poking him in the side.

Sidney narrowed his eyes, but you could see the way his lips twitched, fighting a smile. “I don’t like this.”

“You don’t have to like it,” you teased, snuggling closer. “You just have to accept it.”

He sighed, shaking his head. “This isn’t over.”

You grinned, grabbing the remote. “I’d expect nothing less.”

[nylqnder]

DANCING WITH OUR HANDS TIED SIDNEY CROSBY

pairing: younger!gf x sidney crosby

summary: after a night of celebrating, one photo changes everything. a private moment goes public, sparking rumors, opinions, and a whole lot of judgment. suddenly, it feels like the world is closing in, and you and sidney have to figure out how to deal with the chaos.

warnings: age gap (12 years, reader is 25), appearances from natemac + charlotte, steph marner and lauren kyle, people online sucking and being rude, angst

wc: 6.32k

notes: based on dancing with our hands tied by taylor swift. obsessed how everyone's collectively agreed that sidcros canonically has a younger gf lmao

Sidney wasn’t the type to bring people along — no charity events, no team functions, nothing that risked exposing too much. Privacy was his shield, one he’d spent years perfecting, carefully keeping his private and professional lives independent of each other. And, in the several months you’d been together, that instinct had only sharpened. No one knew about you, not really. Not the media, not the fans, not even some of his teammates.

But when he asked, voice soft and edged with something unspoken, you couldn’t say no.

He would never admit it. He would never outright say that he wanted you there, that he needed you there. 

But you could hear it anyway — in the way his voice hesitated just a fraction too long before he asked, in the way he didn’t meet your eyes at first, like giving you the choice to say no made it easier for him to ask at all. Sidney wasn’t one to lean on others, not openly, not in ways that could be perceived as weakness. But this? Inviting you to Four Nations, to a tournament where every move was scrutinized, where the weight of expectation that comes with representing your country pressed down like a vice?

It wasn’t just about wanting you there. It was about needing something steady, something certain, in the chaos of it all. You weren’t just a spectator to him. You were an anchor. And even if he’d never say it, this was the closest he’d come to asking you to stay. 

So here you were, in Montreal, tucked into the quiet luxury of Sidney’s hotel room, the hum of the city just beyond the window. His duffel bag sat half-zipped on the floor, his team-issued gear folded neatly beside it. Across the room, Sidney leaned against the dresser, still in his sweats, still fresh from practice, watching you as you stood in the middle of the room with your coat draped over your arm.

“You didn’t have to do that,” you told Sidney who was watching you with that quiet patience, waiting for you to tell him how your afternoon went.

The invitation had caught you off guard. Sidney wasn’t the kind of guy who asked for favours, who made a fuss over things most people took for granted. But somehow, between morning skate and team meetings, he and Nate had quietly set this up.

No one here really knew about you. Sidney had made sure of that — not out of shame or secrecy, but because privacy was the only way he knew how to protect something that mattered. And because of that, you didn’t have the built-in connections the other WAGs had. You weren’t part of the tight-knit circle that formed around a team, the kind of bond that came from years of shared seasons and shared memories from teams such as these.

But then Nate’s fiancée, Charlotte, had texted — a casual, no-pressure invitation to lunch with her, along with Mitch and Connor’s wives, Steph and Lauren. It had been arranged so seamlessly that you knew it had come from someone other than them — Sidney or Nate, most likely, making sure you weren’t alone in a city full of people who knew each other.

He shrugged his shoulders, nonchalant. “I didn’t do anything.”

You gave him a look, dropping your coat and pulling off your heeled boots before sitting on the foot of the bed. “Nate, then.”

Sidney huffed out a laugh, gaze flickering away for a moment before settling back on you. “Maybe.”

It was so like him — so like them — to do something thoughtful and then pretend like it hadn’t taken effort at all. You should’ve expected it.

Still, it had felt strange walking into that restaurant, into a lunch with women who had a history with each other, a rhythm you hadn’t yet learned. The gap between you and them was obvious in some ways — you were newer, younger, and the age difference between you and Sidney wasn’t exactly subtle.

But they hadn’t pried. They hadn’t judged.

They’d just… welcomed you.

“You were right about them,” you said finally, drawing your legs up beneath you on the bed. “They were really nice. They didn’t ask a bunch of questions or make it weird.”

Sidney’s shoulders relaxed slightly, but he stayed quiet, letting you fill in the silence at your own pace.

“I mean, I know the age difference is… noticeable,” you continued, watching his expression carefully. “I figured there’d be some curiosity, maybe even skepticism. But they didn’t make me feel out of place. It was just… easy.”

Sidney let out a slow breath, his fingers tapping absently against the dresser. “Good,” he said simply, but there was something heavier beneath it.

You tilted your head. “You were worried?”

His lips pressed together in a way that meant he was choosing his words carefully. “Not worried,” he admitted. “Just… I didn’t want you to feel like an outsider.”

Something in your chest tightened, warmth spreading through you at the quiet sincerity in his voice. He hadn’t asked you to come here lightly. He hadn’t arranged this lunch on a whim.

“I didn’t,” you reassured him. “It was nice to feel included.”

Sidney nodded, a small, almost imperceptible shift in his posture that told you he was relieved. He glanced down at the floor, then back up at you, his mouth quirking into something almost shy.

“I’m glad you’re here,” he said softly.

Your breath caught for half a second, but you smiled. “Me too.”

The days began to blur together as the tournament came into full swing. You’d only just begun to experience the ebb and flow of regular hockey seasons, but with the Penguins missing playoffs last year, you hadn’t experienced the business of meaningful hockey. One moment, you were in Montreal, adjusting to the rhythm of Sidney’s world, and the next, you were on a plane to Boston, the city humming with anticipation for the final game.

It was in those moments, where Sidney was being whisked away to the arena for practice and media, that you were glad to know the other girls now. Mornings you likely would’ve spent alone were now spent getting brunch with the girls or checking out local boutiques together. 

The final game felt different. The energy in the arena, the weight of expectation in the air — it was tangible, pressing down on everyone in attendance. You could feel it in the way the fans leaned forward in their seats, in the nervous tension woven between every play. The stakes were everything. Canada versus the U.S. A rivalry as old as the game itself, culminating in one night, one moment.

You sat beside Lauren in the stands, your fingers curled around the armrests of your seat as the game unfolded at a breakneck pace. Every shift was a battle, every second a test of endurance and will. Sidney was relentless, his presence a steady force on the ice, his every move calculated and precise. And yet, it wasn’t just him — it was the whole team, a collection of the best, playing as one.

The game stretched into overtime, the tension nearly unbearable. You barely breathed as Canada took a faceoff and gained possession in the offensive zone. The entire arena seemed to hold its breath as Mitch passed the puck to a wide-open Connor right in front of the net before he wired a wrister past the goaltender. The building erupted, the horn blared, and suddenly, everything was chaos.

You screamed before you even realized it, jumping to your feet, arms wrapping around Lauren as you both nearly lost your balance in your excitement. The ice was a blur of movement — sticks and gloves flying, players leaping over the boards, crashing into each other with unrestrained joy. The Canadian bench emptied in an instant, the celebration spilling across the ice in waves.

You finally see the 87 on a red jersey joining the throng of players. He wasn’t the first into the pile, likely wasn’t the loudest in his celebration, but the second he reached his teammates, the weight he carried seemed to lift. His grin was wide, eyes crinkling at the corners, his arms tight around Nate as they half-collapsed into the growing huddle. It was rare to see Sidney lose himself in a moment, to let his guard down completely. But here, now, you could see it. The pure, unfiltered joy of winning, of achieving something monumental on the international stage once again.

Your throat tightened, emotion catching you off guard. It was one thing to know how much this meant to him, but another to see it written across his face so clearly. Sidney wasn’t one to need validation, but this — this was different. Winning for his country, leading on the biggest stage — it was everything.

Tears burned behind your eyes, but you blinked them away, unwilling to miss a second. Lauren squeezed your arm, her own excitement mirrored in her bright smile. “They did it!”

You nodded, laughing breathlessly. “I can’t believe it.”

The medal ceremony was a blur of red and gold, of cheers and anthems and beaming faces. When Sidney stepped forward to receive his medal, you swore your heart clenched in your chest. He looked up into the crowd, and for a fleeting second, his gaze found yours. He didn’t wave, didn’t do anything that might draw attention to the connection, but the warmth in his expression was unmistakable. And that was enough.

The bar was packed by the time you arrived, a haze of celebration thick in the air. Team Canada had all but taken over, their roped-off section teeming with players, coaches, and close friends, the space a sea of red and white. Laughter and clinking glasses filled the room, voices raised over the pulse of music and the distant roar of fans still celebrating in the streets.

You had barely stepped inside when you felt a presence at your side, warm and familiar.

“You made it.”

Sidney’s voice was quieter than the surrounding noise, but you’d have heard him anywhere.

You turned, and there he was — still in the team-issued hoodie he must have thrown on post-shower, hair damp at the edges, eyes alight with something soft and tired and incredibly alive. The gold medal was slung around his neck, a casual afterthought despite the magnitude of what it meant.

You exhaled a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. “Of course I did.”

His hand found yours instinctively, fingers warm against your wrist, brushing against your pulse. He didn’t pull you in right away, but there was something unmistakable in the way he looked at you. A silent acknowledgment. A quiet gratitude.

And then, just like that, the space between you was gone. His arm wrapped around your waist, tugging you close, the solid warmth of him pressing into you. He smelled purely of champagne and beer that had been poured on him post-win. His lips found your temple first, then your cheek, slow and deliberate. He hadn’t had a second to himself since the final horn, but here, now, with you, he let himself pause.

“Thank you,” he murmured, his voice barely audible over the noise.

You leaned back just enough to meet his gaze. “For what?”

“For being here.”

It was a simple thing, and yet it held so much. For seeing him at his most intense and still choosing to stay. For understanding the gravity of nights like these and letting him exist within them without expectation. For knowing when to stay in the background and when to step into his orbit.

You smiled, fingers grazing the medal at his chest before gripping the front of his hoodie, tugging him down just enough for your lips to brush his. “Wouldn’t have missed it for anything.”

His breath hitched slightly, just for a second, before he kissed you properly, with the kind of certainty that came with knowing, without a doubt, that this was right.

The moment was brief, fleeting — Sidney wasn’t one for public displays — but when he pulled away, his fingers still rested against your hip, grounding you to him.

“C’mon,” he said, voice lighter now, that rare post-win ease still settling into his frame. “Let’s get a drink.”

You let him lead you deeper into the celebration, past teammates who clapped him on the back and playfully nudged him at the sight of you together. He took it all in stride, offering nothing more than a smirk before ordering two drinks, his hand never once leaving yours.

The morning after the celebration felt slow, almost suspended in the quiet hum of a city still revelling in victory. Sunlight streamed through the hotel curtains, casting long, golden streaks across the unmade bed where Sidney lay beside you, his breathing steady, the weight of exhaustion still heavy in his limbs.

His back rose and fell with each slow breath, the muscles shifting beneath skin mapped with faint freckles and the ghost of old bruises. The warm glow of morning light traced the sharp angles of his shoulder blades, pooling in the dip of his spine, highlighting the way his skin gleamed with the remnants of last night’s sweat. A few stray curls clung to the nape of his neck, dark against the pale sheets. 

You shifted slightly, careful not to wake him just yet, reaching for your phone on the nightstand. The moment the screen lit up, your stomach twisted. Missed calls. Unread messages. Group chats that had been dormant now lit up with notifications.

Your pulse quickened. Something had happened.

You shot upright, legs swinging over the side of the bed as you scrolled through the never-ending stream of notifications. Sidney stirred beside you, a low hum escaping his throat as he blinked against the light. “Morning, hon.”

You didn’t reply, rather scrolling through messages and posts to find the root of the uproar. “Babe?” he asked. When met with more silence, he sat up, placing a calloused hand softly on your shoulder. “Y/n? You okay?”

You hesitated for half a second before exhaling sharply, tilting the screen toward him. It didn’t take long for Sidney to make out what he was seeing on your screen. A single image had spread like wildfire across social media overnight — a photo taken at the bar, capturing the two of you in the kind of intimacy that left nothing to interpretation.

The photo on your screen was bathed in the warm, low-lit ambiance of the bar, a moment frozen in time. Sidney stood before you, his smile soft yet intense as he gazed down at you. Your arms were wrapped around each other, bodies pressed close, foreheads nearly touching, lost in a private world amid the dimly lit crowd. The golden glow of the room kissed your skin, the soft waves of your hair cascading down your back as your fingers rested lightly on his bicep.

The comments were filled with vitriol.

Since when is Crosby into arm candy?

She looks way younger than him…

Is this a mid-life crisis thing or…?

Damn, never thought I’d see Sid with a gold digger.

The words made your chest tighten. It wasn’t just gossip; it was venom. Assumptions turned into insults, speculation sharpened into accusations. People who didn’t know you — who had never even seen you before this moment — had already decided exactly who you were.

Sidney pulled back, retreating to his side of the bed. He swung his legs off the side of the bed, grabbed his phone and scrolled through his equally endless notifications. They all contained the same things; questions about who this mystery girl was, asking since when was he into younger girls. The queries about who you were rivalled the amount of congratulatory text he had received about winning gold. 

You glanced over your shoulder, seeing the way his shoulders were tensed up as he hunched over his phone. “Sid,” you started, voice careful, but he shook his head.

“I should’ve been more careful,” he muttered, mostly to himself. “I should’ve known someone would take a picture.”

You swallowed hard. “It’s not your fault.”

He let out a slow breath, running a hand through his hair. “I know, but that doesn’t make it easier.”

Sidney had spent his entire career guarding his privacy, crafting an existence where the only thing the world saw was the player, never the man. And now, in a single night, that careful boundary had been breached.

You crawled across the expanse of the king bed, the sheets rustling softly beneath you as you moved closer. Your fingers found his shoulder first, hesitant yet deliberate, the warmth of his skin grounding you as your palm flattened over the tense muscle. He exhaled at the touch, a barely-there sigh, but he didn’t lean into you. 

“What do we do?”

He exhaled sharply. “We don’t do anything.”

You blinked. “Sid—”

He stood up, your hand falling from his unclothed shoulder as he turned to face you. “People are going to say what they want, no matter what we do. If we respond, it adds fuel to the fire. If we stay quiet, it dies down eventually.”

You knew he was right, but it didn’t make it easier. Your fingers curled against the sheets, frustration simmering beneath your skin. “It’s just… ugly. They’re making it seem like you’re some predator and I’m some money-hungry girl taking advantage of you. And they don’t even know us.”

Sidney’s expression softened. “I know.” His hand found your chin, tilting your head up to look into his eyes. “But I do. And that’s what matters.”

You studied him for a moment, searching for any trace of doubt, but there was none. Just the unwavering steadiness that defined him, the quiet certainty that had always drawn you to him in the first place.

He let his hand fall, exhaling slowly before running his fingers through his still-damp hair. The weight of the moment settled between you, thick and heavy, but Sidney didn’t flinch under it. He just stood there, watching you, waiting.

Then, his phone buzzed again. A call. He glanced at the screen, lips pressing into a thin line before silencing it.

“Who is it?” you asked quietly.

“Geno,” he muttered. After a beat, his phone buzzed again. “Tanger too. Probably checking in.”

Of course. The photo was everywhere. His teammates weren’t oblivious. They knew what this meant — what it meant for him.

Sidney sighed, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “We should pack. Our flight’s in a few hours.”

You nodded, though the tension still sat heavy in your chest. This wasn’t something you could outrun, not even by getting on a plane and heading back to Pittsburgh. But if Sidney wasn’t going to let it dictate his next move, you wouldn’t either.

The hotel lobby was eerily quiet compared to the chaos of the night before. A few lingering fans still loitered outside, hoping to catch a last glimpse of the players before they departed for their respective cities. The gold medal around Sidney’s neck had been tucked away into his carry-on, but there was no mistaking who he was — who both of you were, now, in the wake of the photo.

You spotted them before they spotted you.

The girls stood near the hotel entrance, their voices hushed but animated. You could tell they had been talking about it — about you. The moment they noticed you approaching, their expressions shifted, morphing into something softer. Understanding.

“Hey hon,” Charlotte murmured, stepping forward first, her heels clicking against the marble floor as she pulled you into a quick hug. “I saw everything online. Are you okay?”

You hesitated. There wasn’t an easy answer to that.

“I…” you exhaled, forcing a small smile. “It’s a lot.”

Lauren scoffed, arms crossing. “People are awful. Like, seriously, do they not have anything better to do than rip apart someone they don’t even know?”

Steph nodded, her brows furrowed in frustration. “I don’t get it. As if Sidney would ever be the type to entertain a ‘gold digger’ — like, come on.”

Their voices overlapped, indignation building on your behalf, and the warmth in your chest surprised you. You hadn’t expected this. Not really. You’d half expected them to finally let their fronts up and admit that they thought the age gap was weird, that they agreed with the strangers online who called you an opportunist, who speculated about your intentions, who dissected every interaction like it was proof of some ulterior motive. You’d half expected them to nod along with the cruellest comments, to tell you, gently but firmly, that they understood why people were saying those things.

But they didn’t.

Instead, their outrage was genuine, layered with protectiveness you hadn’t dared to hope for. Their voices rose over one another, dismissing the gossip with a ferocity that made your throat tighten. Something was reassuring about their presence, about the way they made it clear you weren’t alone in this. You hadn’t been part of this world long, but in the span of a few days, they had made space for you in it.

Sidney stepped up next to you, his hand brushing against yours. “We should get going, the cars waiting out front.”

They nodded in understanding, exchanging quick hugs before stepping aside, letting you both pass. As you exited the hotel, the cool Boston air hit your skin, crisp and awakening. Sidney’s hand found the small of your back, guiding you toward the car waiting to take you to the airport.

The chartered flight back to Pittsburgh was quiet. Sidney had never been a man of many words, but this silence was different — it was thicker and heavier. The silence threatened to suffocate the two of you.

You sat beside him, your fingers twisting idly in your lap, the occasional hum of the airplane engines the only sound between you. Every now and then, your phone would vibrate with another notification, but you had stopped checking them hours ago. You knew what they would say.

Sidney, on the other hand, hadn’t stopped scrolling. His jaw was set, shoulders tight, his focus glued to the screen as he combed through the online storm that had erupted overnight. The same cycle of cruel comments, the same intrusive headlines. Sidney didn’t even use social media, at least not publicly. He only had it to keep up with his closest friends and family. 

But that didn’t stop him from looking. From searching his own name. From refreshing the threads and articles that dissected the photo. It was a compulsion, a need to know — even if knowing only made it worse. His grip on his phone tightened with every cruel joke, every twisted narrative about the two of you. You could see the tension in his jaw, the flicker of something raw in his expression, but he wouldn’t tear his eyes away. 

Eventually, you reached over, your fingertips grazing the back of his hand, urging him to stop. He didn’t pull away, but he didn’t look at you either.

“Sid,” you murmured.

A long exhale. He finally locked his phone and set it face-down on the table in front of him. He rubbed his hands over his face before turning his gaze toward the window, watching the clouds roll by.

“I didn’t want this for you,” he said finally, voice barely above a whisper.

You swallowed hard. “I know.”

He turned then, looking at you for the first time in what felt like hours. “It’s not fair,” he said, the words sharp with frustration. “You shouldn’t have to deal with this. I should’ve—”

“Sid.” You cut him off before he could start blaming himself again. “This isn’t just about you. We knew this could happen. We just didn’t know when.”

His lips pressed together, unhappy but unwilling to argue. He reached for your hand then, lacing his fingers with yours, grounding himself in the simple connection.

But even as he held you close, you could feel the shift between you.

The weight of it all didn’t lessen when you returned to Pittsburgh. If anything, it only grew heavier.

Sidney was different. Not distant, exactly, but careful in a way he hadn’t been before. The easy rhythm you had fallen into over the months — the stolen moments, the quiet evenings spent in the comfort of each other — had been disrupted.

Now, everything felt… tense.

You noticed it in the way he checked over his shoulder for any signs of intruding cameras before reaching for you, in the way he kept a careful distance between you in crowded spaces, his hand hovering near yours but never quite closing the gap. He still looked at you the same way in private, still touched you with the same quiet reverence. But beyond closed doors, it was as if he had retreated behind an invisible wall.

It wasn’t intentional. You knew that. This was how he had survived in the public eye for so long — by being careful, by maintaining control.

But this time, it wasn’t just him anymore. It was you, too.

And you weren’t sure how much longer you could pretend it didn’t hurt.

The first fight — the first big fight — came late one evening, when the weight of everything became too much to ignore.

The living room was quiet except for the low hum of the television, its blue light flickering against the walls. Sidney sat beside you on the couch, one arm draped along the backrest, his other hand absently tapping against his thigh. He looked tired — more tired than he had in a long time. The kind of tiredness that went deeper than physical exhaustion.

TNT was on, background noise to the silence neither of you seemed eager to break. Then, Paul Bissonnette’s voice cut through the quiet, casual but laced with something more. Something biting.

“Look at our boy Sid, huh? Maybe all he needed was a new young toy to bring some life back into him.”

The words landed like a slap.

Sidney stiffened, every muscle in his body coiling tight. Without hesitation, he grabbed the remote and shut the TV off in an instant, the screen snapping to black.

You sat in the newfound silence and the air between you suddenly charged.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. Then, Sidney exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “I don’t know how we can keep doing this,” he muttered, voice strained. “Not if this is what people think.”

Your brows knitted together, confusion laced with hurt. You uncurled yourself from Sidney’s side, turning to look at him. “Since when do you care what people think?”

“I don’t,” he snapped, then sighed, shaking his head as if trying to correct himself. “It’s not about me.” He turned to you, his expression raw in a way that made your stomach twist. “It’s about you. The way they talk about you. The things they’re saying.”

You stared at him, heart pounding. “Sid, they don’t know me. They don’t know us.”

“They don’t have to,” he said, voice edged with frustration. “They’ve already decided. And now every time someone looks at you, that’s what they’ll think.”

Anger flickered in your chest, an ember catching fire. “So what? That’s their problem, not ours.”

Sidney pushed a hand through his hair, exhaling hard as he stood up and paced a couple of steps in front of the still-warm television. “You don’t get it. It’s not just a few comments. It’s not just gossip. It’s relentless. It follows you. No matter what you do, no matter how much time passes, they’ll keep talking. They’ll keep judging.”

You scoffed, the weight of his words sinking in, settling like a stone in your stomach. “So what, then? What are you saying, Sid?”

He hesitated.

That hesitation — more than anything else — made your chest tighten.

“I love you,” he said, voice barely above a whisper. “And that’s why I can’t subject you to the kind of judgment that us being together will bring you.”

Your breath hitched. The room suddenly felt too small, the walls too close. “Are you—” Your voice broke slightly. You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to meet his eyes. “Are you ending this?”

Sidney didn’t answer right away. He didn’t need to. The answer was written all over his face.

He wasn’t looking at you anymore. His gaze was cast downward, jaw tight, hands shoved deep into his sweatshirt pocket like he was holding himself back from reaching for you. When he finally spoke, his voice was low, reluctant. “I just… I don’t want this life to hurt you.”

You let out a hollow laugh, shaking your head in disbelief. “That’s bullshit, Sidney.”

His head snapped up, eyes darkening. “It’s not.”

“Yes, it is,” you shot back, anger rising in your throat. “You’re not doing this for me. You’re doing it for you. Because it’s easier to let go than to fight for something that actually matters.”

Sidney’s jaw clenched. “That’s not fair.”

“No?” You let out a humourless laugh, standing up and getting in his space, forcing him to look at you. “What’s not fair is you making this decision for me. You think I don’t know what I signed up for? You think I don’t know what comes with being with you?”

He stepped back, needing to put a few feet of distance between the two of you to remove the temptation of reaching for you. Frustration was etched into every line of his face. “You shouldn’t have to deal with this.”

“But I chose to!” you said, your voice coming out slightly more raised than you intended. Your voice cracked, hands trembling at your sides. “You don’t get to decide what I can handle, Sid. I’m not a fucking child, Sidney! God. You of all people should know that.”

The silence that followed was heavy, suffocating. Sidney’s chest rose and fell with a slow, measured breath, his jaw locked so tight you swore you could hear his teeth grind. His hands curled into fists at his sides before he forced them open again.

“I know that,” he said finally, voice rough. “I know you’re not a child.”

“Then why are you treating me like one?” Your words came sharp, slicing through the tension between you.

He faltered. His lips parted as if he had an answer ready, but nothing came. He swallowed, shook his head slightly, gaze flickering toward the ground. When he didn’t speak, you felt something crack inside you, something that had already been splintering under the weight of this conversation.

Your laugh was bitter, humourless. “You don’t even know, do you?”

Sidney’s head snapped up, a flash of something — guilt, maybe, or shame — crossing his features. “That’s not—”

“No,” you cut him off, stepping closer, your heartbeat pounding in your ears. “You’re scared.”

His brows knit together, but he didn’t deny it. Couldn’t.

“You’re scared of what they say. Scared of what it means to have something real and complicated and worth fighting for,” you pressed, voice shaking with something between heartbreak and fury. “You’re a coward, Sidney.”

He flinched. The word hit its mark, a direct shot to his pride. For a second, you thought he might lash out, might argue, might fight for himself — for you — for this. But instead, his face softened, the anger slipping away like a tide receding. He exhaled a slow, unsteady breath, and dragged a hand down his face.

“I’m sorry.”

It wasn’t a defence. It wasn’t an argument. Just those two words, heavy with meaning, with regret, with something that almost sounded like surrender.

But you weren’t sure you could accept them.

Your arms wrapped around yourself instinctively, like you were trying to hold yourself together, keep your heart from shattering entirely. “Sorry doesn’t change the fact that you’re willing to let them dictate this.”

Sidney stepped forward, just slightly, like he wanted to close the space between you. “I don’t want to let them dictate anything. I just— I don’t want this to hurt you.”

You squeezed your eyes shut, the fight draining out of you all at once. Because that was the part that made this hurt the most. He wasn’t lying. He truly believed he was doing the right thing. That protecting you meant walking away from you.

But that wasn’t protection. That was fear.

You exhaled sharply, opening your eyes to meet his. “You already hurt me, Sid.”

He looked like he wanted to say something, anything to fix it. But there was nothing he could say. Not now.

The air between you was thick with everything unsaid, the silence pressing in on all sides. Sidney’s face was tense, his shoulders rigid, but his eyes — God, his eyes — were the only part of him that betrayed how much this was killing him.

Your heart clenched, an ache settling deep in your chest. Maybe this was it. Maybe this was the moment you walked away. You took a step back.

But then—

“I don’t want this to end.”

The words came out hoarse, almost broken, and the moment they did, it was like something inside of him finally cracked wide open.

Sidney exhaled shakily, hands raking through his hair like he was trying to keep himself from falling apart. “I don’t want to lose you,” he admitted, voice thick. “But I’m scared, okay?” His throat bobbed as he swallowed hard. “I’m scared of what it means to bring you into this. Scared of how they’ll tear you apart. Scared that one day, you’ll wake up and realize you don’t want this life anymore, and I’ll lose you anyway.”

His words hit you like a tidal wave, knocking the wind from your lungs.

That was it. That was the truth of it — not just fear of what people said, but fear of losing you.

You stepped forward, closing the distance between you. “Sid,” you whispered, heart hammering. “You don’t get to push me away because you’re scared.”

His gaze flickered to yours, conflicted and vulnerable in a way you’d never seen before.

“You think you’re protecting me, but you’re not. You’re just making the decision for me,” you said, voice steady despite the way your emotions threatened to break free. “If you want this to work, you need to be more like the Sidney that doesn’t give a damn what the media says. The one who only cares about what happens on the ice and in his own life. You’ve spent your whole career tuning out the noise — why can’t you do that for this?”

He let out a breath, shaking his head. “Because this is different.”

“It’s not.” You reached for his hand, gripping it tight. “It only feels different because you’re letting them make it different. If you want this — if you want me — you need to stop letting them dictate what you do. What we are.”

Sidney stared at you, his fingers tightening around yours like he was anchoring himself to you. And for the first time since this fight started, you saw it. The fight in him.

He wasn’t letting go. He couldn’t.

A muscle ticked in his jaw before he exhaled, like he was finally letting himself breathe again. “I want you,” he said, the words low and certain. “I want this.” His voice dropped even lower, almost like a confession. “I love you too much to let you walk away.”

“Then stop being scared,” you murmured.

You squeezed his hand one last time before pulling your hand gently from his. As much as you believed Sidney when he said he wanted this to work — wanted you to work — the fear was still rooted in him. It lingered in the way his fingers twitched as you let go, in the way his breath caught like he wanted to say something but couldn’t.

You had spent so much time trying to prove to him that love didn’t have to be terrifying, that not every open door led to something painful. But fear like his wasn’t something you could love away. It had to be faced. By him.

So you stepped back.

His eyes flickered with something — panic, maybe, or understanding. Maybe both.

“I—” he started, but the words never fully formed.

You gave him a small, sad smile. “You have to figure this out, Sid. I can’t do it for you.”

The night air wrapped around you as you left his home and for the first time in a long time, Sidney let you go.

The door shut softly behind you, the quiet sound somehow louder than all the shouting, all the arguing, all the things left unsaid between you.

Sidney stood there, staring at the empty space where you had just been, his chest rising and falling with shallow, uneven breaths. His hands clenched at his sides, then loosened, like he wasn’t sure what to do with them. Like he wasn’t sure what to do with himself now that you were gone.

The house felt impossibly empty.

He turned toward the window, catching a glimpse of your silhouette as you walked down the driveway, your shoulders squared, your pace steady. But then, just before you reached your car, you hesitated.

Sidney held his breath.

For a second — just a second — he thought you might turn back. That you might give him another chance to fix this before it was truly broken.

But then you inhaled sharply, set your jaw, and climbed into the driver’s seat. The engine roared to life, headlights cutting through the darkness.

And then you were gone.

Sidney exhaled shakily, dragging a hand over his face as he turned away from the window. His heart pounded, a dull, aching rhythm that matched the pulsing regret settling deep in his chest.

He had been so afraid of losing you.

And now, because of that fear — because of his own cowardice — he might have lost you anyway.

[goldfades]

i need to be sidney crosbys controversially young gf… maybe something for that… heh

my new fav concept, hope you enjoy!

It started with whispers.

The kind that curled around the edges of locker rooms and crept into post-game interviews, barely concealed behind tight-lipped smirks and knowing glances. The kind that made headlines in tabloids next to blurry photos of a dinner reservation that should have been private. The kind that weren’t unexpected, not when a 37-year-old hockey legend started dating a 21-year-old who had no business being in his world.

Sidney Crosby was used to the noise. He’d spent two decades as the face of a franchise, his every move dissected and debated. But this? This was different. This was personal.

And you—well, you were the subject of speculation, fascination, and, in some corners, outright disapproval. The girl too young, too fresh, too much of a contrast to the quiet, calculated, carefully managed existence Sidney had built. The age gap was undeniable, a 16-year stretch that gave people ammunition, as if they hadn’t already decided what they thought about you.

It didn’t help that you weren’t some seasoned socialite or a familiar name in hockey circles. You weren’t a sports reporter or a PR darling, not a longtime fixture at games. No, you were something worse in the eyes of his critics—young, new, and entirely yours.

They didn’t know about the late-night conversations, the ones where Sidney’s usual reserve cracked open just enough for you to slip inside. They didn’t see the way he softened when you spoke, or how he looked at you like he was trying to memorize every version of you—the excited, the sleepy, the frustrated, the amused.

They didn’t know that you never sought him out, that he was the one who lingered after your first meeting, the one who texted first, the one who—despite all logic, despite knowing exactly what kind of reaction this would spark—had made it clear he wanted you.

But they knew enough to talk.

"She’s barely old enough to drink."

"What could they possibly have in common?"

"Sid’s having a mid-life crisis."

The comments should have been easy to ignore. Sidney wasn’t the type to entertain gossip, and you’d never cared about the opinions of people who didn’t know you. But still, the weight of it settled into your bones some days, making you wonder if you were an anomaly in his otherwise perfectly controlled life.

Because he was Sidney Crosby—captain, legend, a man whose legacy had been cemented long before you were even in high school. And you? You were just the girl people assumed was temporary.

And maybe that’s what made it all the more exhilarating.

The funniest part? You and Sidney actually found the whole thing hilarious.

The first time you showed him a comment under some sports gossip post—"She’s basically a child. This is so embarrassing for him."—he just blinked at you, unimpressed.

"Didn’t realize I should be embarrassed for enjoying my life," he said dryly, barely looking up from his coffee.

You snorted. "Yeah, well, you should probably start wearing knee braces to dinner so people know how frail you are."

From then on, it became a running joke.

Like when you posted a dimly lit photo of your hand wrapped around a wine glass at a fancy steakhouse, the edge of Sidney’s plate barely in frame, and captioned it: Dinner with my old man 🤍

Or when you caught a candid of him rubbing his temple after a long day and added it to your Instagram story with the text: He’s got a headache from all the whippersnappers in his life.

Or, your personal favorite, when you recorded him tying his skates before practice, zoomed in on his face as he focused, and added: D1 Grandpa Energy.

The chirps were constant, and he took them all in stride. In fact, he played along—leaned into it, even.

"Think I should start stretching before we go out?" he mused one evening as you got ready for dinner. "Maybe bring a heating pad?"

You grinned at him in the mirror. "I already put Icy Hot in your bag. Just in case you pull something walking to the table."

He rolled his eyes, but you caught the twitch of his lips.

Despite the internet losing its collective mind, the reality of your relationship was effortless. Sidney was steady, calm, and deeply private. You, on the other hand, were unbothered, playful, and just reckless enough to make things interesting. You balanced each other out in a way that worked, even if people didn’t understand it.

You loved how Sidney never treated you like you were some silly, naive kid. He respected you—your thoughts, your humor, your way of seeing the world. And you, in turn, loved teasing the hell out of him, keeping him on his toes in a way no one else really dared.

Like the time you went with him to a team dinner, and while everyone was talking hockey, you casually turned to him and went, "Tell me again what it was like growing up without color TV?"

The table went silent for a beat before someone—probably Letang—burst out laughing. Sid just gave you that look, equal parts unimpressed and amused, before shaking his head.

"She’s funny, huh?" he muttered, reaching for his drink.

"A regular comedian," you quipped, clinking your glass against his.

That was the thing—no matter how much outside noise tried to define your relationship, the two of you had already decided what it was.

It was simple. You liked each other.

Sidney didn’t buy you expensive things to impress you. Sure, he could, but he knew that wasn’t why you were here. Instead, he showed up in little ways—the way he always made sure to order your fries extra crispy because that’s how you liked them, or how he’d automatically pull you closer when cameras were around, just to make sure you didn’t get overwhelmed.

And you? You made sure he laughed. Really laughed. The kind of laugh that shook his shoulders and made his eyes crinkle, the kind of laugh he rarely let people see.

You were good together. You fit, even if people couldn’t wrap their heads around it.

And honestly? That just made it more fun.

It was nearly midnight, and the two of you were on the couch, deep in a heated argument over absolutely nothing.

"I'm just saying, people who don’t let the cereal sit in the milk for at least thirty seconds before eating it are a danger to society," you declared, pointing your spoon at him.

Sidney, reclined against the cushions in his sweatpants and a faded Team Canada hoodie, exhaled through his nose, unimpressed. "That’s ridiculous. You want it soggy?"

"Not soggy, perfectly saturated," you corrected, scooping another spoonful of Cinnamon Toast Crunch from your bowl. "It enhances the experience."

Sid shook his head, glancing down at his own bowl—practically dry because, of course, he barely let the milk touch his cereal before shoveling it into his mouth like some kind of barbarian. "There’s no way you actually believe this."

"I do," you said, dramatic as ever, settling further into your spot next to him. "This is a hill I will die on."

Sid sighed, took another bite, and then, without missing a beat, shot back, "Guess you’d better hope I go first then."

You gasped, shoving his shoulder. "Did you just—"

He fought back a smirk, chewing methodically like he didn’t just say something that made your jaw drop. "You’re too young to be making retirement home decisions, anyway," he added, extra casual.

"Wow," you scoffed, setting your bowl down. "Big words for someone whose lower back cracks every time he stands up."

He snorted, finally breaking into that slow, warm smile that made your stomach flip.

It was moments like this that made you realize why, despite the comments and the noise, this relationship worked.

You weren’t intimidated by him. Not by his reputation, not by the weight of who he was. You poked fun at the untouchable Sidney Crosby the way most people wouldn’t dare, but you never disrespected him. You met him as a person, not as a legacy.

And Sid—Sid liked that.

He liked how quick you were, how you made fun of him without ever making him feel small. How you never treated him like some god on skates but also never downplayed how much he meant to people. It was a balance no one had quite figured out before you.

He let out a deep breath, stretching his arm along the back of the couch, his fingers absentmindedly toying with the ends of your hair.

"You done bullying me for the night?" he asked, amused.

You hummed, considering. "Depends. You gonna admit my cereal method is better?"

"Absolutely not."

"Then no."

He chuckled, shaking his head before wrapping an arm around your shoulders and pulling you in. You melted into his side like it was second nature, warm and easy.

The whole world could talk. The whole world could speculate. But in here, in this quiet moment between bowls of cereal and bad jokes, you fit like you were always meant to.

[cuteandhughesy]

i couldn’t not request another one lol (if that’s okay!)

can i please request prompt 41. “you’re it for me.” with sidney crosby!

you are the absolute best 🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻

“The Other Woman” | Sidney Crosby

summary: you thought your boyfriend sidney wanted you to support him at the four nations face off tournament, so it comes as a shock when you tells you to stay home—only to find out the stomach churning truth. prompt no. 41 from 100 celly list: “you’re it for me.”

[word count] 2.3k

warnings: angst | cheating | break ups | the reader is the other woman

a/n: okay this got like really angsty! my bad. (unedited)

🎵 the other woman by lana del rey

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

your screen is frozen—just like you. you stare and stare and stare. a single tear falls down your face, but you’re mostly too confused to cry—too angry. the phone dims, a tell tale sign that it’s about to turn off, but you don’t let it, thumbing at the screen until it lights up again, illuminating your shock ridden face.

you almost didn’t see the picture. it almost slipped by you. your relationship almost didn’t crumble right before your very eyes. your chest is tight. aching—the beautiful picture of all the wags starting back at you, clad in red pleather team canada jackets.

you were so close to remaining blissfully unaware—innocent and stupid. but you saw it—saw her. a stunning smile and light brown hair, a little older than you but still radiant…with the number 87 patched on her arm.

you had shakily opened the comments and there it was, ‘crosby’s wife looks amazing.’

wife.

you almost threw up. your skin prickled with guilt and embarrassment and so much frustration, not only with yourself but with your boyfriend.

you’ve never really been into hockey. you didn’t pay attention to sports in general—neither did your family. you were younger, only 23, and found interests in other things. a year ago when you met sidney you were instantly smitten. he was charming and unapologetically kind, mature and experienced.

you feel in love quickly—almost impossibly quick. but it didn’t matter, not to either of you. sidney and you were in your own bubble, spending time together privately and in secluded places. you knew he played hockey—even though you didn’t care about hockey, sidney crobsy’s name wasn’t unknown to you.

maybe you should’ve done more research on the man you’re dating—maybe this going on under your nose is your own fault. a simple google search and a little bit of digging you would’ve seen that your boyfriend has a wife.

you would’ve found that you’re the other woman.

you now know that’s the reason sidney didn’t want you at the four nations tournament. he brushed off your comments about supporting him easily, telling you to stay home and relax—you deserved some time to relax. fuck, he even gave you some money to pamper yourself while he was away.

but it was all an excuse.

an excuse for sidney’s wife to remain unaware of her unfaithful husband. an excuse for him to ruin not only your life, but hers.

and now here you are, waiting for him to come over like he told you he was going to do when the plane landed back in pittsburgh. you wonder what excuse sidney told his wife. getting coffees? kris needing help at his house? picking up dry cleaning?

you feel so sick.

it could 20 minutes more before the front door creaks open—it could also be 20 seconds—you’re not sure. time feels like a roller coaster right now. unexpected ups and downs, twists and turns making your stomach swoop.

you get up from your spot on the couch, phone still clutched tightly in your hand. sidney kicks his shoes off by the door—clearly planning to stay awhile. planning to pretend he doesn’t have a wife at home who loves him.

“hey baby,” his deep voice calls from the front door, keys hitting your small oak cabinet next to the shoe rack and large fake plant you’ve had since high school.

baby.

it’s like a slap to the face. did he think you’d never find out? or maybe he just thought you were too stupid and young to figure it out.

you don’t answer him—you can’t. no yet. the sight of your face has sidney faltering, lips twitching into a half frown as you stalk towards him. just before he has the chance to coddle you, you shove the phone in his face.

it takes a moment for the picture to register, but you wait and watch patiently. sidney’s eyes scan your phone, and then he sees her. his wife. his skin turns a shade whiter, face falling before his eyes hoof back to your face.

finally, you find your words—stricken and laced with anger and defeat. “you have a wife? a wife!”

“yes.” sidney doesn’t bother trying to deny it. what’s the point? the proof is there, staring at him. you scoff, pulling your phone away and place it down beside his keys.

“where you ever going to tell me?” you ask him, “is that why you didn't want me to come out to the tournament with you?” he doesn’t respond, and somehow that feels worse than anything he could’ve possibly chosen to say. the bridge of your nose begins to sting, a telltale sign that you’re going to cry. but you don’t want to cry. not yet. “god! here I was thinking that you were embarrassed of our age gap. but no, it's because your fucking wife was going.”

sidney sighs, running a large hand through his salt and pepper hair roughly—he’s frustrated. but not with you. sidney could never be angry with you. you’re too soft—too sweet. he’s only upset with himself. he sighs, y/n. please.”

“does she know?” you push, ignoring his desperate and soft plea. “does your wife now you've been fucking me?”

“no.”

you laugh in disbelief, covering your face with your palms as you feel the familiar hot sting of tears welling up in your eyes. “oh my god,” you whisper pathetically, “I feel sick.” you’ve never wanted to become this person—nobody in their right mind should want to be the other woman.

you’re a girls girl. always. and this feeling, right now, proves why. you’re so embarrassed for yourself—you should’ve been more careful, more diligent about your love life. you should’ve known.

the way your voice cracks has sidney breaking. he never wanted to hurt you, despite everything he’s put you through—even if you hadn’t realized. he frowns, stepping towards you like it’s second nature. sidney is desperate to touch you and console you and make everything better.

“I know,” he breathes, hands enclosing around your wrists, tugging your hands away from your tear stained face. “I messed up.”

you scoff, shrugging off his hold. “you did more then mess up, sidney,” you take a step back, an incredulous laugh leaving you. “you've ruined this. you've ruined my life and hers.”

he shakes his head, “don't say that.”

you sniffle, doing your best to keep ahold of your wave of new emotions. it’s not just about you…nor anymore. you feel for this woman, more than she’ll ever know. you shake your head at him, wiping your cheek with the back of your hand. you’re shaking.

“I don't even know what to say to you,” and it’s true. what do you say to the man you love—a man who just turned your world inside out and back again. sidney is looking at you like he’s hurt. and maybe he is hurting, but it’s at the cost of his own actions, so don’t feel bad.

even if the sight of his emotion struck face is killing you.

you turn away, walking into the small kitchen. you need to distract yourself in some way. allow yourself to have a moment to breathe. your hands are still trembling as you open the fridge, weakly grabbing a plastic water bottle. your bring it to your lips, sipping just enough to coat your dry mouth.

of course sidney followed you, looking at you desperately from the other side of the kitchen island—giving you the space you need. “say nothing,” he says, “just please hear me out.”

you cross your arms defensively after you put the water in between you on the island. the plastic crinkles and pops through the silent kitchen. you sigh with exhaustion, “what is there to hear you out on? i'm not going to be the other woman. I deserve more than that.”

“you do,” sidney exhales desperately, fingers digging into the edge of the counter top like he’s trying to physically hold himself back. give you that space. “of course you do.” there’s a pause then, and you watch as sidney contemplates what he wants to say next.

his eyes stay on you, analyzing you—your mind, heart and thoughts. you want to shrink away from his gaze. it’s too intense and to familiar.

because two weeks ago when he looked at you like this, it was different.

“i'll call it off with her if that's what you want,” sidney says after a beat, voice dropping. he’s firm, definitive.

your breath hitches, “of course I don't want that.” and you mean it. sidney’s not yours, even when you thought he was. and you’re certainly not his—you don’t get to discredit his life of his decisions.

and certainly not his marriage.

the sound of sidney’s palm coming down on the counter top makes you jump. his anger is surprising. he’s always showed you calmness—like he’s always got it all figured out. but this is different. sidney’s lost control. with you with your relationship and with his emotions.

it breaks you. as much as you don’t want to feel anything for him in this moment, seeing him so distraught is heartbreaking. because it’s not like you fell out of love with sidney crosby at the snap of your fingers—you fucking wish it was that easy. but it never is.

because he’s still sidney. he’s the man who held you on the couch after a bad day at work, and cooked you your favourite meal when you’d been to tired to get off the couch. the boyfriend who kissed you with such tenderness and fucked you with such passion. sidney, who in only a year, become your home…your safe place.

he curses, palm flattening as he attempts to recollect himself. sidney’s head falls for a moment, chest heaving with a million unshed emotions. it feels like forever until he looks at you again, eyes glossed over just enough to let you know what truly he’s feeling—frustration, heartbreak, guilt.

“then what?” he asks gently, “what do you want me to do?” you’ve begun crying again, hot tears streaming silently down your face. slowly, you shrug—a response. sidney can’t hold back any longer. he walks around the island, and when he wraps you in his arms, you let him.

it feels good, but not the same. you don’t hung him back, arms trapped between your chests while sidney’s muscled and strong forearms hold your shoulders. you sob pathetically, hiding your face in sidney’s hoodie.

the emotion is raw and painful. you don’t even know what to do with yourself. you want that comfort—need it—and you don’t have anybody in pittsburgh besides sidney. so for a moment you allow yourself to be coddled. you pretend that he’s not the man that hurt you.

you don’t know how to answer him. not right now.

“you're it for me,” sidney mumbles after a beat, lips pressing to the top of your head so softly and tender. “you're my life.” his arms tighten around you, desperately trying to keep you close—to make you hear him. really hear him.

“so is she,” you mumble watery, pushing off his chest. it’s not rough, but firm enough to let him know you need out.

sidney lets you go, but he doesn’t walk away. “no,” he shakes his head, “she's not.”

you swallow. you feel awful. “she's your wife.”

“and you’re the love of my life.”

silence envelopes the kitchen again as sidney’s words settle in your chest. although he may mean what he’s said, that doesn’t make the situation any better. you can’t be selfish with him—not when you’re the third party.

all you can think about right now is if you were his wife. if it was you he was unfaithful with, what would you want him to do. because that’s the answer you’ve been searching for.

“I want you to tell her,” you whisper. sidney’s face shifts like he doesn’t know how to react yet, but you don’t give him the opportunity to figure it out right now. “tell her and figure it out. if she wants a divorce then that's what you'll do. if she wants to work on your marriage, than that's what you'll do. you'll do whatever she wants, sidney, because that's what I want. and if you care about me at all, you'll do what l ask of you.”

a moment passes. sidney looks down at you softly, in thought. slowly he nods his head—that’s the best response he can give right now. but right now it’s enough for you, and finally—finally—feel like you can take a breath.

“i'm sorry.”

“because you were caught?” your response is petty and hurtful—you know that.

but sidney just blinks, “because I hurt you.”

his correction is so sidney. always caring and loving, never wanting you to feel less than. it’s not your fault, and he’s letting you know that without physically saying the words. he takes ahold of your face between his warm palm, thumbs stroking your cheekbones like he’s done so many times.

you wish you don’t love him—you wish you didn’t love the way he held you so perfectly. he knows your cues and what you need when you’re upset, and this right here is proof of that.

and that hurts more than anything.

“i'll tell her,” sidney breathes, “and if she wants to work on it...i'll stay with her. but if she doesn't want to work on it, and she wants a divorce, what does that mean? for us?”

a beat passes, “I don't know yet.”

[thatinwardhell]

winner’s spoils | s. crosby

rating: explicit, mdni

wordcount: 3.8k quickie lol. had to get this out after Certain Videos surfaced

warnings: fem!reader, smut, age gap, oral sex (m receiving) (its facefucking!! be advised!!), no reader orgasm, slight?? gender roles just in case. more in a symbiotic sexy way than “go make me a sandwich”

notes: sigh .... after a 3 YR LONG hiatus from any fic writing !!!!!!! it was the four nations that brought me back. pls send in requests !!!!! i'd love to keep writing more lol. vvvv happy 2 be back !!!!

He’s standing above you, legs spread wide, Colossus of Rhodes, but twice as tall and thrice as golden from where you kneel in front of him.

His hand, still wet, still sticky, from the champagne that slid down it, crystalline, only minutes before, is running through your hair, moving it, manipulating it any which way he pleases. He can, of course he can; he’s Sidney Crosby, Sidney Crosby who’s just added yet another trophy to his gratuitous spoils of war, who, even after all these years, still proves his dominance. Aging though he may be, it never fails to knock your knees, to put warm honey between your legs at the sight of him so easily evincing his overwhelming ownership of the young men whose pointed hits and on-ice jeers seem to roll off his back, reminding the world of his complete and total domination. Not that you needed a reminder. 

Your hands fiddle with the drawstring at the waist of Sidney’s hockey pants, pawing relentlessly at them, desperate to unearth the reward you know awaits you beneath them, and the jock you so frequently call disgusting (something about it puts that old, familiar ache in your tummy though: the thing is nearly as old as you are, and you throw a pathetic, watery-eyed glance up at Sidney at the thought that he has been this good at what he does longer than you’ve even been alive. He’s already looking when you do.) 

Sidney seems to take pity on you; precious girl, he usually says in moments like these, but tonight – no, he seems to crave your tongue, your mouth, in more ways than one. You pant, watching with a sense of wonder as he makes a show of pulling the string apart with the sort of practiced effortlessness that only comes with his age. He takes both of your wrists in each of his hands, gently, his calluses scratching the supple skin of your inner wrists, perfumed just for him, only for him, leading them to the waistband of his jock, leaving them there. He wants you to do it, and this is a capitulation that does not go unnoticed. Traitorous pride blooms in your chest; that Sid needs you so badly, so wantonly, that his infamous and over-practiced stoicism seems to slip after his big wins flatters you to no end, and it stokes a different, softer emotion in you at the thought that he needs you at all. You nuzzle the newly-exposed skin of his thighs in appreciation of this small surrender as you draw down his jock, inch by torturous inch, either ignorant or tactless to the party which still rages outside. 

It’s a wonder Sid even found the broom closet at all, a private corner in the midst of a monsoon of alcohol, and spit, and sweat. It’s a wonder they’re not missing him yet, but a man has needs, and though he seems to walk on water like a god, Sidney is just that: a man. You know this better than most, you think, but your one-track mind is thrown off-kilter instantaneously: you have finally found your prize. His cock springs free, and it is just as good as you have imagined. 

Sid blushes from the tips of his elven ears to his long, sloping nose to the thick, muscled cord of his neck at your unabashed appreciation of him, of all of him. You are too enthralled to notice he thinks, but, though you are thrown into a sea of awe at the sight of Sid’s cock no matter how many times you’ve seen it, you know he needs it: he’ll never say it out loud, no, never, but in moments like this, he needs you to tell him he’s good, without the need for words, without touch, by sight alone, in regards to more than his performance. 

You run your nose along the column of it, and your giving to him gives into an act of selfish self-gratification at the heady, virile scent of him. Sid’s all man, and he makes you dizzy with it, mouth dropping open and little pink tongue peeking out to whet both your appetite and your lips, preparing for the Herculean task of taking all of Sid into your mouth. But not now – not just yet. No, now, he is all yours, all yours to stake claim over, completely yours in the tiny broom closet he had dragged you into, the need boiling over in those hazel eyes you love so much. Usually, Sidney insists on showering before he takes you all for himself, but you love this, perhaps more than the musky bergamot soap he always uses postgame. 

Your vinous desire finally blots out your stalwart want to simply appreciate him like this, though – you have never been good at resisting Sid, though he might say the same of you (your pride simmers even higher, at this thought.) You give him as his grip tightens in your hair, reeling briefly in the doglike panting that reverberates through the room, permeated with the desperation only you can bring out in him. 

Your tongue peeks out once again, pressing tiny kitten licks to the very base of his shaft, to the very beginning of the impressive length that you swear inspires the pure and uninhibited supremacy he seems to exert over others. You often tease Sid about his big dick energy, drunk off the blush that rises to his stubbled cheeks at your flattery, but it couldn’t be farther from a mere act of adulation. You’re bad with measurements, and he’s never given you a number, but you know it takes half an hour of prep with his fingers, his sinewy tongue to fit it in, that, after your months, years together, the stretch of him still punches a half-gasp, half-grunt from your lungs that no other man has ever inspired. 

“C’mon,” Sid half-pleads. His accent seems to get stronger like this, though he’d object to you calling his tone a whine. This tugs another sigh from you, your eyes caressing the bright red maple leaf that adorns Sid’s chest. He seems to be Odysseus now, returning home from battle, to you, Penelope, his one and only, or you his Cleopatra and he a bloodied Mark Antony. He fights for his country, his pride, and, drenched in sweat, returns to you for the womanly comfort he can only find in you, for his spoils of war. More fluid drips from the hot, damp seam of you, but you ignore it easily. Sid will take care of you – he always does. Later, he will see the red silk, the cherry lace that covers his prize, but for now, the only thing that interests you is pleasing him. 

You oblige him easily – this is what you can give to Sidney, after so long and so much of him giving to you. All at once, he’s in your mouth, and his head is back against the racks of cleaning supplies that will inevitably be completely vacant, if the sounds of Team Canada’s celebrations outside give any clues. 

You run your tongue experimentally along the thick vein which runs all along his shaft, up to the swollen head of him, now bright pink with anticipation in the back of your throat. Slowly, surely though, you draw back, dragging your slick lips along Sid’s length until you reach the very tip. Just as quickly, you sink down to the base, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes at this familiar intrusion, but you only look up at him the way he loves so much. Both of Sid’s hands drop, now, to your cheeks, caressing them, his callused fingertips tracing the shapely, gentle slopes of your face. 

“Beautiful girl.” Sidney sounds wrecked, in the way only you can make him, gentle and tender just for you, even as he dominates you so thoroughly, so completely. He gives you a pointed look, wordless, but so intimate, so intense that you know what it means. Though you try to nod as best you can, he would know, even in the darkness of the cramped broom closet, even from miles and miles away, that you have said yes to him, that you’re enthusiastically giving your mouth to him, the last in a long line of tributes from those the conquered tonight. 

Sidney thrusts those fucking hips with a miniscule fraction of the power you know he’s capable of, the pure, raw energy contained within the corded muscle of his thighs, his hips, and now it’s not just the slight lack of air that’s making you dizzy. He draws back, allowing you a momentary reprieve before his cock once more breaches the damp cavern of you, this time harder, more powerful. 

Eyes half-lidded, you will him to do more – to take from you as much as he pleases. Sid could take from you everything you have, and you’d still offer more on hands and knees, ass in the air, and, though nausea bubbles in his stomach at the thought of taking anything from you, the offer sits implicitly in his hands, a reminder of your complete and utter devotion. To drive this home, you apply the most suction you can manage in your present position to Sidney’s cock, still sitting heavy, impish on your tongue, and this draws a wrecked moan from him – a moan! Your revelry is brief, cut by a slight cough as he buries himself even deeper, the thickets of hair at his base enveloping your nose. 

Sidney doesn’t flinch at the sound – neither do you. He knows your body better than you do, and, even in the throes of his pleasure, he knows you can take more, wills you to do so, already so tender, so brutal. 

He pulls out once more, and you ache for the loss of him, mouth clinging to the scant bit of him that remains in the relentless warmth, the unforgiving smoothness of your mouth. Sidney looks down at you once more, asking for the last time, with the last scraps of his self-control, for what he knows you will give him. 

You offer up your love easily, as easily as breathing comes in sleep, knowing that, even despite his age, his money, his undeniable success, he still needs this, your reassurance, from you – you drag your nails down his thigh, he groans, and begins to thrust the way you know he can. 

The hot, wet drag of Sidney’s cock against your lips, the pleasure-pain of him hitting your gag is intoxicating. He’s outside himself – you’re grateful, foggily, for the volume of the music outside, of they’d hear the desperate grunts, the sound of skin on skin on skin, Sidney’s panting, as the thighs that not thirty minutes ago propelled him across the ice at speeds and velocities unimaginable to you now propel his cock to where he needs it most. 

Time seems to slow, or speed up, drifting into the amorphous, pleasurable fog you float in. You revel, hedonist, in the feeling of his heavy balls against your chin, the force of his thrusting pushing your head back and forth, relentlessly, a tiny buoy bobbing in the unforgiving and complete story that is Sidney Crosby. He holds you fast, though, as he always does, large hands that once rested solely on the plushness of your ruddy cheeks now banded across your face, thick, brawny fingers now digging into the base of your skull, so gentle, so terrible all at once. 

The veins on the underside of him pulse, and you feel them against your lax tongue – you drag it, softly, across the quickened river of blood that sits just underneath the tan skin of him, worshipful. He grunts, appreciative, at this, urges you with the caresses of his calluses against the soft expanse of your skin, your hair, to do it again, and again, and again. You oblige.

Sidney permeates every atom in the tightly-cramped broom closet, too small even for the cleaning supplies contained within it, smaller yet for the heat of two bodies, hardly even flesh, a mess of spit and sweat and sticky, sweet-smelling filth, dripping down your face and landing on the floor with a wet sound. His body is so hot, burning so brightly with the adrenaline typical of wins like these, wins he hasn’t touched with the ruggedness of his fingers in so many months, now within his clutches, now brought under a banner of blood red and snow white, his victory so absolute no one, not in the farthest stretches of obscurity, could deny it. 

The power of him overwhelms you, the scent of him, the feeling of his thighs, spattered with a layer of brown hair and now soaking with saliva, under your palms, a psalm for your taking. The musk of sex is overwhelming – you pity the poor worker who walks in here to clean up after your debauchery (you, briefly, remember the absurdity of your situation: it reads like cheap pulp fiction, at times, you think, that only so many months, years now, he had descended on you, delivered you from the dregs of your monotonous, menial, laborious job and into his arms. You would happily open your mouth, your legs, your arms to him as thanks for this epiphany, but he refuses every time; he says the look in your eyes is enough, the brush of hair and skin and the very thought of your shared bed far too much for him already.) 

But you can smell him, feel him all over, a woman possessed – Sid gives as much as he takes, like this, though he doesn’t know it. You hope he doesn’t notice the way you grind yourself against your heel, the red silk already so soaked through with arousal now completely ruined, only a memory of your decadence in the broom closet. Surely, he would insist that you climb on top of him, to let him run his tongue over the folds of you until you scream and pound at his chest, screaming mercy, mercy, mercy, as he’s so fond of doing, but you’re happy, perfectly happy, like this, serving him. He hates to hear it, makes him feel his age, the power imbalance that infrequently, but profoundly, informs small bouts of jealousy or solitude. But you like to serve him, yes, especially when he’s like this. 

Sid’s so utterly debauched, so lost in himself that even if one of his teammates were to enter, they would hardly recognize their usually so measured captain, completely drowned in the throes of his own pleasure. Sidney’s cheeks, already prone to the kind of ruddiness that inspires poetry or paintings, are flushed a bright cherry red, dotted with sweat and the remnants of champagne, dripping down the long, curved line of his nose (you’d like to lick it off, to suck the liquid from his skin and revel in the salt and the musk of his sweat, the bitterness, then the sweetness of the champagne. But alas, your mouth is occupied.) His salt-and-pepper hair is mussed up in a manner only Caravaggio could imagine, every curl so perfectly askew, which seems to be a habit of your boyfriend’s and one that, admittedly, inspires bouts of desire similar to Sidney’s in you, all over him in the dusk when he comes home, or in the early morning before he leaves. The plush pinkness of his bottom lip is worried to pleasantly between his bottom teeth and the top ones and, had you been more lucid, you would have been able to identify the ones he pointed out to you as implants, replacements for the ones that had been knocked out by one Flyer or another while you were still learning your alphabet. 

Sidney’s thrusts are ragged now, are getting deeper, faster, more desperate, his grip on your head that much more intentional, maneuvering your face the way he wants you. He makes you wonderfully lightheaded like this – so completely and thoroughly possessed. You love being his toy, like this, to sit on your knees and please him, almost as much as you like for him to do the same, to press a worshipful mouth to your ankles, your calves, your thighs, then the part of you he loves very most, apart from your eyes, maybe your laugh or the shape of your teeth, the feeling of your smile; if not what he loves the very most, the one he serves – the one thing that puts ‘Captain Canada’ himself on his knees. This is a secret pride of yours, one that you tell no one, one that is kept safe in the depths of you until Sidney is away on a roadie and his side of the bed, still smelling of that bergamot and musk, is getting cold. 

But he’s close – you know, you know, and you resist smiling around the heady, intoxicating weight of him. You know him so intimately, you think, you could know his orgasm even if blindfolded with your hands behind your back. You like to think you could coax one from Sidney the same way, but you’ll have to wait, to bide your time. Your ears ring with it, watching the way Sid’s crows’ feet bloom across his cheeks, disturbing the stubble there, the way that, when he grimaces like this, teetering on the edge, his dimples pop out, digging graves in his cheeks. 

Sidney’s fingers are doubly hot against your scalp now, dangerously lecherous as they clutch the base of your skull tighter still, pulling you even deeper into him, your nose buried in the wiry brown hair at the base of him. On the precipice of ecstasy, he misses the way your eyes roll back, the way your mouth vibrates at the smell of him, all sweat and manhood, the way you like him, completely in control, yet so entirely under your thumb. You hear a familiar hymn on Sid’s tongue, vaguely, and wonder if he’s been talking this entire time, if you’ve just been so enthralled in the scent of him, the wires of his thighs under your hands, that you missed the oh fuck baby oh fuck yes yes take it fuck yeses. He’s teetering, desperate, flailing for it, grasping at straws as he thrusts deeper still. 

You want him to come, want him to give the reward of his spend so badly that you’re suffocating on it. You’re grinding on your own foot so hard it’s almost painful, desire controlling every movement, every gyration of your hips against your heel, pushing into the floor rolling your swollen clit with the daftness you’ve realized is inherent with orgasms not provided to you by Sidney. You won’t cum like this, certainly, but you don’t need it, no, not when you have him like this. 

You slide the viscous hot pleasure of your tongue along the vein on his underside and he breaks. 

Sidney tenses, your hair now taut between his fingers, pulled to its limits, your face pushed as far into his pelvis as it can go, now suffocated in the truest sense of the word in the man who stands above you, so powerful and so destroyed all at once. His pink mouth is dropped open, completely lax, and you can see the edges of his teeth, where they meet the softnesses of his own mouth, the pink tongue, the reddish gums, the pale pink roof of it, and his eyes have screwed shut, now only two tiny, puckered hints of eyelash and supple, thin skin, barely covering the dark bags which have accumulated under his eyes. Stress, you think, maybe sleep, but, then again, no, he’s always good about that. No worry. You have your ways of keeping him in bed when you need to, of keeping him exhausted in all the ways he wants the very most. He gives smaller, tiny thrusts as the heat of him spills down your throat, and you hum at the taste. Sidney eats well, so virile, so fecund, that he tastes good, strong, heady, and a base, animal part of you revels in the smaller thrusts, the taste of him, pines the loss of his cum; he could be thrusting like that in you, keeping his spend inside of you, where it belonged, where it’d carry on his progeny better than TNT or ESPN could. 

Sidney eases, taut muscles now weak, so spent you swear you can see his legs shake. It’s an illusion, you know, knowing that his legs, so well accomplished, can hold his weight under much more pressure than any orgasm. But you stroke your pride this way, like to think that you can make him weak, can make him strong whenever you please. His hands slips from your hair, returning to your cheeks, where he turns your head back up from where you hadn’t realized it had slumped. The amber of his eyes is so soft, looks so brown in this light, rather than the greenish they look in the bright lights of the media room or the fluorescence of the rink, so much like pools of dark water, undiscovered, unthinkable to anyone but you.

“Swallow for me.” Sidney is so soft like this, so disparate from the man who can level men twice his size without a second thought on the ice. He could crush you between his thumb and his finger, so easy, like this, but he doesn’t. 

You listen, swallow him the way he likes you to, so you keep some of him in you until the next time he can have you. 

“Good girl. My best girl.” Sidney says, so quiet anyone else wouldn't have been able to hear it, said for your ears only. He brushes his hands once more over your cheeks, wiping away sweat, stray tears that may have fallen with the tenderness only he’s capable of. “C’mere, give me a kiss.” 

You oblige him easily, but act as if it’s a chore – you shrug, roll your eyes as you rise uneasily from your feet, steadied into Sidney’s arms at the first sign of unsteadiness, huff a little for dramatic effect. 

He laughs, a soft, easy sound, wraps his hands once more about your cheeks, and presses his lips to yours. Sid’s yours, like this, all yours, away from the cameras, from his teammates, from the rink, and you revel in the softnesses of his mouth, the plush of his lips and the slight scratch of his five-o’clock shadow, and everything else falls away, quickly, easily, just like this. The party persists outside – they’ll have to miss him for a minute more.

[literaryslapshot]

Older bf Sid is so kisses to your exposed shoulders

yes! he loves kissing his lil gf (that's his contact name for you)

♡ he always kisses you first thing in the morning. even if you're still dead to the world asleep, he's still going to give you a kiss when he wakes up before getting out of bed.

♡ i don't think his top love language is physical touch, but if giving you a kiss was a love language, it would be his top. any chance he gets he's gonna kiss you.

♡ sometimes when you're laying in bed, you'll just feel his soft lips plant a kiss on your body somewhere. no words, nothing exchanged or acknowledged, he'll just give you a kiss out of habit almost.

♡ when you're getting ready- whether it's for bed or for date night, he enjoys sitting in the bathroom with you and watching you do your routines. coming up from behind you he'll plant a lingering kiss on your shoulder, telling you how beautiful you look.

♡ when you're going on yap tangents, talking about topics that he honestly doesn't know anything about, he has no problem stopping you with a kiss. "i love you- but i don't know what you're talking about."

♡ being with a younger girl like yourself, he's realized just how much he missed having heated makeouts. he feels like he's in high school again, kissing the hottest girl in school under the bleachers. he loves having you planted on his lap, hips grinding on his, and getting lost in the kiss.

[jackhues]

3 + 1 - sidney crosby

notes: i hope you guys like this, first fic for 'it's the most wonderful time of the year', had lots of fun making this!!

likes are good, reblogs are better <3

part of naqia's end of the year celly!

gif not mine

i. (1994)

you'd known sidney your entire life. one of the first memories you had with him was fighting him for the last hockey stick in the store.

well, it wasn't the last hockey stick. but it was the last one of all the types you used to play. it just so happened to be the only one sidney used.

after a game of rock, paper, scissors (you won), sidney got mad and demanded a best of three. maybe it was the defiant look in his eyes at only seven years old, but you decided he could have the stick.

"are you sure?" he asked, now looking hesitant about taking the stick.

you nodded, "i'm sure. they'll get one of the sticks i use in a few days. you can have this one. i'll just steal my brother's stick until then."

sidney grinned, "thanks, y/n."

you smiled back at him, feeling the start of a friendship. you'd lived near him your entire life, but you'd only begun talking to him because of hockey.

"just don't forget to send me a card when you go to one of your tourneys," you told him.

you and sidney laughed over that, before heading back home with your parents. it was after this day that you began to say hi to each other in the halls of school, that you decided to pair up for projects, that you became friends.

over the two months it took until christmas morning, you forgot about what you'd told him. but sidney didn't forget his promise.

and it was on december twenty fifth, that you received a post card in the mail from some place in quebec. a seven year old sidney had tried his best to make the letters look pretty, writing on the side, 'merry christmas, and thanks for the hockey stick, y/n. it helped me win!'

you peered in the envelope, finding a picture of sidney hoisting his giant hockey trophy. you smiled at that.

even though he was so far away, it felt like you were celebrating christmas together.

--

ii. (2004)

'sidney patrick crosby, you have got to be kidding me! you have a huge hotel, you're in finland, and you've got some of the best people with you. and yet, you're saying you wished you were here playing pond with the rest of us? you're crazy. anyways, make sure you score a goal or something, and have lots of fun! honestly, not scoring is fine if you have fun. good luck at the world juniors! i'll be cheering you on from back home :))'

you signed off the letter, sealing it and placing it to the side to deliver later.

at seventeen years old, sidney had become the only under-18 player at this year's world junior tournament for team canada. it was a thing to celebrate, but sidney was upset he would be missing the town's annual christmas pond hockey game.

you and him had played together on the same team for the last nine years, winning every time. this was the first time he wouldn't be here to help your team defend the title.

but that was okay, you thought as you packed up your christmas gear and made your way to the pond.

because sidney was going to play on your t.v. tomorrow, at the national level. it was his first time playing for canada, and you knew he was excited for that.

he just wasn't a fan of missing the small things.

it was why he'd began sending you letters and post cards as he moved around for tournaments and hockey games. they were cute souvenirs, and you didn't mind sending him a letter back.

you just wished he could've been here to celebrate christmas with the rest of you.

--

iii. (2009 - pretend ft was invented a year earlier)

"merry christmas, love."

you smiled, "merry christmas sid."

sidney adjusted his phone, fixing the facetime so you could see him better. you laughed as he struggled for a minute, finally getting a proper angle.

"don't move!" you said. "there, perfect. now your entire face is on my screen."

he laughed as he shook his head to himself.

the two of you had been friends for thirteen years before he worked up the courage to ask you out. and for the last two years of your relationship had been amazing. there were ups, like seeing him win the stanley cup, and there were downs, like seeing him take some uncalled for hits.

but you were happy. and so was sid.

the two of you had planned to celebrate christmas together in pittsburgh, until a family emergency had you coming back to nova scotia last minute.

everything turned out fine, but it was just too late to get a ticket back to pittsburgh.

even so, you and sid had found a way to work around that.

the two of you spent most of the day on the phone with each other, talking and laughing together. it wasn't what either of you had planned, but you made it enjoyable.

it was a great christmas.

--

iv. (2012)

"sidney, will you get down here already?"

"i'm coming, i'm coming," he called from upstairs.

you sighed, waiting for your husband to get up and get downstairs. christmas morning was the one morning you were happy to get out of bed, but it was also the one morning sid wanted to sleep in.

sam, sidney's dog, came down the stairs, curling around by the christmas tree as he waited for sid with you.

a few minutes passed before sidney made his way downstairs, eyes half closed but a sleepy smile plastered on his face to greet you.

"good morning, love," he pressed a kiss to your forehead. "merry christmas."

"merry christmas," you smiled, pressed a kiss to his jaw. "we eating breakfast first or presents first?"

"mmm, breakfast," sid decided.

"i knew you were going to say that," you laughed, pulling him along to the kitchen.

you'd already prepared breakfast before he came down. some eggs, sausage and bread. it was a good way to pass the time as you waited for sid to get downstairs.

the two of you took your seats, laughing as you ate breakfast and discussed how far you'd gone in life together.

"you almost tripped on the ice," he reminded you.

"no one told me i had to go out on the ice after you guys won," you argued. "i was so excited over you guys winning the stanley cup, i didn't even notice i was being ushered to the ice until i took my first step."

sid laughed as the two of you slowly made your way to the living room.

"here, open my present first," he said, rummaging under the tree to pull out a long, rectangular box.

the two of you had started the tradition of opening all of your sentimental gifts before the other cute ones. and even though you wanted to go first this year, you supposed it was alright if sid got this one.

you unwrapped the box, pulling out a familiar hockey stick. one that you'd given sidney eighteen years ago.

"oh my god," you muttered, tears building up in your eyes.

"i found it in my parent's garage last summer," he shrugged a little. "i remembered how badly you wanted it. and even though it's too small now, i thought you'd like the memory."

"i love it," you grinned, wiping the corners of your eyes. "it's absolutely perfect. i'm putting this up next to that picture of you holding up the trophy."

sid laughed at your response, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

"you can do whatever you like with it."

you put the stick to the side, your hands slightly shaky as you grabbed another, much smaller, box. "here. now open my present."

sid took the box from your hands, unwrapping it and opening it. he stared at the contents of the box, unable to form a sentence as he looked between the box and you.

"you -- this -- seriously?" his eyes shined as he stared at you.

you nodded, feeling the tears build up yourself. "we're having a baby."

sid laughed, pulling you in for a hug. "oh my god, this is amazing. a baby, you and me."

the two of you held each other that day, celebrating christmas together.

[sc0tters]

Enough is Enough | Sidney Crosby

summary: when you push Sidney to his limits, he decides to teach you a lesson.

trope: dads friend

request: yes/no

warnings: sexual scenes, p in v, oral (m receiving!), legal age gap (reader is in college!), degradation, fingering, swearing.

word count: 2.49k

authors note: I’m gonna start this off with saying that the reader x dad friend trope is not one that everyone will like so if you don’t, don’t read it! oh and @hischierhaze should seriously like never leave me unattended ever again, cause this was a lot. To find the rest of the cellly you can see the masterlist here!

This was meant to be the summer of rehabilitation for you.

Your dad wanted you to recover after a year at university that almost landed you in jail on more than one occasion. As he was at his wits end with you lashing out.

Sidney was meant to be someone who could talk some sense into you, but as he stayed up waiting for a fourth night in a row for you to return with not even a word or a heads up to where you were. He realised he was on the end of a losing battle.

Before he’d just remind you to tell him about where you went but tonight as his anger mixed with the whiskey on his tongue Sidney saw your shorts and crop top and it caused him to lose it “where have you been kid?” He asked turning on the light in the living room as you looked like a deer in headlights “out Sid.” It was the same answer you gave him each time “some of the guys wanted to go get drinks.” You explained with a shrug moving to push past him.

Sidney stopped you as he wrapped his hand around your arm “we aren’t done here y/n.” The hockey player shook his head as he looked down at you “you either tell me where you are going or you don’t go out at all.” His voice was strict reminding you about his angry side.

Yet instead you found it amusing as you laughed “you gonna ground me or something?” You smiled rolling your eyes causing his grip around your arm to tighten “really should when you act and dress like this.” His free hands fingers dragged over the end of your shirt.

It made you frown “like what Sid?” You pressed his buttons as you pulled away from him “see you thought of something so say it.” Your arms crossed as you tilted your hips to the side.

Sidney pushed his hand through his hair as his nostrils flared “god you are such a wimp.” You spat shaking your head as he stood in silence watching as you walked to the stairs “you’re acting like a slut okay!” Sidney groaned honestly deciding that you were the reason why he decided not to have kids.

As you both soaked in the reality of what he had said “y/n wa-” Sidney tried to get himself out of the hole he had fallen into you were too fast running up the stairs to then shut your bedroom door with a slam “I’ll show him what a fucking slut is.” You mumbled looking at yourself in the mirror one last time with a smirk on your face.

Over the next few days that was exactly what you did. Sidney knew you were doing it to get under his skin as he watched your outfits grow tighter and shorter as your behaviour grew more present. You were now flirting with guys in front of his face, from the man in the grocery store to the neighbours son. What killed him was how he was forced to bite his tongue.

But when you eventually walked out of your room in this yellow bikini and nothing more than a baseball jersey that you left unbuttoned. Sidney didn’t think he had much more that he could take until he realised an important factor, that bikini top didn’t have cups. So as you walked into the kitchen after tanning outside Sidney knew he had to take defeat “so could you?” You asked waiting for his answer.

Sidney felt his cheeks turn warm as he shook his head “can you repeat that f’me?” He asked realising that he had missed what you said “asked if you could put some sun screen on my back before I go back out?” You repeated yourself as you sucked at the popsicle between your lips.

He nodded looking away as his pants strangely grew tight “y-yeah sure.” Sidney stammered as the first place he looked ended up being your breasts causing you to smirk “they look good in this one don’t they?” You brought your hands brush down your waist.

It made Sidney cough “I saw you staring at them, there’s no need to be ashamed.” You cooed stepping closer to him “we shouldn’t.” His voice was coarse as he tried to step away from you.

But the hockey player stood against the counter now trapped “all I’m saying is that you do what you want and touch them.” You used your fingers to trace over your nipples that were clear under your top “they are just begging for you.” You knew you were playing with fire as your teeth caught your lower lip between them.

Sidney felt himself grunt “my dad said he wanted you to help me out after all.” Your voice was soft as you used your fathers words “you’re gonna get me into so much fucking trouble.” The hockey player groaned nervously lifting his hand “there you go.” You cooed as you helped bring his hand to cup the one side of your bikini.

He loved feeling how his large hand was able to fit your entire breast in it “fuck baby.” The hockey player watched his thumb drag over the aching nub “need more Sid.” You whined placing your hand on top of his.

The hockey player nodded sucking at his teeth “what would your dad say if he saw you begging like this?” It stroked his ego as he brought his other hand up to repeat his actions on your other nipple as well “happy I’m not in trouble.” You found the situation amusing as you smiled “oh but you are baby.” Before you could question what Sidney meant he spun you around and pressed your chest against the kitchen counter.

It made you gasp as his hand kept your torso from pushing up “you think you could get away wearing this?” The hockey player used his opposite hand to hook under the waistband of the panties letting it snap against your skin “answer the question.” He snapped making you whimper “no Sid.” You shook your head struggling to think of where you could put your hands as Sidney moved to stand behind you.

He loved his angle seeing how vulnerable you were in front of him “wanted to piss you off.” You explained in a soft tone trying to stop him from hearing you “and you still think I should make you feel good?” Sidney laughed at your naivety “I can be good!” You nodded excitedly as you agreed “we will see about that.” Sidney mumbled sucking at the lobe of your ear.

It should have made you hang your head in shame how you pushed your ass against his crotch “the last few days have been hell.” He grunted squeezing the skin of your ass before he slapped it “what are you gonna do about it?” You gasped feeling him massage the previously abused skin.

Sidney felt his cock grow even harder as he pulled you back up so you could look at him “gonna finally shut this mouth up.” His hand pushed you to the ground as you dropped to your knees.

Your mouth watered as you watched him undo the strings of his shorts before he hooked his fingers into the waist pushing them to the ground to reveal his cock that stretched out the front of his boxers “look at you all excited.” The hockey player smirked as he watched you bring your hands up to trace your fingers around his boner “don’t tease me baby or else I’ll leave you looking all desperate on the floor.” His words made you whimper as you finally did what he wanted and revealed his cock as his boxers follow the same way his shorts did to the floor.

You knew Sidney would have been big but as you licked the swollen tip of his cock you began to wonder if you could take all of him “thin ice y/n.” His voice grew angry as he stared you down. It made you nice as you wrapped your lips around his cock forcing as much of his length into your mouth.

Sidney groaned feeling your tongue against the bottom of his cock “your mouth is so good.” He muttered watching your head begin to bob “you’re taking me to so well.” The boy cooed bringing his hands to your hair making a makeshift ponytail.

It helped him guide your movements forcing you to take more of him “fuck.” Sidney whined as you swirled his cock in your mouth and your throat constricted around the tip of his cock as you took all of him.

He felt his eyes roll back as you gagged “Sid,” your voice was muffled as your fingers slid down your stomach and into your bikini bottoms so you could tease your clit.

As Sidney began fucking your throat he felt himself grow dazed “looking so pretty down there.” The boy dragged his fingers through your hair to your cheek as you looked up at him through your lashes “finally being a good girl f’me.” Just as the hockey player said that you mewled at the feeling of your fingers against your clit.

It made Sidney think you craved praise but instead when he saw your body shifting over nothing it made him pull you up by your chin “you really are a naughty girl.” The hockey player sighed shaking his head as he pressed his hand against your slick bottoms.

Before you could attempt to apologise Sidney kissed your lips as he picked you up finally setting you onto the counter as you looked at him. It felt suffocating as his tongue slid into your mouth not caring as he could taste some of his salty precum on your tongue “gonna fuck you like the slut that you are.” His hand lay a smack to your ass causing you to jump as you nodded.

Anticipation filled your veins as he peppered kisses down your neck whilst he undid the strings on your bottoms “up.” He offered causing you to force your hips upward so he could move your bottoms away.

His cock stood dangerously close to your cunt as he pulled you to the edge of the counter “you want this baby?” Sidney asked using the tip to tease your clit “fuck yes.” You nodded as he finally decided that teasing you was now too much for him.

You gasped as Sidney bottomed you out, not taking the time to let you adjust “god.” You groaned as your eyes screwed shut “it’s just me y/n.” The hockey player placed his hands on your hips as your legs locked around his waist.

Feeling nice Sidney stopped giving you the moment to let your cunt stretch around his cock “need you to move.” You forced the words out as you tapped his side now feeling him bottom you out “knew this cunt would be just as good as your mouth.” The hockey player kissed your lips as he caught your lower lip between his teeth eating a whine from you.

His thrusts began to quicken as he craved the sound of your moans “all yours.” You moaned pecking his lips “you realised being a slut ain’t no fun now?” Sidney laughed as you cupped your breasts trying to bring yourself more pleasure.

You fidgeted at the bikini material as he shook his head “slut f’you.” You whined as his hands replaced yours “let’s get this off.” Sidney grew irritated as he eventually ended up ripping the fabric apart “Sid!” You scoffed seeing your top now sat in two pieces.

His nose brushed over yours “I’ll buy you a hundred pairs more if you’ll let me rip them like that.” The kitchen felt hot as the windows were open meaning that anyone who walked past would have heard the acts that were going on in there. But somehow that made you feel so powerful “can rip ‘em all.” You nodded tugging your fingers through his curls when he lowered his lips to your nipples.

Sidney swirled his tongue around your sensitive buds making you clench around his cock “you liking this baby?” He locked his eyes with yours as his teeth grazed your nipple when your phone began to ring from the side of the counter.

It made you look with wide eyes “i-it’s my dad.” You croaked making his cock throb “answer it doll.” Sidney used every pet name in his arsenal as you remained frozen “answer or I stop.” His warning was enough to make you reach over to grab your phone.

On the other side you hear your dad breathing as you answered “hey princess how are you?” The cheeriness in his voice made you feel sick as you gripped at your phone “I’m good daddy.” The last word was moaned followed by a cough as you tried to cover yourself up.

Sidney smirked moving his lips from your nipple to your neck “look what do you want?” You complained tightening your legs around Sidney’s waist “just checking in, is Sid keeping you busy?” The hockey player let out a soft laugh as he heard the words “yeah gotta go!” You were quick to hang up as Sidney placed his fingers against your clit.

It didn’t take you long until you arched your back against the counter “you close?” Sidney asked pecking your lips “so close.” You nodded biting your lip as you went quiet “if you want to come you’re going to have to apologise.” The hockey player warned making you nod.

Skin slapping echoed through your mind “didn’t mean to be a bad girl Sid.” You cried as your skin felt hot even with the marble beneath you “promise to be your good girl forever.” The claim was bold but in that moment you planned on keeping your side of it “let me ruin this pussy for all of those college kids back home.” You moaned at his possessive tone.

All you could do was nod “it’s all yours Sid.” That sent him over the edge “milk my cock baby when you fucking come.” His order made you gasp in pleasure.

Your legs shook as incoherent whines came from your lips as you come “fuck!” You cried as you felt Sidney come shortly after you did.

His hand pressed against the counter next to you to make sure that he didn’t collapse “there you go pretty girl.” As the hockey player let his cock slide out of your soaked cunt it was quickly replaced with his fingers that pushed both of your releases back into your core “surely you didn’t think I’d let you misbehave that easily now did you?” Sidney had a devilish smirk as he began to finger you.

You were in for a long day.